Thanks to Enkidu07 for the awesome beta.

Thanks Kripke for the awesome world, it remains yours.

Reviews are second only to being stuck with Dean in a small motel room for six weeks.

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Chapter Two of Two

Week One

Dean woke to the purr of the Impala parking in front of the room. Out of muscle memory his body tensed and hand closed tighter around the knife under his pillow as there was movement outside the room.

His body went lax as Sam appeared in the doorway.

"How're you doin'?" Sam settled his massive hand on Dean's forehead. He absentmindedly swatted at it, but let Sam do his recon before he twisted away.

"I'm good. Painkillers are still working. Could really use a shower though."

"Why don't we wait until tomorrow for that? How about some chicken noodle soup and a dinner roll?" Sam held up the paper bag he'd carried in.

"Sick food, Sam? I hurt my shoulder, I feel fine. How about a cheeseburger." Dean reached for the bag anyway, 'cause it was food.

"Vicodin's harsh on your stomach. Bland food this week."

Right, he'd have Sam worn down in three days.

After eating Dean settled back into sleep. He knew he'd be itchy to get moving soon, but right now bed felt like heaven.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days later Dean finally won the shower argument.

"If you don't get out of my way, so help you God, I will go through you." He was alert enough that Sam judged the glint in his eye as real danger. Even with Dean weakened, Sam wouldn't want to go up against his brother.

"Okay, but a bath, not shower, so you can keep the sling on."

"No way, man."

"That or a sponge bath, Dean. You're not re-injuring your shoulder."

"Fine, a freakin' bath."

"Promise."

"God Sam…" Dean tried to step past Sam into the bathroom. Sam shifted in front of him. "Fine, I promise."

Sam followed Dean into the small bathroom, edging his sneaker into the door when Dean tried to close it behind him.

"Dude, I can take a bath by myself. I said I promise."

"OK, but you'll need help with the shirt."

"I think I can get it. I'm a big boy."

"Wasn't asking what you think," Sam moved behind Dean. They'd strapped his arm against his chest and put the shirt over it, it would still hurt to try to maneuver out of it with only one arm.

After carefully extracting his big brother from the soft cotton Sam moved to leave, "Don't lock it, I'll break it down."

"I'll be fine Sam."

"If you slip, don't try to get up. Call me."

"Right. I'm not calling you for help."

"Otherwise I'm staying to make sure you get in okay."

"My God Sam. Fine, I'll call you if I fall. Sick freak."

"Right, not wanting my brother to fall and hit his head, or really hurt his shoulder, that makes me a sick freak. Your priorities are so skewed Dean."

"Nothin' wrong with my priorities. They include you never seeing me in a bath. That makes me normal." Dean pushed the door closed, didn't lock it. He let Sam hear him mutter under his breath, "Bath my ass. Never been in a bath by myself before."

Sam waited by the door until he heard Dean successfully settle in.

Week Two

They'd shifted Dean's arm to the new sling. While the other had wrapped Dean's arm completely to his chest, this was mildly less restrictive.

The arm sling was held in place by two shoulder straps, one for each shoulder, which crossed in the back. The whole contraption was pinned against his body by a Velcro band encircling his torso.

It didn't add much flexibility of movement, but it did let Dean wear t-shirts under the sling. He'd even been able to get his shirt on without having to ask for help.

After five days of easily pulled up pajamas and sweat pants Dean had taken a pair or jeans into the bathroom and emerged after fifteen minutes. He'd been struggling into them every day since.

While Sam had no qualms about forcing his help with the sling on his brother, he knew that his help wouldn't be accepted with getting dressed. Fifteen minutes of struggle was well worth it to his brother to not have to ask for, or even accept, help.

This was altogether different. It was the middle of the second week and boredom was really setting in. Sam had agreed to head out with Dean to a movie rental shop and for some take-out. This meant shoes.

Socks had been fine in the motel and for the car ride out of Ohio into Indiana. They'd headed out at the end of the first week after they read a small town paper article from West Virginia about an insurance fraud investigation.

But for this Dean needed shoes, which pretty much left his boots. Which had laces.

Sam watched his brother, boots slipped on, struggling to tie his shoelaces with just his right hand. Dean never looked up. Completely avoiding eye contact. He'd managed to thread one lace through the other to cross them, but couldn't pull it tight. He was having an even harder time creating the loops to tie together.

After ten minutes of this, but not one sound of discouragement or look up from Dean, Sam stood and walked over to his brother.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Shit, he really needed another hand. Maybe if he held one lace down with his left foot and used his good hand to tie – crap! Dean closed his eyes, careful not to move his head. If only he'd done this in the bathroom he could tell Sam he was too tired to go out. Since he was in the bedroom, Sam would know.

Not that he'd judge, but still. Dean just couldn't let Sam see him give up.

As Dean again tried to tie his laces Sam moved quickly over him and knelt at his feet, head down. Sam took the laces from his fingers and quickly tied them in a sturdy double knot before moving on to his left boot.

Sam's head was bent down in single-minded concentration. Even while Dean knew this was for his benefit, he appreciated it.

No one had tied his shoes since Mom.

As Sam finished both of his laces Dean looked down at his head. Thank God for Sam. He knew he had weird quirks, walls, he wished he could give Sam the 'sharing' his brother clearly needed. It just wasn't in him. If he opened up, what if he never closed?

But now, when Dean was the one hurt, here was his brother. Working so hard to help him and preserve his precious boundaries. Weird how easy it was to mock them in his head, but how hard to let them down, even for Sam.

As Sam stood he braced his hand on Dean's right knee to push up. Dean reached out fast with his right arm and, before he could stop himself, laid his hand on top of Sam's.

Sam's eyes darted to his face. Confusion gave way to the look that Dean always equated with their awkward 'meaningful' moments. Usually after one of them almost died.

Luckily Sam just squeezed his knee before straightening fully and moving towards the door. He turned his head as he snatched up the Impala's keys.

"So, Die Hard?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Careful Dean." It was Sam's freakin' mantra. Dean had been good the first week. High on Vicodin, still sleepy, all movements had hurt. Now that he'd transitioned to a traditional sling and stepped down to Tylenol, Dean was ready to go. At least mentally.

"They're sit-ups Sam, not pushups. I'll be fine."

"It can't be splinted, so they want you to be careful with it. That means no jerking it."

Dean did fifteen more before caving in. Sam's badgering gave him a good excuse. He was dead tired after only 10 sit-ups. Pathetic. He'd hurt his arm. He'd been shot in places that it didn't take this long to heal.

Sam kept talking about white blood cells and swelling. Apparently four more weeks to go before little brother would let him use the arm. Then rehab. They'd worked through rehab before, but only when Sam was hurt. Or when Dad had been around. Sam had never been in charge before.

He redefined even Dad's idea of stubborn.

Week Three

"You said 'Go for a walk' Dean, WALK. Not jog, not run, not even a fast skip. You can walk, you can't jar your arm!"

Week Four

"Fuck, Sam. You're the one who told me not to move it." Dean tried to inch away.

"No, I told you not to use it. We have to move it. I know it hurts, but if you don't do the rehab therapy, you won't get full range of motion back." As Sam spoke in a soothing tone he slowly restarted the rotation of Dean's left arm. First extending it completely, painful because it had been in a sling almost continually for four weeks.

As soon as the arm was extended, Sam braced his right had on the back of Dean's shoulder. He began with small movements of the entire arm socket. Sam could feel Dean's muscles move under the soft white t-shirt.

The rotation caused ripples, but the muscles would occasionally bunch in pain. It was only the worst of these moments that Dean groaned aloud.

After fifteen minutes of manipulating Dean's shoulder, Sam put the arm back in the sling.

"Here's two ibuprofen. They'll help with the pain and swelling."

"I know what Advil does, Sam." Dean dry swallowed the pills. "I'm going for a short run."

Dean hurried out of the room before Sam could dissent.

Week Five

"Yeah, it seems like a case for us Dean, but you're not ready yet."

"Dude, I'm fine."

Sam ignored the comment, "Why don't you start the research and we'll see about heading out next week?"

"You're the research princess, Sammy."

"You're not hunting for at least another month, so if you want to help…"

"I'm good. My arm is fine."

"You whimper when you roll over at night."

Damn. He hadn't thought Sam heard that. Stupid double room. Too bad he could never get any sleep in a single.

If he was awake and knew it was going to hurt, Dean could suppress it. At night it took him by surprise.

"Fine, we'll do the research, then head out next week. By then it'll be six weeks."

"You can start using it after six weeks. Not go running into hand to hand combat with a banshee."

"Fine, I'll be backup."

"Your backup always includes jumping in between me and the banshee. You can do pushups, basketball. They said 'normal use' Dean."

"Fighting a banshee is normal."

"Right, I'm sure that's what they meant."

"Okay, okay. Research, then we'll see."

Dean watched Sam roll his eyes, but his brother just opened his library book and started reading. They'd see about next week.

Week Six

They rolled into the motel late, Sam parked the Impala by the office and was only a step behind Dean strolling into the dark musky office. The graying man was wearing a stained muscle tee. Sam was about to ask for a room when he caught a sniff of the man's breath, whisky, this would be one for Dean to take.

Sam shuffled back a step and Dean moved into the space of the counter, resting an elbow on the pock marked wood.

"We need two twins."

"Right," the man smirked, raised his eyebrows. "We've got a king bed, same price."

"We'll take two twins," Dean leaned forward one step, stared straight at the man. This was usually when the guy at the counter backed down and stopped with the lurid glance. This guy had apparently had one to many to discern that the man in front of him was not a lightweight.

"We don't judge here, take the king. Enjoy yourselves," The man looked them both up and down and licked his lower lip. Ewww.

Dean leaned further towards the man, into his personal space, laid one of his credit cards on the counter and spoke loud and clear, "My brother and I will take two twin beds."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean dropped his duffle on the bed by the door. He'd take the role of the protector, even if only metaphorically.

It was his first day completely post sling and his arm was exhausted. They'd been doing exercises three times a day to strengthen it, but continual lack of use had left him weak. Not a word that usually applied.

Sam was just beginning to let him do any real weight bearing on it. And it hadn't been worth it to try to get around Sam. Besides the fact that his arm has felt unbelievable worse for four days after, his midnight trip to the gym last week has incurred the continued Wrath of Sam.

He hadn't known that it could get worse, but afterwards stubborn nagging Sam had given way to a quieter more solemn version. After three hours of complete silence Dean had attempted some levity.

"Dude, it's just a bench press. Not even an impressive one. I sucked…"

Sam didn't even look up, continued sharpening his knives.

"Okay Sammy, you're gonna have to say something."

At this Sam has spun around and exploded. "What do you want me to say, Dean? After five weeks of hell and hard work you're intent on fucking up your arm, your life. You think I'm the bad guy here. Keeping you from your life. That I'm some parent you sneak out on in the middle of the night.

"Fine, you don't want my help, I get that, it's obvious. Maybe I shouldn't let it get to me, but I can't sit by and watch you fuck up the rest of your life because you can't stand authority. Even if you don't care, I give a shit about you Dean, and I can't watch you hurt yourself."

Sam grabbed his jacket, an ankle knife and his handgun from the table in front of him. He stood, taking the keys out of his front pocket and throwing them on the small table by the door.

"Sammy…" Dean called as his brother quietly shut the motel door behind him.

Dean pushed the door open and watched Sam walk across the parking lot towards town.

"Sam!"

There was a slight turn of Sam's head at the yell, but he kept straight forward. Dean jogged towards him, "Sam."

Sam turned, eyes all empty and lost, like they'd been for so long last year. After Jess. Fuck, he'd put that expression there. Couldn't even blame the demon for it.

"Dean. I really can't watch you hurt yourself. I'll be back in awhile."

"Awhile, like a few hours?"

"Maybe you should stay with Bobby for a few weeks. I'll meet you there later."

"A few weeks, no dude. It's okay, I'll let up. I know it's important, seriously, I'll do better."

"Dean, I can't ask you to change who you are. I just can't watch you self destruct."

Dean moved into Sam's body, barely noticing the rain begin to fall around them. His right hand came up in a move of surrender, or pledge, before clasping onto his brother's shoulder.

"I promise."

The fact that those words didn't immediately erase the indecision on Sam's face told Dean how far his brother had been pushed. Fuck, he'd screwed this up.

"I can do this Sam, but I need you. It'll be better. I promise." Dean looked straight into Sam's eyes as his spoke,

The tension rushed out of Sam as his head went lax, falling towards his chest. At that moment the skies opened and began to drench them both.

Dean moved his hand from Sam's shoulder to cup his jaw line and lift his head up for eye contact.

"Okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah, we're okay."

Dean didn't even try to pretend he'd meant to ask anything else.

ooooooooooooooo

So for the past week Dean had been on his best behavior.

They'd been rehabbing his arm vigorously. Sam had done research in his usual fashion, surfing the internet late into the night. Calling specialists for opinions for a 'paper' he was completing for 'medical school.'

Dean had been prepping for the banshee hunt. He'd accepted he wasn't going to be going on this one. Way too soon after the whole leaving debacle to bring up hunting. But that meant someone still had to kill the thing.

Which left Sam. Who had never hunted alone. Who should never have to.

So the least Dean could do was the research. Who knew how an Irish omen of death had arrived in faerie form, but apparently it wasn't like a reaper. It could be killed, and the death omens would stop. The killings would stop.

But most importantly, how to protect Sam if he couldn't be there to do it himself? Banshee's siren calls lead unsuspecting men to their deaths. Perhaps earplugs would work. Maybe Sam's iPod with his crappy music up full volume? Pack some gauze around it?

Or spring for some of those noise canceling headphones.

What if it was supersonic? Sam would need him for backup. He could watch from the car in case the protections didn't keep the banshee's voice from reaching Sam.

Fuck. No way Sam would go for that. He'd flip if Dean even mentioned it. And he was right about Dean as backup, he always ended up in the middle of a fight protecting Sam.

That's 'cause Sam always needs protecting!

He so had to get over this. Needed to show his brother that he trusted him, and that he wouldn't endanger himself.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam looked over at Dean who was clearly fighting an internal battle.

"Dude, I get that you don't want me hunting alone. I know you'll worry. I'm okay with calling this one in to the roadhouse."

Sam watched Dean's face lighten, his whole body relax. After just a moment his whole body went back into hard lines.

"No. You'll be okay. I trust you to do this. Plus, we have a plan."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam parked the Impala at the entrance into the Wildlife Reserve. As the engine slowed he went through his checklist: ankle knife, wrist knife, handgun, cell phone.

Sam slipped his headphones on and was immediately cut off from all sounds. It was unbelievably disorienting, shifting to sight instead of sound required fast glances. Watch for attacks from behind.

He could almost hear Dean's voice in his head. There won't be anyone watching your back.

Sam switched his cell phone to vibrate and sent out a quick text before tucking it into his front pocket.

Heading Out – Im OK

He knew it wouldn't settle Dean, but there was nothing else to do. Sam opened the door and headed out to the location he and Dean had scoped out earlier.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He's OK, he's OK. Don't flip out. Sam's OK.

Dean started with pushups. Might as well strengthen his arm as he distracted himself. Thirty seven, thirty eight, wonder if Sam had reached the summit of the hill, forty one, forty two, did he remember his headphones, forty five, fuck, what about…

Sam was OK. Would be OK.

Dean moved on to sit-ups and leg lifts, finished up his arm strengthening exercises and looked at his watch. Crap, it had only been thirty minutes. No way he could make it through this. He reached over to his cell phone and flipped to text messaging, typed in Sam's number before stopping himself.

No, he trusted Sam. Plus, probably better not to distract him.

Dean moved on to blocking repetitions that he and Sam had been practicing since their childhood. Upper blocks, chest blocks, groin blocks, what if Sam needed him. Fuck. He moved on to punches: chest punches, face punches, stomach punches, okay Sam really might be in trouble now.

Dean reached over for his cell again and startled as it rang as his hand closed over it. New text – Im at the summit – OK.

Sam was okay, he was following the plan. He'd draw out the banshee, kill it, no reason to worry. No need to worry just 'cause his baby brother was out fighting an Irish faerie that could kill him with her voice. No, that wasn't a problem at all.

Crap. Dean opened Sam's laptop, blasted AC/DC, started sharpening his knives, restringing his bow, cleaning his guns methodically.

Dean stood up, grabbed his cell, handgun and knife. Fuck Sam if he didn't want the help. It certainly wasn't helping him to go crazy in this dingy motel room.

Dean opened the door and stepped through as another text came in.

Go back to the motel. Done here. Back in forty.

Dean cracked a smirk, let in a deep breath for the first time since Sam had left. Dean had never doubted that he could clock Sam's movements better than any timepiece. He knew his brother better than he knew anything else in the world, the Impala, his father, even hunting. But it still got him when he realized how well Sam knew him. He was hard to get to, he knew he never opened up. Wasn't into the sharing thing. Never seemed to matter though, his brother always knew what he needed, who he was. Usually better than he did.

Dean settled back into the room, rested against the headboard on his bed, waited for his brother.

Epilogue

It was Dean's first hunt back, Sam had insisted they continue resting his arm until he was at almost full strength. Dean hadn't resisted, they'd visited Bobby, then started some research and taken a long road trip out to Montana for their first hunt together in three months. It should be a simple salt and burn. A pissed off criminal who was haunting the town's police force.

Here he was, finally, ankle deep in mud, taking turns with his brother digging the grave in the middle of a thunderstorm, watching Sam's back. Cold and miserable. Thank God he was here.

Sam looked up from the hole in the ground, noticed Dean's grin and responded in kind. The smile stayed on his face as he dipped his head back down to finish the job.