Timing

Summary: Just some old-fashioned Dean hurt/comfort, a side order of Sammy angst.

Warnings: language, some graphic content.

Set later Season 1, so any potential spoilers up through then.

A/N: Not sure where this came from, but here it is! I guess I just like knocking Dean down and having Sam come pick him up. I started this some time ago and have only just resumed it so I hope it flows well enough. How I've missed SPN fic…between class and life these stories just keep going on the back burner, but in the wake of canceled classes and potential hurricanes here I am again!

Disclaimer: Don't own the boys, or the show, or the concept of things within the show, or the show's tendency to kick these boys in the keester…and so on.

Sam was pissed.

As far as older brothers go, Dean was pretty awesome. He'd taken care of Sam his entire life, was always there offering any kind of support when he needed it, always had his back, and even after not being with him for so long, had picked up the older brother role without a hitch in his step. Especially now, with visions and demons and hunting for their father, Dean was there to say and do the right thing when it was needed. But sometimes…well, sometimes Dean was a dick.

For all the times his brother had gone home with random women, or ditched him to hang out at a bar, or went to grab food and came back hours late after getting lost in god knows what, it never got any easier. Or less annoying. And after years of not having any of that, it appeared the time apart had not changed his brother in the slightest.

Twenty minutes, he'd said. Twenty minutes to pick up some godawful grub for dinner. And Sam didn't even care how bad the food was, he was hungry. He was even willing to grab it himself, but no, Sam's not allowed to drive the car unless Dean's friggen unconscious or bleeding out in the backseat. Blasphemous to let Sam drive the baby.

What a pain in the ass.

Twenty minutes had passed. Another twenty. And another. At this point Sam was livid, pacing the room with his phone in his hand repeatedly pressing down on #2, dialing Dean over and over again.

Another twenty. Friggen bitch, I am so kicking your ass when you get back.

Another twenty.

Okay, this is weird. I usually get a text or something at this point…

Another twenty.

Shit. This isn't good, is it.

Another twenty.

After being in silence for so long, the ping of the phone call startled him, echoing throughout the room like the last bell toll for an execution.

Fumbling fingers managed to open it and he brought it to his ear.

"…S'my?"

Sam knew that voice. The voice he hated to hear, dreaded to hear. That voice that meant Dean was hurt. Badly.

Crap.