Hello! I absolutely can NOT believe it is almost Christmas. I have my shopping all done...but yet to wrap a single present! :) I'm not quite ready for this!

Good news is, I'm ready for this story! I have done it, guys! I have a completed story to post! The last chapter is still getting finalized, but overall the story is finished! Plan is to post a chapter a day if all goes well. Huge, huge thank you to my wonderful beta, L.H. the Second! She is amazing folks and I so appreciate her help!

This story is set after episode 4.10, Heaven and Hell. PS this is NOT a deathfic. :) I'll put warnings on that one, folks, and read at your own emotional risk lol! This one is heavy just due to what season I'm setting it in and the things the boys were dealing with at that time, but it does have a happy ending!

Pieces of Us

December 21, 2008
10:49 pm
Two hours north of Sioux Falls, South Dakota

It was only because their plans always went so beautifully smoothly that Dean wasn't at all surprised about their current situation. He rolled his eyes at his own sarcastic thought. And then regretted it when the motion made the room swim and his head throb double time. Groaning, Dean eased his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

If their current situation hadn't been so rotten, it would have been hysterical. Because it was four days till Christmas and they were trapped in the musty parlor of a house that was decidedly and frustratingly not haunted. There was a piece of wood stabbing him in the left side and he'd hit his head hard enough that he was still seeing stars. Given the way he'd wound up in this mess, though-one wrong step on a rotted floorboard-it was almost funny. Might have been funny if he wasn't bleeding from at least three places and Sam wasn't lying on the floor crying.

Actually, legitimately crying.

Well maybe not crying, Dean mused. But moaning and groaning for sure. Dean swallowed hard, trying to control his breathing against the sharp pain running through his body. For the fifth time in as many minutes, he asked hoarsely, "How're you doing there, Sam?"

The only response he got was a half-laugh, half-sob that was 10% sarcasm and 90% pain. Looking over at Sam, Dean could easily see the awful pallor of Sam's face and the way his eyes were squeezed tightly closed. Dean prompted, "Sam?"

"What?" The first thing he'd said in five minutes.

"How's it going over there?"

Another half-sob, half-laugh, then Sam asked through gritted teeth, "How fast're you bleeding?"

It was a legitimate question. Dean could feel the warm, wet stickiness of blood on his side, just under his elbow, and, knowing it was probably the worst of his injuries, said, "Slow leak. Take your time."

Dean heard another groan.

The day had been rotten and gone downhill from there. The week had been the same and, come to think of it, the whole freakin' year had been crap. It would have seemed that after being brought back from hell anything would be an improvement. But finding out your little brother had been shacking up with a demon had somewhat dulled Dean's enthusiasm for his return. The fact Sam was using his magic powers like he'd promised he wouldn't was icing on the Welcome Back from Hell! cake.

With the broken pieces of the house scattered over and around him, Dean couldn't help but feel like it was an appropriate illustration of their lives. A bunch of broken pieces. Broken hope. Broken trust.

Even as familiar anger quickly began to burn in his gut, Dean felt it fade just as quickly when he looked back at Sam.

Because it was very difficult to be angry with someone who was in too much pain to move.

Not that he could exactly move either, Dean thought, wishing he wasn't buried under the second floor of the house and being skewered with wooden shrapnel. His reason for not being able to move had more to do with how he was wearing the upstairs bedroom. Sam wasn't moving because neither of them were quite sure he hadn't broken something important.

Like his back.

Dean listened to Sam's strained breathing and sighed. Sam had seriously screwed up his back in the fall and then his attempt to move some of the debris off of Dean's lap had resulted in him collapsing to the ground like he'd been hit by a truck. That had been about twenty minutes ago.

And he hadn't moved since.

"Not getting any better?" Dean asked, wishing he'd come up with a brilliant solution to their problem.

"No." Sam's reply was a choked off grunt.

"Dude, what the heck did you do?" Dean asked, concern escalating with every moment that Sam continued to lay there unmoving. "Are you sure nothing's broken?"

'No." Sam answered immediately, then added hesitantly, "I don't think so."

"Sam?" Dean cursed as he struggled yet again to get out from under the debris. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get loose. He needed… "Sam?"

"Still here-"

"Planning to stay long?"

"Got….somewhere to be?" Sam's voice was breathless and brittle.

"We had discussed raiding Bobby's pantry for the liquor and pie," Dean said, pushing against the board pinning his left leg to the ground. He heard Sam's humorless snort and tried to wiggle his arm. Nothing. Shifting the fraction of an inch required so he could see past the bed frame that was pressing against his left shoulder, Dean added, "Pie, Sam I wanted pie."

He didn't get a response and narrowed his eyes, squinting through the gloom. The room was frigid and Dean felt a chill run through him. Might have been the winter weather or the blood loss; might have been the fact that Sam's face, tilted toward him, was bone white and streaked with tears.

Maybe he had been crying! Dean wasn't in the mood to tease him about it, though. He knew the pain had to be debilitating if Sam still wasn't moving.

"Sam, seriously. What are you thinking here?" Dean asked, wishing he could get a better look at his brother. "You don't think you broke anything, right? So what? Did you just twist it wrong and throw it out when you fell?"

"I think so." Sam muttered, his eyes sliding open. He rolled his head slightly, glanced at Dean and said, "Sorry."

Dean shook his head. "Not your fault. The house fell on both of us. I'm not exactly being very helpful here myself."

"Just give me a minute," Sam said softly.

"Take your time. We've got nowhere to be." Dean smiled wryly.

"Maybe a hospital." Sam snorted.

"That bad?"

"You're bleeding all over the place."

"Not all over the place," Dean said, then amended his statement. "Just one spot. I can't exactly move here, you know."

"I know the feeling."

Dean hated being trapped more than almost anything else in the world and he was feeling trapped now. He was trapped and nothing he'd tried so far had even so much as budged the debris. Sam was free, but he was in too much pain to move. If he had tried, Dean doubted he could have come up with a more ridiculous situation. Even as terrible as things had been going - angels and demons shoving destiny and fate - at them at every turn, there had been a small part of him that had held out hope they might manage to have a decent Christmas.

So much for that. Should have known better.

His morose thoughts were interrupted by a sharp intake of breath and a pained groan. Dean frowned and asked, "What're you doing?"

"Not much." Sam laughed and, for once, it sounded genuine.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Unbury you."

"To do that...well, you sort of need to be back over here picking up this crap that is sitting on me."

"I'm on my way-"

Dean laughed this time because it was so ridiculous. Sam hadn't so much as lifted a finger, let alone done anything else that would give any indication that he would ever move again. Dean said, "At this rate, we're gonna die of old age before I die from shock."

Sam's head tilted more and his eyes were wide with concern as he asked, "Thought you weren't bleeding that much."

"It was a joke, slow poke," Dean said, wiggling his feet to try to restore some circulation. "Maybe you shouldn't try to move. What if you did break something?"

What if he didn't break something? What if...Dean forced the thought of paralysis away, swallowing hard against the nausea the unspoken fear brought with it.

"So what then? We just die of old age like you said?" Sam asked. He managed to shift his left hand without seeming to cause himself excruciating pain. "Because so far that's the only alternate plan that we have."

Dean stared at him, sensing the same helplessness that Sam obviously was feeling. He shook his head and started pushing against the boards again. If Sam couldn't move, then Dean was just going to have to dig himself out from under a house on his own.

Sam saw the resolution in Dean's eyes and recognized the exact moment that his brother made up his mind. Given the fact that he felt like one wrong breath would be enough to break him in half, Sam couldn't blame Dean. He stared up at the sky through the gaping hole where the upstairs had once been and cursed the day, the week, the month, and maybe his whole life as long as he was at it. It was four days till Christmas and, even if nothing was going right between them, he had actually been hoping they could just take a few days off and have a quiet Christmas.

Like the last one.

Sam slammed his eyes closed, not wanting to allow another tear to fall. The pain in his heart and soul was no less sharp and all-consuming than the pain in his back. Every single day he relived the moment Dean had died; felt the hopelessness and loss like a tangible thing. Even now that he had his brother back, Sam couldn't stop seeing Dean's shredded body every time he closed his eyes. Couldn't help waking up most nights, if he slept at all, breathless with fear that Dean wouldn't be in the other bed next to him; that it had all been a cruel dream.

A grunt of pain from Dean drew his attention back to the present and Sam glanced over at him. For all the determination in his eyes, it was obvious Dean wasn't accomplishing anything. Sam looked back up at the sky. This had been a simple case that had turned out not to be a case at all. They had laughed about it and been heading out of the un-haunted house when the rotted floorboards had given way and sent them to the first floor-without the benefit of using the stairs. He'd known immediately that something was wrong when he'd sat up and nearly passed out from the pain. Not being able to see his brother under the debris had motivated him through the agony and Sam had pushed himself to his feet, gritted his teeth, and started digging.

Dean had been unconscious at first and it took several panicked moments of calling his name before he had finally roused. Although bleeding from a cut over his eye and obviously more than a little disoriented from the smack on the head, Dean had been lucid. He'd also been pinned beneath the wreckage and reported, after some prodding, that yeah he probably was hurt more than he wanted to admit considering the piece of wood skewering him through the side. His admission that he was bleeding had spurred Sam's efforts to unbury his brother which had unfortunately led to his current predicament.

Knowing he'd already injured his back, Sam had tried to be cautious, but you could only be so cautious when trying to lift wooden beams off of your brother. And he'd been doing fine until one wrong twist and lift motion had sent him straight to the ground, nearly catatonic as the sharp pain tore through him. Dean had spent several minutes shouting at him before Sam could even muster the ability to speak through the haze of agony.

Even now, he could barely breathe without wanting to come out of his skin. He'd pulled muscles in his back before, strained his back digging up graves, but that had been nothing compared to the gripping pain he felt now. Every single twitch made him fear that he would never be able to move again.

Sam heard Dean cursing. Being trapped had clearly not limited Dean's considerable vocabulary. Despite the pain, Sam smiled. Dean might be buried and bleeding, but he would tear the whole house down with his teeth if he needed to in order to get them out.

"Dean."

"What?" Dean practically shouted. Obviously his patience had taken a beating, too.

Sam didn't reply, but took a deep breath and used whatever last shred of willpower he possessed to ignore the shattering pain in his back as he rolled onto his side.

Everything faded into nothingness except for the feeling of what seemed to be a gigantic vice clamping down on his lower back. Lightning ran up to his head and down his legs and he choked back the rising nausea. Throwing up was only going to make things worse. By the time the room started coming back into focus and the vice started to let up, he could hear Dean shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Sam!"

"Here," Sam said, just barely above a whisper. He might as well have been shouting because that one word had the power to quiet his brother's panic stricken calls.

"Sam?" Dean's voice went back to being soft, concerned.

"Yeah?"

"Seriously. Hold still will you? I don't want to end up hauling your butt to surgery because you broke your back in half."

Sam gritted his teeth. He already felt like one wrong move would snap his back in half; he didn't need to hear it from Dean, too. He could hear the frustration in Dean's voice and understood why Dean was feeling the way he was, but being an idiot about it wasn't going to help anything.

So he said, "Shut up."

Dean did, but Sam could hear him redoubling his efforts to get himself out from under the debris. He wasn't going to get far. Unclenching his fist and forcing his hand down against the floor, Sam tried to keep breathing as he levered himself upright into a half sitting position. More or less. It was only because he didn't want to pass out again in front of his brother that Sam's stubbornness prevented him from giving in to the warm blackness that overtook him as he sat up. Through the buzzing sound in his ears and the murky blackness he was swimming through, Sam could hear Dean's voice.

And it wasn't his annoyed tone of voice now, it was his seriously worried tone.

It took a long time before Sam could see past the dark spots in his vision and pull Dean's face into focus. Dean was pale, sweaty, and Sam realized they needed to get out of this house now. Because Dean was obviously bleeding more than he was admitting. Swallowing back the ever rising nausea, Sam tried to sound fine, but sounded half dead even to himself when he whispered hoarsely, "Dean."

"Sammy? How you doing?" Dean sounded incredibly tired, his voice devoid of the earlier frustration.

Sam held very still, certain that a deep breath was going to break him in two. He tried to find something to say that would not increase Dean's worry. He finally asked, "D'you think Santa'll find us here?"

Dean's eyes went wide for a split second, then he laughed and leaned his head against the wall behind him and said, "I dunno, Sam. It's not like you've exactly been a good boy this year, is it? Sleeping with Ruby? Think that rates the naughty list."

And even though he could tell Dean was teasing him and not trying to start an argument, his words still stung. Badly. Sam chose to believe the tears that sprang to his eyes were due to the near crippling pain in his back and not from what Dean had said.

"Hey," Dean interrupted his thoughts.

Sam blinked to clear his vision and easily saw the regret in Dean's eyes. Sam inched up a little more and asked, "So does that mean sleeping with an angel gets you on the nice list?"

The regret instantly turned to disbelief. Dean sputtered for a moment, then asked, "How do you know about that?"

Keeping his left arm braced against his stomach while he drew his knees up in the hopes of eventually getting to his feet, Sam said, "You're not exactly subtle. You and Anna disappeared at the same time."

"So?"

"So what? You two just off playing Scrabble?"

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Dean smirked. "But no. It was Twister. Just like you and Ruby've been playing."

Feeling shaky all over and ill, Sam held Dean's gaze, trying to gauge his brother's mood. He asked, "Did you win?"

Dean laughed and some of the pain got just a little bit better. Sam smiled.

Dean said, "You bet I won."

He said it in the absolute dirtiest way possible and Sam groaned.

"Eww." Sam teased because it was the little brother thing to say and sometimes they both really needed that. He got to his hands and knees and crawled forward, whispering, "I think I lost."

"Yeah." Dean said softly, sounding weary beyond words and apologetic, not angry. "I think you did."

Sam looked up at him and, for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he had a big brother again.

Dean saw the surprise in Sam's eyes and hated it. How long had it been since he'd just acted like Sam's big brother and not his parole officer? Staring at Sam as he tried not to gasp in pain with each inch he crawled forward, Dean felt every bit of the stress and fury he'd been swallowing whole ever since he'd first discovered that his little brother had been keeping company with a demon.

Felt it and shoved it to the deepest recesses of his mind. Because it was nearly Christmas and he was alive and if they could just get out of this mess, maybe they could spend Christmas together and just be brothers again for a few hours at least. Maybe without angels or demons or anything in between. Giving up any attempt to move since all he was doing was digging that board deeper into his side, Dean tried to relax and do the one thing that lately had become the most difficult for him to do.

Trust Sam.

And somehow, watching him lever himself to his knees, one hand on the wall and one on Dean's right shoulder, it seemed so simple, so normal that it ached. Feeling his brother shaking as he gripped his shoulder for support, Dean said, "Maybe you should try to go for help."

"I'm not leaving you here." Sam shook his head, taking a deep breath.

Dean watched him struggling to get to his feet. As painful as it was to watch his stiff and awkward movements, Dean knew it felt ten times worse to Sam. Sweat was pouring down his face and Dean wasn't sure if he should be worried that Sam was going to throw up on him or if he was going to pass out. But he looked stubborn and dead set on what he was doing. Sighing, Dean knew there would be no reasoning with him at this point.

"Fine, but if you throw up on me, I will leave you here," Dean muttered, glaring at Sam without any real heat.

"Not gonna throw up," Sam insisted, but he had to pause and lower his head for a minute, breathing very carefully.

Dean stared up at him and wished he had an umbrella. Or that his brother wasn't standing right above his head looking sick. Thumping his fist against Sam's ankle, Dean said, "I swear, Sam, if you puke on my head-"

"Shut up or so help me I'll kick your ass."

Dean snorted. "You will need my help to kick my ass at the rate you're going there, grandpa."

"You really do want me to leave you here, don't you?" Sam asked, and Dean could just barely see the smirk; weak as it might have been.

"I don't exactly see you going anywhere fast. With me or without me." Dean tapped Sam's ankle again as he asked, "How're you doing being vertical again?"

"Ok." Sam said, not even trying to act like he was anything other than completely miserable.

"Alright, well just take it slow, ok?"

"Slow is the fastest I'm going to be able to move whether I like it or not," Sam muttered, shifting slightly and grabbing hold of some of the debris that was pressing down on Dean.

He had barely shifted anything and Dean was holding his breath. One wrong move and Sam would be back on the ground. A different wrong move and the pile of crap would probably crush him where he sat. Dean felt some dust trickle down over his face and he squeezed his eyes closed, fighting the urge to sneeze. The way his ribs felt, to say nothing of the pressure from the stick in his side, sneezing would be a very bad thing to do. Sam tugged on something and Dean bit back a scream as something heavy suddenly pressed down into his left thigh.

Squeezing Sam's ankle, literally the only part of his brother he could reach with his arm pinned the way it was, Dean forced himself to be calm as he gasped, "Sam, stop. It's...it's on my leg."

"Sorry, sorry," Sam said quickly. He was moving something that Dean couldn't see, but a split second later the pressure was released and Dean's leg was no longer being crushed. Not only that, but he could actually move his entire leg for the first time. Sam's voice was strained as he asked, "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Dean nodded, shaking his foot and trying to regain some sensation in his leg.

He looked up as Sam shoved something off to the side and pressure released on his left shoulder. Moving his left arm was both a relief and a pain. Because the movement of his arm only served to demonstrate how screwed up his left shoulder and side were. The piece of wood in his side was still there; probably a good thing given the fact he could feel the blood still slowly leaking down his side into his jeans. But now that the pressure was gone, Dean realized that there was something wrong with his shoulder. He didn't even need to glance at it to know it was dislocated. Again.

Hadn't even been that long since he'd popped it out of the socket jumping out of a window fleeing Alistair. Dean closed his eyes against the pain and the even more painful memory. Just as his thoughts started to travel that dark path, he realized Sam wasn't moving. At all. Looking up, Dean leaned his head back against the wall and saw that Sam was leaning against that very wall, breathing raggedly and looking completely spent.

"Sam?"

"Give me a minute," Sam whispered breathlessly, eyes closed, forehead against the wall.

"Take your time," Dean said and meant it.

He was feeling a little less claustrophobic now that he could move a bit. Gritting his teeth, he tried to see if he could get himself the rest of the way free, but he was still trapped. So he just tried to keep his left elbow pressed just above the wood that was spearing him and attempted to be patient even though patience wasn't a virtue he really associated with on a typical basis.

"Not sure-" Sam grunted, struggling with another piece of wood until it dropped with a heavy clunk to the ground, "if I can get...that piece-"

Dean didn't have to ask what he meant. "I can get this one. It's not even in that deep."

He glanced down at the offending piece of wood. It hurt like the dickens but it truly wouldn't be anything he couldn't deal with on his own. Once Sam got a bit more of the debris off him.

Looking back up Dean said, "You, my brother, aren't going to be leaning over for a good while into the future. Guess I'll be tying your shoes again like I did when you were two."

Sam laughed, even if it still sounded strained. "I don't need you to tie my shoes."

"Dude, you needed me to get yourself off the ground a minute ago."

"Did it myself," Sam insisted, sounding like a petulant two year old.

Dean rested his head on the wall and stared with unfocused eyes at the piece of wood in front of his face as he said, "Yeah. You did. But you needed my help."

"Dean," Sam whispered, his movements paused.

For a long moment they were completely silent. Dean didn't know where they went from here because Sam had needed him and he hadn't been there and they were paying the heavy price of his absence every single day. The pain in his side and shoulder had nothing on the agonizing pain of knowing that Ruby had been able to step right up and manipulate his little brother into who knew what exactly because Dean hadn't been there and Sam had been so desperate to do something, anything, to try to save him. And now they were so far apart standing side by side that he didn't know how to bridge that gap.

"Dean." Sam's voice was a little stronger.

"What?"

"Can...can you try sliding to the other side?"

"Maybe." Dean realized some of the pressure on his body had lessened. There was still the issue of the jagged board digging into his side. If he moved, he was going to have to pull that thing out and then who knew what kind of trouble he was going to be in. "I'm going to have to pull this out if I'm going to be able to go anywhere."

Sam's face tilted down and Dean could see the pain and concern. "How deep is it in?"

"Not that deep." Dean assured him. "Honestly. It hurts and I'm oozing but I'm not going to bleed out if I pull this splinter."

"More than a splinter."

"Ok, toothpick."

"It looks like a piece of the stair rail."

Dean scowled. Hearing that just made it hurt worse. He griped, "Seriously? No need to be so specific."

"Hurts more now, doesn't it?" It almost sounded like Sam was smiling.

Bastard.

"Of course it does, you sadist." Dean growled.

"Sorry." Sam apologized. He followed the statement up with a gentle nudge of his knee against Dean's good shoulder. He sounded out of breath when he added, "Dean? Can you...hurry?"

"Yeah." He heard the strain in Sam's voice.

Dean took a deep breath to steel himself against the pain. He wasn't looking forward to pulling a piece of wood out of his side, but he didn't have a choice. Especially when it sounded like Sam was about to fall over. Again. Gritting his teeth, Dean slid an inch to the right, realizing as he did that Sam was holding the debris up enough to allow him that movement. The inch shift was enough to allow him to lift his right arm and grab the piece of wood while he kept his left arm carefully pressed to his side in an attempt to keep the shoulder still. His left leg wasn't completely free yet, so he was limited in his mobility but managed to slide another inch to the right while he gripped the piece of wood then pulled it out. The thing came out easier and far less painfully than he'd expected, but even so it made his eyes water and he bit his lip to keep from shouting out in pain.

Once the dull roar in his ears had died down, Dean blinked away the darkness. "I'm ok."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He glanced down at his side, staring at the blood. It wasn't that bad. Dean looked up. "I'll keep."

Nodding, Sam said, "Ok, slide a bit more if you can."

Dean did and even managed not to shout when he jarred his shoulder. Reaching out with his right hand, Dean gripped a piece of what might have been a dresser and pulled himself out further. His left leg was still pinned, but already he could feel a bit of give, especially when Sam changed what he was pulling on and the board on his ankle lifted. Another painful moment and he was curled up on the floor, sweating despite the cool air and holding his dislocated shoulder tight to his chest. Dean heard a thud as some of the debris Sam had been holding hit the ground.

"Dean?" Sam asked, still standing straight up against the wall.

Looking up, Dean managed a shaky nod. "I'm ok. Give me a second."

Sam nodded, still leaning against the wall. At least he was still on his feet, Dean thought. One less Winchester brother to pick up off the floor.

"You going to be able to get up?" Sam sounded apologetic.

"Yeah," Dean said even though he couldn't quite find it in himself to move.

The blood was warm on his side, but the flow didn't seem to be increasing much with his movement, so he figured he wasn't going to bleed out anytime soon. Probably would need a few stitches. And a tetanus shot. He grimaced, shifting so he was lying on his right side. The only way he was going to get off the floor was if he could push himself up with his right arm. Because his left arm was out of commission and so was Sam. And it was the knowledge that Sam was standing there, willing but unable to even reach down and offer a hand to help him up, that spurred Dean to movement. It seemed to take a lot longer than it probably should have, and it hurt every bit as much as he expected it to, but he finally joined his brother in leaning up against the wall.

Shoulder and side throbbing, Dean swallowed against the bone dry lump in his throat and rasped, "Need a drink."

"You make it to the car and I'll buy you one." Sam's voice wasn't any stronger.

"Huh." Dean raised an eyebrow, studying his brother. Sam looked so tense that it made Dean physically hurt for him.

"I could go for a drink, too," Sam said wearily.

Dean waved a hand toward the door. "Let's go get the good drugs. Merry stoned Christmas to us."

Sam sighed but nodded and Dean held his breath as he took a slow step forward. With the wreckage all around, it was like an obstacle course to get out of the house and Dean had a hard enough time given the pain from his shoulder and side and the unsteadiness that came from the knock on the head. But he found it a breeze to get through compared to Sam. Standing at the front door, Dean waited as patiently as he could for Sam to catch up. As he'd walked, he'd been kicking pieces of wood and broken glass out of the way for Sam. It had been a good thing, too, because his brother could barely move in anything but a halting shuffle. Last thing they needed was for Sam to trip.

"A few steps and you're golden." Dean leaned against the doorframe and cast a longing glance down at the Impala. So close yet so far.

"Keys," Sam said breathlessly, inching forward until he was standing next to Dean.

"Ha." Dean shook his head, going down two of the front steps.

He hesitated there, looking back at Sam. Sweat was dripping down Sam's face despite the cold night air, and the extremely guarded way he was breathing told Dean exactly how much he was hurting. A gnawing ache in the pit of his stomach had Dean almost taking those two steps back up in order to give his brother a hand. He certainly looked like he needed it as he cringed and gasped, taking the first step awkwardly; his knuckles white as he clung to the rickety railing. Not that long ago, Dean would never have left him to cross the room by himself, let alone try to get down a set of steps with what was probably a sprained back.

But Dean was angry and hurt and scared and more lost than he'd been in years; he felt every single inch of the painful divide that had sprung up between them and he couldn't move. He just watched Sam struggling and then turned and walked down the last two steps.

"Dean."

"What?" Dean didn't turn, kept his left arm cradled close to his chest. His head had been hurting all along, but now it was crossing the line from annoying to downright agonizing.

"Keys," Sam repeated, his voice louder and more determined than it had been a moment ago.

Dean turned around. Somewhat surprised that Sam had made it down the last two steps as quickly as he had, Dean saw Sam had his hand out and he shook his head. "You have to be kidding me. You're not driving."

"Well, you're not driving either." Sam's voice rose another decibel. "You've probably got a concussion. In case you didn't realize it, your face is covered in blood and I can see how much that hole in your side has been bleeding. You're lucky you haven't passed out yet."

Dean took a quick glance at his side and realized that Sam probably had a point given the way his jeans were soaked with blood. And he couldn't see his face, but he could feel the throbbing headache and a quick touch of his face left his fingers tacky and red. He lowered his hand and glared. "I'll be fine. You're the one who can't move."

"Guess we're just gonna stand here till next year then, huh?" Sam asked, proving Dean wrong by taking a step in front of him.

A literal immoveable object.

Dean's glare intensified. So did the sharp pain in his side and shoulder. His insistence that he was going to drive faded like a burned out match. He held the keys out to Sam and said, "Only because I'm sick of listening to you complain that I never do what you say."

Sam rolled his eyes and took the keys. Any brief annoyance or anger he had possessed faded in a heartbeat and he asked quietly, "You gonna be able to-"

"You're the one who's gonna need the Jaws of Life to pry you out of the car when we get there," Dean said, not exactly joking as he watched Sam limp stiffly toward the driver's side of the Impala. Pulling the passenger side door open, Dean asked, "Are you even going to be able to sit down?"

"Just get in." Sam huffed, already struggling to get his door open.

Dean felt a pang of sympathy as he watched Sam carefully reach down while trying desperately not to bend at the waist or twist in any way. Not an easy task, especially for someone so tall. By the time Dean was sitting in the car and had pulled the door closed with a few choice words given the sharp pain the movement caused him, Sam had managed to get his door open.

And that was it.

Dean watched a full two minutes tick by on his watch before he asked, "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you going to walk?"

Sam snorted. "It might be easier."

Dean shook his head. "I'll drive. Get in the back."

"How's that supposed to help?" Sam sounded incredulous.

"Just stay stretched out-"

"I haven't been able to stretch out back there since I was-"

"Well, what then?" Dean snapped, tension and pain throbbing behind his eyes and down his entire body.

Sam responded by moving quicker than Dean had thought possible under the circumstances. With a barely disguised moan of pain, Sam folded himself into the driver's seat. He was shaking and holding himself so stiffly that Dean was afraid he might break if he shook any harder. The door remained open and the cold air was really starting to bother him.

"You gonna close that door?" Dean hated himself for being such a jerk, but was unable to stop the words.

He did manage to hold his tongue while he watched Sam's eyes squeeze close as he tried to regulate his breathing. It was the death grip he had on the steering wheel that convinced Dean. There was no way Sam was going to be able to turn and pull the door shut. Sam was silent while Dean got out of the car, hobbled around and slammed the door, then hobbled back around and got back into the passenger side seat. Dean slammed his own door, regretted it when the spike of pain through his brain increased, then rested his head against the seat back, slumping down and looking over at Sam.

Sam had released his right hand from the steering wheel and was trying to get the key into the ignition with a hand that was shaking like a leaf. Dean sighed, but didn't move. His last bit of energy had been exhausted. By the time Sam finally got the key into the ignition, Dean was feeling more than a bit lightheaded.

He closed his eyes, intending to open them back up immediately, but the lightheadedness drifted him right into the arms of unconsciousness before he even heard the familiar sound of the Impala's engine starting up.

The loneliness swept over him the moment Dean's eyes closed. It felt like the day after Dean had died and he had been left completely and truly alone. Sam tightened his grip on the wheel even though his fingers were already cramping. The cramping did help take his mind off the stabbing pain in his back. But nothing took his mind off the fact that Dean was unconscious and bleeding in the seat next to him.

It also didn't take his mind off the fact that Dean was about a thousand miles beyond pissed with him.

Sam sighed heavily, then gritted his teeth when a bump in the road sent a jagged spike of pain straight through his back. He was driving faster than he ever should have been under the circumstances, but with Dean bleeding and unconscious, he wasn't inclined to slow down. Now that they were out from under the house and on their way to a hospital, Sam had plenty of time to think about every single thing he had ever done wrong in the past year. And then, because the drive was long and he had nothing better to do, he went ahead and started thinking about every single thing he had ever done wrong in his entire life.

"Sam?"

Sam was so surprised to hear his brother's voice that he tensed up enough to cause a painful muscle spasm that had him gasping in shock.

"Sammy?"

Dean sounded concerned and Sam managed to turn his head enough to glance at Dean and ask, "You with me again?"

"Mostly. Sometimes." Dean's voice drifted in and out. "You doin' ok?"

Sam snorted. "Mostly. Sometimes."

"Y'look like crap. How's the back?"

"Hurting. How's the side?"

"Bleeding."

Sam tried to shift to get a better look, but even the slight twisting motion nearly had him coming out of his skin and he felt lightning running down his legs. For a moment, or maybe longer, he was aware of nothing but the contradictory sensations of pain and numbness that flooded his system. Then he could hear Dean's voice starting to come through the fog.

"Sam!"

Swallowing hard against the nausea, Sam managed to nod his head. Which evidently wasn't enough for his brother. Jerk. Does he actually expect words?

Dean's voice rose as he shouted, "Stay on the road!"

Sam blinked, realized he was halfway into the oncoming lane and swerved back into the correct lane. More or less. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like someone was physically punching him in the chest with each beat. The pounding and the pain didn't go away, but he was finally able to regain his focus and this time when Dean called his name, he managed to respond this time. With words and everything.

"I'm ok."

"Sure y're." Dean's voice was slurring whether from the head injury or the blood loss and exhaustion, Sam wasn't certain. And in a way it didn't really matter. Because, either way, it wasn't good.

"Hang on, Dean. Ok? We're close." Desperation broke out over him like a cold sweat. He spared a quick glance at Dean and saw that he was slowly but surely slumping further over against the door, unable to even hold himself upright any longer.

He was running out of time. They both were, Sam admitted to himself, the pain and stiffness in his back quickly becoming something he couldn't ignore for much longer. Simply pushing the gas and brake pedals was an exercise in stamina. Because it hurt like hell.

"Jus' don't break my baby," Dean muttered. "Don't scratch th'paint."

"I won't," Sam insisted, but he was talking to himself by that point. Swallowing hard, Sam stared straight ahead and concentrated on breaking every speed limit known to man.

Even disregarding the laws of traffic, it still took longer to reach the hospital than he wanted. By the time he saw the hospital, his vision was greying in and out and he wasn't sure if he would be able to hit the brake in order to stop the car when the time came. Dean hadn't stirred. The panic throbbing in his chest ebbed only by a degree when he pulled up to the ER and actually managed to bring the car to a safe, if not entirely elegant, stop.

Accomplishing that, though, took the so-called wind out of his sails and it was all he could do to turn the engine off and pocket the keys. He couldn't move, was afraid to even shift in his seat. How was he going to be able to get out of the car in order to get any help?

And then someone was coming toward the car. Sam thought he saw a flash of blue. Or was it green? A nurse? Maybe. Sam wasn't sure and he gave up caring about the exact same time he turned to get a better look at his brother. It was a mistake. The pain that he'd thought had already been bad spiked.

As things went dark, he remembered that things could always get worse.

Hope you enjoyed!