Dean Winchester stared at his unfinished creation. Sawdust covered the cement floor of his garage and various tools were spread across the small table beside him. He ran a hand through his messy wheat-colored hair in frustration and slammed his dysfunctional power drill on the table. His open beer knocked over from the impact and sprayed onto the floor.

"Dammit," Dean muttered, quickly grabbing the bottle before any more could spill out. He sat down on the metal chair behind him and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. He closed his eyes, and listened to his own breathing for a moment in an attempt to calm himself. After a few seconds, he felt large hands grab his shoulders and shake him violently.

"EARTHQUAKE!" He heard the voice behind him yell, and he jumped out of his chair. Dean turned around to watch his younger brother laugh his ass off, pointing a long tan finger at Dean's chest.

"Jesus, Sam! Don't—" Dean frowned as the younger Winchester gasped for air.

"Your FACE! Oh my God!" When Sam regained his breath, Dean remembered that Sam was supposed to be at work, not in his brother's house.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?"

"Oh, the case I was working on got dropped," Sam waved his hand dismissively. "I get the next few days off. I thought I'd stop by and see you since it's been, like, three weeks."

Dean nodded. He knew that three weeks was a long time without seeing his baby bro, as they were closer than most siblings. He saw Sam's gaze hover over the wooden project behind Dean. His eyes grew wide and he shuffled awkwardly. Crap.

"Dean are you building…a crib?" Dean sighed and nervously scratched at his neck. Well, he thought, he was gonna find out eventually.

"It was…it was supposed to be a surprise," Dean admitted.

"Oh man," Sam's face softened as he stepped closer and rested his hand on the crib. "All this work," He turned to face Dean. "Stores do sell this kind of thing you know."

"Ain't no baby of mine's gonna sleep in some IKEA piece of crap," Dean scoffed. Sam chuckled, and Dean became aware of what he just said. "Well…baby of my brother's," he corrected. Sam thought he detected a hint of sadness in the older Winchester's voice, but he let it go.

"This means a lot, Dean." Dean was far from short, yet Sam still towered over him. "And I know Jessica's gonna love it." Sam's wife Jess was nearly five months pregnant now with their first child. Dean was possibly more excited than the parents, but he tried not to show it too much. Sam reached out to him for a hug, but was playfully shoved away.

"Aw come on."

"No dude. I don't do that chick-flicky garbage."

"Fine then. Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean smiled as he turned back to his table of tools. "You know I would have this thing finished by the weekend, except my shitty drill isn't working." He picked up the drill and pressed and released the button several times.

"Is it charged?" Sam offered.

"No Sherlock, thank you. I would have never thought of that," Dean retorted with overflowing sarcasm. Dean had charged it, checked the battery, checked the tension, and did everything else he could possibly think of. He absent-mindedly began dusting off the sawdust stuck on the drill bit. "…And don't ask me about buying another one because this one is still new. I'm sure it still works, I just gottaaaAAAAAAHFUCKINGSHIT!"

Dean and Sam both froze. Dean looked up at Sam with green eyes as large as saucers. Sam mirrored the look, but was more focused on his brother's hand.

"I guess the drill works," Sam muttered without blinking.

The drive to the hospital took about eight minutes, and the boys were silent for most of the ride. Dean's left hand was tightly wrapped in a towel, the latter of which was soaked through with blood. After parking outside the emergency room, Sam led Dean through the glass doors and up to the counter.

"Welcome to Lawrence Memorial Hospital!" chirped a female receptionist with a too-white smile. "How can I help you?"

Sam hitched a thumb towards Dean. "My brother accidentally um, drilled his hand." Dean shot a nasty look at Sam's back for making him sound stupid, but he knew there was no other way of explaining it.

The woman's thin eyebrows furrowed, and she glimpsed at Dean's towel-covered hand. "Oh dear. Looks like we got another oopsie." She gave Dean a concerned look that would normally be seen by a child. Oopsie? Dean thought. This ain't no "oopsie" Blondie. It hurts like hell.

After asking them some routine questions, her smile returned. "Go ahead and have a seat, you should be admitted very very shortly!"

Luckily, the waiting room was almost empty, so they wouldn't have to wait long. A mother and her child who was vomiting blood into a bucket were taken into an admittance room as soon as Dean sat down, and across from him, a girl lay across one of the sofas. She grimaced as she watched the television, and Dean guessed her foot must have been broken because she rest the swollen limb on an armrest.

"It's amazing how that receptionist can be so happy while dealing with people in agony all day long," Sam commented, who seemed to steal the words right out of Dean's mouth.

"She's fucking sadistic, that's what it is," Dean mumbled, wincing from the throbbing pain his hand created. He glanced over at the woman, who was still smiling widely even though no one was speaking with her. Sam followed his gaze and shivered. "It's possible," he agreed.

When a nurse handed the two a healthy stack of paperwork, Sam insisted that Dean sign what he needed then go ahead and see the doctor while Sam filled out the rest. Dean would normally be polite and protest, but he was desperate to get some help. A red-headed nurse who introduced herself as Anna guided Dean to the ER and sat him down on a bed in one of the sectioned-off areas for patients. She removed the towel and examined his injury.

"Well…it didn't make it the whole way through, which is good, but you'll most definitely need stitches," she said.

"Trying to do my job Anna?" The deep, gravelly voice came from a dark-haired man with vividly cerulean eyes. He was surprisingly good looking, probably around his early thirties – about the same age as Dean.

"Doctor Novak!" she exclaimed, and stood up straight. "I thought you were busy right now." The doctor ignored her, instead waving his hand to dismiss her. She nodded her goodbye to Dean and scurried away. Dean was somewhat disappointed, he thought she was kind of cute.

"Dean Winchester. 31. Hand injury." The doctor looked up from the file he was reading and squinted at the gaping hole in his patient's left hand. "Oh God, why hasn't anyone at least tried to stop the bleeding yet?" The doctor sounded disappointed that his nurses couldn't at least give the guy an armband or ice pack or something. Dean was thankful that someone was finally more worried about treatment than paperwork.

Three hours later, Dean found himself in the post-op room. He had surgery to remove the tiny wooden shards stuck deep inside his palm, and stitches to close up the hole. Drowsy from the anesthesia, he open his eyes to see Dr. Novak staring down at him.

"Y-you have pretty eyes," drawled Dean. His mind was bouncing all over the place and he couldn't focus, but if there's one thing he knew, it's that Dr. Novak was one attractive man.

"Hi Dean. Your operation is over now. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. I-I'm like Jesus."

Dr. Novak rubbed his scruff in confusion. "What was that?"

"Jesus," Dean repeated. "All I need is two more holes." The doctor shook his head, smiling to himself. Loopy patients were sometimes quite entertaining.

Suddenly Dean was cackling loudly. "Jesus was holey! HAHAH!"

"I want you to rest a little bit longer, Dean. After that I'll let your brother see you," the doctor said gently. Dean then closed his eyes and relaxed. Dr. Novak turned to go get nurse Anna to watch over him, when he heard Dean speak again.

"Have you ever seen Doctor Sexy M.D.? You remind me of him. 'Cause…'Cause you're a doctor." Dean then giggled like a schoolgirl. "And you're sexy."