Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing and never will as I am totally in Kripke's debt for the loan of his boys…

A/N: This was my very first attempt at fan fiction. Why, you may well ask, am I posting this here and now? (As it was posted elsewhere, then)… This is in answer to Mad Server's query as to where I got a certain nickname… I leave it up to all of you to determine what I am Queen of by the time we get to the end of this little "bridge." And here we are at the end….

Spoilers for Asylum and Scarecrow acts as a bridge between Asylum and Faith…

The Splintered Door

Sam carefully considered the pile of merchandise he had gathered in his cart. Alcohol. Gallon jug. Check. Witch hazel. Check. Hydrogen peroxide. Check. Gauze. Check. Medical adhesive tape. Check. Ibuprofen. Check. Motion sickness pills. Check. Antibiotic ointment. Check. Bottled water. Check. Gatorade. Check. Large ziplock freezer bags. Check. Tensor bandages. Check. Loaf of bread and peanut butter. Check. M&Ms. Check. Just in case and as possible bribery/ reward… Surely to God he now had everything he could possibly need for the next eighteen hours? Because no way in hell was he leaving that motel room again until Dean was on the mend.

Sam made his way quickly to the check out and fished for their current credit card as the teenager at the register started totalling his rather extensive purchases.

He hated like hell that he had to use the damn thing but was so grateful that he had it to help Dean. Damn it to hell, though. How did he go from the doors of law school to grand theft auto and credit card fraud so quickly? Like in two freakin days. Sam smiled weakly at the checkout girl.

"Do you have an airmiles card?"

Sam couldn't contain the snort that escaped him at the absurdity of his brother having anything to do with an airmiles plan. "Uh, sorry, no."

The girl looked at him oddly and took the credit card. Sam signed the receipt and got back to the Impala as quickly as he could. He'd stop at that diner on the way back to the room and get some food. His stomach seemed to be back to normal.

On the off chance that there were still certain smells lingering, though, Sam opted to eat his meal on the way back. He'd also ordered some soup for Dean in the off chance that he would start to feel well enough to eat it.

Sam didn't really think that was terribly realistic before Pastor Jim's antibiotics arrived and he could start Dean on them, however. Still, if Dean the insatiable appetite that walked like a man decided he was hungry, Sam wanted to have something to offer him.

Sam re-parked the Impala in front of their room forty-five minutes after leaving for his supply run. He figured it would take him two trips to get everything in from the car and make a run to the ice machine. His hands were full as he juggled parcels and fumbled with the key in the lock.

He hoped that Dean was still asleep. (A.) he needed the rest to help him heal and get the fever down and (B.) Sam would never live down his clumsy, noisy entrance into their room.

Sam's eyes were searching for his brother's form on the bed even as he pushed the door open. Two things happened simultaneously. First, Sam almost choked when he realised that his brother wasn't in the bed, and second, the door ground to a halt.

As. It. Hit. Dean.

SHIT!!

"Dean! What the hell man!" Sam squeezed through the opening trying desperately not to inflict more damage on his brother with the door. He immediately fell to his knees beside his sibling gently patting his cheek. Dean was lying on his stomach, head toward the door – acting as a friggin door stop! – one hand was stretched out in front of him and one curled beneath his body. He was doing the shaking, writhing, twitching thing again. Sam was really beginning to hate that.

Not wanting to turn Dean over because of his back, Sam continued to try to rouse his brother by patting and then slapping his cheek.

"Dean! DEAN!"

Dean twitched more violently – not quite a start, but he was beginning to come around. Much to his displeasure – consciousness meant pain… Dean groaned and rewarded his brother with a tiny slit of green between his eyelids.

"Ha! I found you! You can't get away that easy Sam. Now I've got you, I'm going after Dad, and I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind," Dean's voice started out very faintly and weakly but gained in strength as he continued.

"Yeah. Dean, whatever Dude. If anybody did any finding, it was me. Not to mention playing hide and seek requires a minimum level of mobility which you so do not have right now. What is it with you and lying about on the floor of this dump – it can hardly be sanitary or comfortable."

Sam was rambling again. He knew it and was still powerless to stop it. Finally, Dean's words sank all the way in.

"What was that about Dad?"

"I'm g…g…gonna g…g…give him a p…p…piece of my mind. Is he st…st...still out in th...th…the Impala?" Dean's teeth were beginning to chatter with the chills that were wracking his body. Sam's eyebrows twitched together.

"Dean. Let's worry about Dad later. He's fine. You, on the other hand, are far from fine." Sam could feel the heat radiating off of his brother. The damn fever must have spiked while he was out because he was pretty sure his brother was pretty much delirious. Sam looked mournfully at his brother.

How the hell was he going to get the big jerk back into the bed? There was nowhere on Dean's entire body that wasn't either a bruise or an open sore. What the hell was he supposed to hold on to?

"Dean, man, we got to get you back into the bed. You're gonna hafta help me out, dude…" Sam got to his feet and straddled his brother. He hooked his hands under Dean's armpits.

"Ok, man, when I pull you up, do you think you can get your knees up under yourself?"

"Course I can Sammy…" Dean's words were slightly slurred and Sam really wasn't convinced that Dean was really with the program, but he had to get his brother into the damn bed, so he could assess his condition and plan his attack.

"On three…One. Two. Three!" Sam heaved and Dean weakly moved his legs underneath himself so that he was now kneeling on the floor. Unfortunately, the change in altitude caused the entire room to start spinning again. Dean swayed precariously, but Sam had a firm grip on him. Dean groaned and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.

"Hey! Hey, stay with me Dean," Sam encouraged. "God, man, you might be short, but you sure are dense!"

"Hey, just 'cuz I'm the pretty one doesn't mean I'm stupid!"

"Not that kind of dense. And Dude? You are so not pretty right now."

"Low blow, little brother."

Staying behind Dean, Sam braced himself to pull his brother up to his feet and guide him back to bed. "Ok. Now I'm gonna get you all the way to your feet – on three again: One. Two. Three!" and with that Sam hauled Dean to his feet and in one fluid motion swung him to a sitting position on the bed. Well, a slumping position, anyway. Luckily, he hadn't teetered all that far from the bed. Then, Sam was able to swing Dean's feet up and get him back lying in the bed.

"Unnghgh," Dean's grunt or strangled cry when he hit the bed wrenched again at Sam's heart. Sam grabbed the thermometer.

"Dean? Temperature." And Sam inserted the thermometer and pulled up the sheet to cover Dean's still shaking form. He still wasn't sweating. The thermometer beeped.

"Well, Florence? What's the verdict?" Dean's eyes were fever bright in a face that interspersed almost white with patches of rainbow colours.

"103.8. It's up. Dean, I've got to get this fever down. Look, just this once do as I ask and stay put? I'm going to finish bringing in the supplies and get some ice to bring down the damn fever." Sam hated that he sounded somewhere between petulant and whiney when asking for his brother's cooperation.

"S'k Sammy. M'fine." Dean was drifting off again for which Sam was infinitely thankful. Quickly grabbing one of the multi-purpose trash cans, Sam hurried out and filled it with ice. He grabbed the rest of the supplies, locked up the Impala, and practically ran back into the room. Dean hadn't moved.

Sam started packing ice in the freezer bags. Once he had six filled, he grabbed a towel and dampened it with warm water and then poured some of the alcohol on for good measure. He returned to the bed and drew down the sheet from Dean's still trembling body. Very gently, Sam wiped down Dean's torso, arms, and legs. Then he even more carefully wiped his brother's face. When he was done, Sam drew the sheet up over his brother's still shaking form. Sam then took the ice filled freezer bags and tucked them carefully against Dean's torso – three against his chest and three against his back. Ideally, the ice should be packed in Dean's armpits and the crooks of his knees – sites where a person would expel excess heat, but with Dean unable to lie on his back, Sam figured that this would have to do. Sam also wanted to avoid freezing his brother's skin and giving him frostbite by putting the ice in direct contact with his skin. Even so, it was no doubt unpleasant, especially as the fever had Dean feeling intensely cold already. This started his teeth chattering.

Dean made a noise that was alarmingly close to a whimper.

"Sammy?"

"Ya Dean? Right here with ya."

"S'cold."

"Sorry Dean, I've got to get the fever down."

"Sucks out loud."

"Try to go back to sleep, Dean." Sam knew that he would have to wake Dean at least every two hours to check on him because of the concussion, so he hoped Dean could grab as much sleep in between as possible. Dean being Dean, however, meant nothing was going to happen the easy way.

Sam grabbed a chair and dragged it close to his brother's bed. He watched as Dean's eyes fluttered closed, his dark lashes finally coming to rest on his too pale cheeks. The rest of his body continued to shudder from the effects of the ice and fever at war.

Sam was honestly surprised to hear his brother voice any complaint at all. If he was totally honest with himself, that scared Sam the most. He was always trying to get Dean to talk to him. To care and share. To admit that he had feelings. To NOT say he was "fine". Alright – to have a damn chick-flick moment.

But truth be told, Sam wasn't sure that he could really take the truth. Dean was home to Sam, and Sam clung to Dean's seemingly indestructible walls for support almost as much as Dean did himself. Dean's walls had taken a real beating over the last two hunts and he'd been interrupted in fixing the shattered door of his internal domain by the mutiny of his own body. Sam knew that if he was quick, he could catch a glimpse of what Dean kept hidden through the bits that hadn't been put back together yet. Sam also knew that he owed it to Dean to look. Dean kept things locked away and in doing so denied himself a great deal.

Sam knew something of Dean's "list". The one thing that Sam knew for sure about Dean's list was that Dean didn't make his own god damn list.

Maybe, Sam thought as he gazed on his brother's shaking form, it's time I started my own list.

He could help Dean to repair his walls, but that door needed to be repaired too. Fixed so that it actually worked when it needed to. Doors were meant to open and close; let people in and out. Sam didn't want to destroy who Dean was. He loved his brother and wasn't naïve enough to think that Dean could be Dean without any walls at all, but everyone needed an escape route sometimes.

Sam checked his watch. Twenty minutes. Time to check Dean's temperature.

"Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Temperature."

"'K." almost inaudible. Sam put the thermometer in Dean's ear and waited impatiently.

"Hey, man. Down to 103.2. What say we take the ice away for a bit?"

"F…f…fine w…w….with m…m…me."

Sam quickly removed the bags of ice from around Dean and took them to the bathroom, dumping what remained in the bathtub. Sam was shocked to see how much of the ice had melted. He returned quickly to Dean's side bringing the ibuprofen and some water with him. The shaking had lessened a great deal when Sam removed the ice. Now he could hear Dean softly humming Metallica again. Sam laid his hand gently on Dean's shoulder. The thermometer might say the fever was down, but he still felt way too warm.

"Think you can take some more ibuprofen?"

"I c…c…can take it…not saying how long I'll keep it…" Dean groaned as he pushed himself upright enough to swallow the pills and a few mouthfuls of water.

"Not too much, Dean. I don't want you to get dehydrated, but don't overload your stomach either."

Dean sank back into the bed and his eyes fluttered closed again. Sam grabbed his trusty towel and after dampening it with warm water and alcohol, gently wiped his brother's face again.

Next Sam got yet another towel and dampened it with the witch hazel he had bought.

"Dean? I'm just going to put some witch hazel on your ribs and other bruises to help with the swelling."

Dean merely grunted in acknowledgement. He was tired. Moving hurt. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. He hurt too much to care that he was allowing his brother to take care of him like he was an invalid. He hurt too much to figure out which rule number he was breaking now. He didn't often wish to be unconscious but that was exactly what he was wishing for at the moment.

Sam carefully pulled the sheet from his brother again and proceeded to wipe any area devoid of an open sore down with the witch hazel which would remove a lot of the sting and bring down the swelling. It would also help reduce

Dean's body temperature, much like the alcohol, but without the sting and without drying out Dean's skin which would further dehydrate him. Dean wasn't shaking as much, so Sam was at least a little relieved. Once again, Sam gently eased the sheet up over his brother. This time he also pulled the blanket as far as his hips. So far, Dean had managed to keep the water and painkillers down which was a good sign.

"Dean?"

"Mmm?"

"Think you could try some Gatorade?"

"Stuff tastes like shit."

"You need it, Dude. You gotta avoid dehydration."

"K."

Once more Dean pushed himself up just enough to be able to drink the Gatorade for Sam. After a few swallows, Dean shook his head weakly. He knew even one more swallow and the whole lot, including the painkillers, was coming back up. He sank wearily back into the bed, regarding his brother through half closed eyes.

"You ok, Sam?"

"What?" Sam almost gasped, his eyebrows disappearing into his bangs in disbelief. He couldn't have just heard his half dead brother wondering if he was alright. It was vintage Dean – MIA in list territory.

"Dude. I'm fine."

"You look a bit like shit."

"Thanks. I'm good. Might just be that you can barely see straight."

"K then." It was better than a bedtime story for Dean. As soon as he was sure that Sam was ok, he could sleep. Then Sam sank wearily into the chair to watch his brother and wait another half hour to check his temperature and possibly re-apply the ice.

Sam had no intention of falling asleep, but he'd had precious little sleep himself in the last few days, and the worry and strain over Dean's injuries finally caught up with him. Sam was wrenched out of his cocoon of sleep by a sharp cry of pain and thrashing coming from Dean's bed. Sam glanced quickly at the clock.

"OH CRAP!" Not only had he missed the half hour deadline, he had also missed the two hour, check the concussion appointment.

Dean was clearly in distress. His face was flushed – but still no sweating. He was writhing and struggling against the sheet and blanket covering him, and every time he moved, he gasped or cried out as he aggravated one of his injuries. Sam quickly grasped him by the arms to immobilize him.

"Dean! Wake up!"

No response except more struggling.

"DEAN! STOP IT!" Sam did his best to mimic his father's best military tone. Dean instantly stilled. Sam knew that Dean would never disobey an order. Wasn't that what he'd been criticizing Dean for over the last few days? Blindly obeying orders. Sam cringed inwardly at using his father's tactics against Dean. But it wasn't against Dean, was it? This was helping Dean. God. I hate it when he's right, Sam thought, not sure even himself which he, he meant.

Sam rolled Dean back to his side as he'd managed to get himself onto his back and Sam didn't want him opening up those sores again. Grabbing the thermometer, Sam stuck it in Dean's ear and then swatted at Dean's hand as he tried to push him away.

"Dean? Are you with me bud?"

"Yeah Sammy." Dean's voice was barely a raspy whisper.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

"Don't 'member." Dean mumbled as the thermometer beeped.

"Sonuvabitch!"

"D…d…dude! That's m…m…my l…l…line!" Dean's teeth were starting to chatter again. No freakin' wonder, Sam thought.

"Dean. It's 104."

"Huh? What?"

"Your temperature, man. That's the magic number. I gotta get you to the hospital."

"S…s…sammy – n..n…no. C…c…can't d…d…do it. D…d…dangerous." Dean was panting with the effort of talking and shaking. Oh shit, Dean could feel it building in his chest, and he knew the chorus of chest, ribs, and back were going to have a field day, but he was powerless to stop the cough that was building. And then white light was exploding behind his eyes and he was coughing, and then worse, he was starting to gag. Sam managed to get the trauma tub and Dean managed to get over the side of the bed to bid farewell to the bit of Gatorade that was left in his stomach. Finally, he was done – in oh so many ways, he thought - and Dean lay gasping helplessly like a beached fish.

"Get more ice Sam. Worked the last time."

"Dean. It's not worth your life."

"G…g…give it 20 minutes Sam. If it doesn't go down, we can go." Dean tried harder not to let his teeth chatter.

Sam scowled, pressed his lips together, and huffed. Damn triumvirate, Dean snarked quietly to himself and smirked.

"Dude, what the hell is funny now?" Sam didn't wait for an answer but went and fetched more ice. Before packing the ice around his brother, Sam once again, gently washed his brother's entire body with witch hazel and alcohol. Dean was refusing to let Sam see him shiver. He couldn't stop his own body from betraying him, however. No way could Sam miss the heat radiating off of his brother or the fact that his nipples were rock hard as he bathed his chest. It was too soon for more ibuprofen if he wanted Dean to keep it down, but Sam did get Dean to sip some more water. It helped to ease the burning in Dean's throat and mouth. Once he had the ice packed around his brother again, Sam sat opposite him in his chair to wait out the twenty minutes.

"Sammy?" Dean regarded his brother through half-closed eyes yet again. The slit of green that Sam could see was still fever bright.

"Yeah Dean?"

"If you tell anyone that you turned me into Sponge Bob Square Pants, I will kill you."

"Trust me, Dude – it's our little secret." Sam glanced again at the clock. It was a little after 3am. If they were lucky, the antibiotics might arrive any time after 7am. Dean seemed to have drifted off again, and Sam shook his head as his own eyes started to drift closed. Dean started muttering in his sleep, his eyes darting back and forth under the lids. Suddenly, his eyes flew open --

"Sam!"

Sam almost fell off his chair it was so sudden and so urgent.

"What?! Dean?" Dean began to struggle under his blanket of ice as he seemed to be attempting to get up. Luckily he wasn't getting too far because of a combination of his injuries and the weight of the bags of ice. Sam gently placed a hand on Dean's shoulder to complete the restraint. He was momentarily struck by just how easy it was to prevent his brother from rising. Under normal conditions, even sitting on Dean with his height and weight advantage wouldn't insure that Sam could keep Dean down. Some days Sam was convinced that nothing could keep his brother down.

"Cut it out Sam. Let me up. Gotta go." Dean's words were urgent.

"Where's this coming from Dean? What the hell? Where do you think you have to go?" Sam frowned down at his brother. The slurring in Dean's words hadn't escaped his attention either.

"Mm, Dad. Gotta get Dad? He wanted me t' do something…" Dean became less focused and more slurred. Damn it. He's delirious again, Sam concluded.

"Dude. It's ok. Mission accomplished. You did what Dad wanted you to do; you got that fugly bastard just like you always do. You can relax. Go back to sleep."

"Huh? Right. Dad said he didn't want our help. My help. Yeah, sorry Sammy, I forgot. Just be in the way, or screw it up."

And that right there scared the crap outta Sam again. This was shit Dean would never say out loud; it was an indication of just how big a hole was still left in that damn door. And Sam wished with all his heart that the damn door was up again because hearing Dean doubt himself was breaking his heart – right until he was so angry with his father – again – that he was almost gasping for air.

Dean was the good son; he always followed orders and showed that damn blind faith in his father and never got any credit for it. John just took it for granted. But then, if Sam were honest, Dad wasn't the only one who took Dean for granted and occasionally manipulated his big heart for his own ends.

Sam suddenly also realized that Dean had lost someone at about the same time that he had lost Jess. Dean had lost Dad. Sure he wasn't dead, but he'd pushed Dean away and left a huge hole in his wake.

"Dad's wrong about this Dean. We need to hunt this thing down together. We could both help him."

"I want to see him. Need to know he's …k." If Sam hadn't been so close to his brother, he wouldn't have heard the whispered plea. "Sometimes, it's nice just to have to do what you're told, ya know?"

"Sure Dean." Sam's voice was quiet as he gently rubbed his brother's arm in an attempt to comfort him. He was startled when his wrist was grabbed in a surprisingly, and somewhat painfully, strong hand.

"Sammy!"

"Dean, what is it?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Not bein' ok with bein' alone. Making you stay. Disappointing you."

"Dude, we already covered this. You're not making me do a damn thing, so get over yourself already. And what the hell? You never disappointed me Dean. You're the best big brother I could ever have."

"I shouldn't have dragged you back into this, Sammy. You deserve more." Dean's words were still slightly slurred and his voice barely audible.

"Dean, I don't deserve anything any more than you do. You aren't the only one who cares about our family. Even if it is totally screwed up. And you aren't the only one who can make sacrifices for it, but it's not a sacrifice for me to be here with you now."

"Can't say I didn't try to let you go, Sammy. I tried to let you go when you went to Stanford. Hell, I held out for two years. I'm sorry I dragged you back. Tried to let you go on the road. But you did come back on your own this time."

"Had to save your ass, didn't I?"

Dean chuckled weakly and sighed, "Had a plan…" His hand finally let go of Sam's wrist and fell limply to the bed.

"Time to face the music; I'm gonna check your temp, again, and if it's not down, I'm taking you to the damn hospital." Sam inserted the thermometer.

"Well, F...fffrancis?"

Sam sighed and smiled slightly, "It's down a bit: 103.5. How about that ibuprofen now?" Sam realized that he should have recognized that Dean was becoming increasingly coherent as they talked – a sure indication that the delirium was passing as his temperature decreased.

"Thought you'd never ask." Once again, Dean propped himself up just enough to get the pills down and collapsed back onto the bed with a groan.

"I'm going to take the ice away again for a while."

"Totally no argument here."

By the time Sam dumped the latest round of ice and returned to his brother's side, Dean was once again asleep. Deciding it was ok to let him sleep for a while, Sam settled back into his chair. No way was he falling asleep again.

The rest of the night passed fairly uneventfully with Sam checking his brother's temperature and packing ice around him every forty minutes or so – 20 minutes on/ 40 minutes off – preceding each icing with an alcohol or witch hazel rub. Dean's temperature slowly but surely decreased. By 6:30 it was down to 102.5, and then finally, blissfully, and wonderfully, he began to sweat as the fever broke in earnest. Unfortunately, that meant a whole new level of torture for Dean as the salty sweat ran into the open sores on his back. That pretty much put an end to any more sleep for the immediate future.

Seeing that his brother was awake – more or less – Sam suggested another round of Gatorade and ibuprofen. Dean pushed himself up and took the offered painkillers and then collapsed back on the bed with a groan. Meanwhile, Sam was preparing his trusty towel.

"How about you let me wipe off the sweat?"

"How about I just grab a shower?"

"Dean, you can barely get up enough to take the ibuprofen; what makes you think you could stand in the shower?"

"Kill joy."

"Whatever." Sam smiled tightly to himself. Dean was definitely on the mend and sounding like, well, Dean.

"Thanks Sammy." Dean's voice was barely above a whisper and when he immediately started humming Metallica the humming was actually louder. The door was slamming shut. Sam was grateful for the little bit of insight he had gained into his brother.

Sam was just pulling the sheets back up over his brother when a knock at the door startled the both of them. Sam quickly crossed to the door and yanked it open to find the courier delivery guy he had been expecting. He practically yanked the package out of the poor guy's hands and almost forgot to tip him.

Sam quickly opened the parcel and removed the contents. Anitbiotics, decent painkillers, and an envelope, containing a hundred dollars and a note from Pastor Jim. The note read:

I think you currently have need of a little help, so please allow me the privilege of providing that help. When you feel up to travelling, why don't you swing by for a visit? I'd love to see you boys. Jim.

Sam smiled. He'd always appreciated Pastor Jim and never more than at that moment. He was pretty sure that Dean wouldn't want to take the time for a visit and would be embarrassed by the money, so Sam just pocketed the cash and the letter. He'd send Jim a proper thank-you when he got a chance.

"Well Sammy? Gonna share the Christmas package or keep it all for yourself?"

"Sorry." Sam quickly tapped out two of the antibiotics and one of the painkillers, moving to Dean's side and handing them to his brother with a glass of water.

"Think you could keep down a half a piece of bread, Dude? It says your supposed to eat with those pills." Dean groaned.

"I'll try."

Surprisingly enough, Dean was able to eat a whole piece of plain bread. Sam found he was starving and made himself a peanut butter sandwich. He couldn't help but smile as he ate and watched his brother nodding off.

"Dude. Stop staring at me. You are totally creeping me out. 'M fine, now. You're officially off duty, so turn in and get some sleep." Dean regarded his sibling through narrowed eyes.

"I don't want your temperature going back up…" Sam knew that his brother was over the worst now, but it scared him the sacrifices his brother was willing to make for him. The overpowering need Dean seemed to have to protect him.

"Sammy. It's over. Nothing to see here. Go. To. Bed."

"Ok." Sam admitted defeat. He stripped down to his boxers and visited the bathroom. Before climbing into bed, however, he insisted on checking Dean's temperature again – 101 – and got Dean to drink a little more Gatorade.

As he lay in bed almost too tired to sleep, Sam heard Dean grunt and shift around on his bed.

"You ok man?"

"Yeah. Just tired of laying in the same position for so long. Not much choice though as some idiot friggin' shot me…" Sam could hear the smile in Dean's snark.

"Well, I promise never to do it again." Sam cringed. "Really, Dean. I'm sorry."

"I'm just pullin' your chain. But if you ever shoot me again, I'll damn well shoot you back."

"No you won't."

"Well. I'll punch you even harder."

"I'm not going to shoot you again, Dean."

"Well, next time at least make sure I land on something soft – no more friggin' doors…"

"Dean! I'm not going to shoot you again. Ever. – Jerk."

"Bitch."

Several days later Sam was working away on the computer, and Dean was resting on his bed happily plowing his way through another bag of M&Ms. Sam was regretting getting his brother that much sugar. In between crunching, there was humming and foot giggling, which meant bed squeaking, which meant – hello – impossible to concentrate.

"Got us a gig yet, there geek-boy?"

"Dean, you're barely healed. Damn it, you're not healed."

"Prove it."

"How can I when you won't even let me look?"

"You can look, if you can catch me…"

"SO not going there."

"So. Got us a gig yet?"

Sam sighed and shook his head. He supposed he should be happy that he'd kept his brother immobile for this long.

"Ok. Here's something. I think I might be on to a rawhead." At least that would be a relatively easy hunt to start up with.

"Awesome! Look, there's something I've been meaning to try with the tasers…."

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed this. When I originally wrote this, it was supposed to be a one chapter one shot and just developed a life of its own. It still holds a special place in my heart because it was my first attempt to wander in the world of the Winchesters….