I wanted to see if I'm any good at hurting Dean so this could be considered as a practice fic, before I really dig into the story for which Darksupernatural gave me an idea for still hate you, girl. I hope I did this right…

And Enkidu07…You know before I get my ass to the computer the half of the day is already over. I hope you survived the wait and that this will be okay. I don't know…grrrr.

I don't own anything, but the mistakes. And I apologize for them. Oh and there is a slight spoiler for 3x08, I just had to sneak that in smiles.

Enjoy…

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His right hand instinctively found a place near Dean's heart, when he placed her on his chest. He carefully avoided the amulet, but he could feel the black strings on his palm. They didn't cut in him; they were just a soft telling of years gone by:

"Thank you Sam, I…I love it."

He felt the warmth seeping into his palm, not a very convincing reminder that Dean's still alive. Warmth can easily be a liar, deceiving you into thinking that all is alright. When it's really not.

But the rising and falling of his brother's chest, the slow updown motion, the expanding of his chest…that was the thing that convinced him that Dean was still here with him. He was just lost somewhere in the land between here and there.

That's good, Dean. Good. Breathing's always good.

He was mesmerized by how the shallow breaths raised Dean's chest. If he hadn't had his hand there, he would have thought Dean was dead.

Unaware and completely subconscious he synched his own breathing to the one of his brother.

He could feel Dean's heart hitting his chest, hitting the bone, nearly crashing her in the process. The same heartbeat was also a not too steady hitting to his hand; it felt good, it felt alive. Something was alive and fluttering beneath his hand, beneath the soft fabric, beneath the skin and bone. Alive.

's good, Dean, keep that heart beating.

He didn't dare to speak, didn't want to break the silence, didn't want to wake up his brother, didn't want to scare him. He even wanted the birds to stop that racket they were doing. But you can't stop the natural order of things. No matter how hard you try.

He wanted to see Dean's eyes, he wanted to hear him, wanted to know what hurts, what's wrong…wanted his brother. Now! All those thoughts contradicting themselves…all he wanted was his brother to wake up…that's all…now!

"Dean!!"

Too loud for the silence in the space. The birds flew away from the trees, making some of the leaves fall on the ground, when they hit them with their wings. A deer rumbled through a bush, the loud creek somewhere on his right almost stopped running at the sound of his voice.

"Dean!!" he found Dean's name stuck deep in his chest and shouted it out: "Dean!!"

He ran his hand up and down Dean's chest and felt the blister he was nursing from their previous hunt, protesting at the motion.

Dean's black shirt rose up with his hand, sneaking from behind his waistband. The amulet shifted on Dean's neck, falling into the dip of his neck, into the motion of Dean swallowing.

"Dean!!"

It all went silent again when he called out. Dean's breath hitched, his heartbeat sped up and his eye moved.

"Dean! Wake up, man."

He lowered his voice a notch, just so he could be able to detect any sound that Dean would let out.

A twig was under his knee, sticking her tiny form right into his bone. He shifted a little, and hit the soft leaves. He almost dipped into them, almost lost his balance. He pressed his hand onto Dean's chest a little more and that made a groan escape Dean's mouth.

"Dean?"

It was a whisper now, a gentle breath that only carried the sound to Dean's ears.

"Dean, hey, man come on, wake up."

He could feel Dean shift a little under his hand, his breathing speeding up, his heartbeat too.

Wake up man, please, just wake up. I'll do anything, anything, I'll even wax the Impala, I don't care…just please wake up. Wake up, wake up, wake up…

"Wake up!!" please.

…open your eyes…for me.

The sight of Dean falling on the ground, his limbs all over the place, his head hitting the floor with a noise that was as loud as a tree cracking in two…that sight would never leave his mind. Running to Dean was a blur to him, an act too disarrayed to even put into words. The only thing he remembers is a tree root, a damn obstacle that prevented his arrival to Dean's side sooner.

Another groan from Dean and Sam's own heart stopped, his breathing so in synch with Dean's that he couldn't even… he couldn't stop.

A wind blew around them, making the trees bump into each other and squeak. A few twigs flew by Dean's head, settling nicely somewhere next to his hair.

As if he could feel their descent, he groaned again.

"Dean, come on. Dude, please."

Sam was too afraid to do anything else than to just hold onto Dean's chest, his hand splayed as wide as it would go. That was the only contact he could afford, the only touch he knew wouldn't hurt his brother. He trembled; he was scared, he was in panic, but all that was just a sub tone to Dad's: "Suck it up boy and help him."

Another groan from Dean and he could feel him waking up. Literally felt his brother waking up, coming back from wherever he was.

"Dean!"

The sun was at his back, spreading the heat on his shirt, making it stick to his skin.

"Dean!"

Another groan and one crack in the eyes. The greenness was already shining through the small space and Sam wanted to hold his breath, but Dean's hitched and so did his.

"Dean, hey, hey, come on, wake up."

He scooted closer, his hand still open wide on Dean's chest and waited patently. He would wait like that until the end of days if that's what it would take.

But he needed his brother to wake up. Now!!

"Dean, come on."

Sam's voice was a steady pressure in his mind, a strong pull to consciousness, a rope he was climbing on. And when he reached the top, he screamed: "Smmy."

"Dean?" a pause to hear more and when 'more' didn't come, "Dean!"

The first sight he saw when he opened his eyes were Sam's eyes…a blurry image of that soft green in such delicate contrast to the deep green trees in the background. He couldn't clear his vision as fast as he wanted to, so he blinked. And blinked. And blinked. And when the sun hit his sensitive eyes, he closed them again. But the darkness and those little stars in the inside of his eyes weren't the things he wanted to see right now. He snapped his eyes open again and through his lashes he saw the bright light of the sun and a cloudy image of Sam. The sun was too bright, too hot, too much. But he needed to see Sam, needed to see if Sam was alright. The sun be damned.

"Sm…"

He tasted the dirt on his mouth and tried to spit it out, but that only resulted in almost choking himself to death.

"Easy, Dean, hey."

He helped Dean rotate his head a little to his right, to ease the coughing.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, come on, you'll be alright."

No need to scream anymore, no need to panic. Dean woke up, he woke up.

He wanted to wipe away the sweat he felt rolling down his face, wanted to wipe away that spit, he never managed to get on the floor, wanted to shield his eyes from the sun, wanted Sam…to be alright. So he raised his hand only to loose strength along the way. The clash with Sam's hand still resting on his chest was a loud one. A warm one. He could feel the bracelet Sam wore ticking his palm. He could feel the veins on Sam's hand stand out, little bumps to his palm. There was blood rushing in them, a blood they both shared. Weird.

Sam scooted closer if that was even possible with his long legs and broad shoulders, but he managed to block out the sun that was almost scorching Dean's eyes.

He could see Sam now, not a blurry form, not just glistering green eyes, not just the wayward hair, but his brother in his…entire figure.

"Sam?"

All there was, all there ever needed to be was in that name: what happened, why is your hand on my chest, why is my hand on yours, where are we, 'm hurt, aren't I, you're scared, it'll be alright, Sam.

When Dean's hand fell on his own, it was like he was burned. He looked down and saw the dirty, leaves and twigs covered hand. And bloodied and bruised and trembling.

"Dean, hey, you'll be fine. You'll be alright. You'll be O.K., alright?" he widened his eyes and spoke the words gently into the warm day.

"Sam…"

His head rolled to his left, his hair picking up the brown twigs and decayed leaves along the way. Closing his eyes once again, send Sam into a state of panic.

"Dean, open your eyes. You have too. Open them. Dean?"

No response, only a deep throat groan.

"Dean! Now, man! Just open them," one low blow coming right up, "for me."

And that low blow did its trick.

The eyelids came back up…back up for air. Sam could feel Dean's chest expand with a deep breath he pulled in and he followed it. The breath was a relief in a way…Dean's breathing was too shallow for Sam to keep up, but his body never wavered from keeping in synch.

"Dean, don't ever do that again, you hear me?!"

He drilled his gaze into Dean's eyes, searching for a sign of a concussion and after finding none, he sighed.

"Pushy are we?" he growled out, when he found his voice. Nothing was wrong with his vocal chords, the pain didn't disarmed them, didn't paralyze them. So he used them in a way he knew would send that tremble he felt on Sam's hand away.

"So? You're gonna wax my baby, huh?"

"What?"

"You said that if I open my eyes you're gonna wax the Impala."

"I wasn't…I didn't…I never…"

A blow of wind came and swung the trees again, making them crack.

"Cat got your tongue?" he smiled at the look Sam gave him. The kid didn't even realize he was talking out loud. This was serious.

"'s good to hear you, man." I don't care what you say, I don't care…I'll wax the Impala, I don't care.

"Don't get too excited."

"Whatever," he watched his brother's pale face, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes glistering and unfocused, "how do you feel?"

"Peachy."

"Yeah, well you look more like a lemon than a peach."

"What? I'm yellow?" he widened his eyes and looked at Sam's mop of hair that was falling into his eyes trying to hide the wetness there.

"You look like crap, Dean." he chuckled softly, barely making it there.

"I feel like crap too."

He was sweating, the ground was wet, his head was killing him, his vision was blurry, he wanted to pull up his legs, bend them at his knees, but they wouldn't budge. So he laid there, staring at the bluest sky he has ever seen and a tree branch swinging back and forth in the light wind.

"If I would fall like you did, I would feel like crap too."

"I fell?"

A cloud passed by and cast a shadow to the floor.

"It looked awesome, except for the cracking sound that came from your head."

"Did I at least get the bastard?"

"He got you and then I got him. It seemed like a fair trade."

The shadow went away and the sun came back.

"Nice, Sammy." Really nice.

"Yeah, well. Come on, how do you really feel?" Don't lie to me, please, don't lie to me, I'll beat the crap out of you, just don't lie to me…

"My head hurts, my back," he stopped like he was checking himself mentally for pains and aches, "a little. But I think nothing's broken."

"Aha," he raised his finger to his lips and brushed his lower lip as in thinking how to handle the situation, "let me check your head. That crack, I swear to God, it was like your head split open."

"Well it didn't and I'm fine."

"Sure," he drawled out, "can I just check it out?" the next set of words came as an afterthought, not really intended to be spoken: "I won't hurt you."

"With those big paws of yours, I don't know…" he grinned.

"Shut up."

"Ah, dude?"

"What? I didn't even touch you yet."

"Your hand…"

They both looked down at Dean's chest and how their hands were still laying on top of each other. Sam's still in close contact with the rise and fall of Dean's chest and Dean's in close contact with the warmth of Sam's hand. Each retreated his own hand, as if a fire ignited between them, snapping the link they held.

Dean's fell on the hard ground and Sam's on his thighs. He rubbed her on his jeans, wanting the warmth of Dean's chest back, wanting to feel him alive, when Dean broke in his thoughts: "Dude, my head's fine. Let's just go. I feel fine."

He tried to raise himself from the hard ground, but that only called Sam's hand on his chest again in an attempt to push him back down.

"Dean, man, I really think you should take it easy," he pushed Dean back on the ground, slowly, "I know your head's hard, but…just take it easy, alright?"

"Sammy, I get you're concerned, but I'm really fine."

"Aha, and when you pass out somewhere along the way and you throw up your insides…then tell me you're alright."

"Thanks for that mental image."

"You're welcome. Now lay back down and just for a second let me," take care of you, "see what your thick head has to say."

"Fine. If that'll bring me some peace, then by all means…" he relaxed onto the floor, made them his home for a while. He looked up to the tree above him, the branches full of green leaves swinging back and forth, playing with the sun, flickering light hitting Dean's eyes. He rotated his head and looked at Sam.

"You're annoying, so maybe your head isn't all that damaged."

"Funny."

Sam smiled back at him, all dimples and white teeth.

It'll be fine, everything will be fine.

He could feel Sam's hand on the back of his head, lifting him up a little, Sam's fingers tickling him along the scalp, warmth sipping into him through every pore, and when Sam let go of him…he wanted it back. It was comforting to know that he wasn't alone…here…now. It was always like that, even when those hands were skinny…all bones and skin.

When he was 'out', not passed out, not fainted, just 'out', he could feel Sam's hand on his chest, the warm pressure on his heart, the breathing Sam synched with his own…he wanted to go to that, being drawn to that, needed to go to that. Even though the pain was pissing him off, Sam's hand was there to calm everything down. As it always was, as it always will be.

"It doesn't feel cracked."

"Told you so." he sighed to the branch that was coming nearer to him with every soft wind that came its way.

"Your back?"

"It feels O.K. I'll just be sore tomorrow."

"Yeah, sure, right. Come on, you think you can turn on your side?"

"Oh, come on Sammy, let's just get away from here."

"Dean, please."

The pleading look Sam gave him with those big, wide eyes was enough to break him. Besides his back was killing him; no harm in letting little brother take a look at it.

"Yeah, just help me a little."

Help you? "Ah, sure. Here."

He grabbed Dean's shoulders and carefully rotated him on his side. The twigs and leaves rustled with the pressure and Dean left out a grunt, but no words. Weird.

The edge of Dean's shirt was wet from sweat and the moist the land still possessed from the cold night. He was careful in lifting her up, careful not to touch anything, to not aggravate any wounds that might be hiding underneath the black fabric.

A leaf was trying to find its way up Dean's nose and he blew it away. He could feel Sam's hands tugging up his T-shirt and putting her to rest near his shoulder blades.

"Son of a bitch, your hands are cold, man." He shivered when Sam's hand traced a line on his back, it was feather light but boy was it cold.

"Sorry," he sucked in some air, "You have some bruises, some cuts," some blood, "nothing serious."

But it really was serious…Dean's back looked like it was whipped; cuts and bruises, blood and dirt, needles and leaves…all over the place. Nothing mortal, just painful.

"Told you." well nice to know that I'll be suffering even more tomorrow.

"Come on, let's get you to the doctor. He'll give you the good stuff."

The words came to fast, to soft for his brain to register them.

"Awww, man. I don't wanna be groped by another set of cold hands, besides we have some pretty good stuff ourselves." He whined, but knew Sam would never let it slide. He was gonna see a doctor even if it kills him in the process.

"Suck it up. And no we don't, because we used it all on our last hunt… remember?"

He felt Sam's hands on his arms, lifting him up, up into the sky, up to where the world tilts itself and starts rotating…way to fast. He left out a whimper: "mm, Sam, son of a…" and Sam stopped.

"Can you stand? Dean?" he was being careful of Dean's back, careful in lifting him, careful in holding him, careful of not breaking him, careful…in looking out for him.

"Yeah, just give me a sec."

A second that became a minute that became two minutes. The clouds were making their way along the wide blue sky, covering the sun, the trees and Sam stood there, in the middle of the clearing, in the middle of the spot where Dean's blood was still visible on the dead leaves.

Just some bruises…nothing more. Not even a concussion. His head really is…hard.

"Dean?" he tightened his hold on Dean's waist, intertwining his fingers with his brother's shirt, scraping over skin.

"Pushy again?" the strain was heard in his voice, and Sam just tightened his grip…not letting Dean fall…ever. It was good to hear his brother's voice, good to see him, good to feel him, good to see him alive. A little bruised, but alive.

"Shut up."

He pulled Dean closer, closer to his own warmth, his own breath, his own heartbeat. He wanted Dean to have those, when his own were a bit on the sucky level at the moment.

The smell of forest strawberries and some sort of flowers chased after them as they stumbled towards the car.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You O.K.?"

"'m fine Dean. Let's just take care of you, alright? Now come on, drag your feet a little slower and maybe we'll hit the car sometime next week."

They both smiled, pain in Dean's and relief in Sam's…and hit the car a minute later.

"Oh baby, 's good to see you."

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The End.