Previously appeared in Compadres 30 (2007), from Neon Rainbow Press

All-Purpose
K Hanna Korossy

Sometimes they got so caught up with the bizarre and supernatural dangers of the world, it was easy to forget the natural and mundane.

Not that a late-night walk couldn't have plenty of the former, as many of the things they hunted preferred the night. Neither he nor Dean ever went out unarmed after dark, Dean keeping his knife on him round-the-clock. But it was phantom attackers and highway peepers Sam watched out for far more than armed robbers or speeding cars.

It was a mistake Dean would gently and worriedly tear his head off for later.

Sam's thoughts were on the nightmare that had woken him and the insomnia that followed. Not an unusual night's events for him, but Sam was tired, depleted physically by the lack of rest, depleted emotionally by the daily reminders of Jess's murder. Dean had done everything possible, from tracking down some of Sam's favorite donuts – from a bakery in Palo Alto, while they themselves were in Illinois – to going without music the last two days of driving so Sam could sleep better in the car, to choosing some lighter jobs to take it easy on him, although Dean had denied the last. But this was one thing even his brother couldn't protect him from. And Sam had finally just needed some space, slipping into his clothes and out of the room in the dark silence to avoid waking Dean.

Dean would lay into him for that one, too.

The road he walked along was quiet, curving past fields and over gentle hills. A good place to think. A good place to get lost in your thoughts and not see a car coming.

It happened in a hurricane of sound and panic and pain. A sudden light in his eyes, and only then did he hear the thunder of the motor and screech of wheels. But by then it was too late, metal striking flesh and bone, which was always the loser in such battles. Sam felt himself lifted, the scenery tumbling in nightmarish flashes, and then he hit grass and dirt. Hard. Tears-in-his-eyes hard, that had him dashing a hand over his face as he jumped back to his feet.

A dozen yards away, the car had stopped, idling, a round face staring back at him in shock. Then with a squeal of rubber, it took off, out of sight in seconds.

Sam took a step after it.

The grace period of numbness came to a crashing halt. Pain flared in his hip and down his leg, along ribs and shoulder and head. Sam cried out as his limbs buckled, refusing to pretend anymore that he was all right, and slammed him back to the ground. He cried out again as he hit, trying to curl against too many sources of hurt to make sense of.

There was one thing still clear in his muddy head, though, one his instincts would have reached for even if he couldn't think at all. One person who always helped, and with hitching breath, Sam called for him.

"Dean…"

00000

He came awake all at once, not sure what roused him until he glimpsed the empty bed beside him. Dean lay back with a groan. Sam. His brother's breathing had settled into his unconscious somewhere along the last few months, and his absence slipped through even Dean's sleep now. Or maybe it was just a passing truck on the road that had rattled him awake, but Dean liked to think some part of him kept track of his brother at all times. He'd probably had another nightmare, and Dean squinted in the light of the bedside lamp as he flicked it on and sat up. "Sam?"

But the bathroom was open and dark, and there was no other sound in the room.

Dean huffed a sigh and swung his feet out of bed, checking the floor as he did. Sam's sneakers were gone, as were the clothes he'd been wearing the day before and his sweatshirt. So, probably not a boogieman or ghoul, but you could never be too careful. Dean shrugged back into his t-shirt and jeans, and slipped his knife under both. A grab for his jacket, wallet, and, just in case, keys, and Dean stepped out of the room.

"Sam!" he called, ignoring the fact it was close to three a.m. and the management probably wouldn't be crazy about someone shouting outside people's doors. But Sam sometimes liked to go and sit just outside their room, watching the sun rise or enjoying the peace. It was his way of having a little time to sort out his thoughts, just as Dean's was to head to the local bar, and neither begrudged the other for it. But Sam was nowhere in sight now, and Dean's brow furrowed, not liking this so much.

"Sammy," he called, moving away from the motel and peeking into the Impala as he did. Not surprised to find it empty and untouched – even Sam didn't borrow the car unasked without extremely good reason – Dean kept walking, to the end of the parking lot and the edge of the road. There, he looked both ways along the dark and empty ribbon of asphalt. Nothing. Nothing he could see, anyway. And considering the motel and a few closed stores were the only pit stops along this stretch, that was mildly disturbing.

Dean pulled out his cell and punched up Sam's number, wincing when voice mail finally kicked in. He was already on his way back to the Impala by then. Reaching the car, he bounced the keys in his hand for a moment before muttering a curse and unlocking the door.

Dean crawled two miles south along the highway, gaze sweeping both sides of the road, looking for the tall and lanky and so in trouble figure, but there was nothing. He finally turned and retraced his path to the motel, then continued north past it, once more slowing to make sure he didn't miss anything. There was no sign of life anywhere, but those were some awfully fresh skid marks…

He pulled the Impala to the side of the road and got out to take a closer look. Yup, some car had lost a lot of rubber there. In the middle of nowhere – avoiding an animal maybe? The fields were bound to be full of small creatures. Or–

Dean whirled, swearing he'd heard a groan.

"Sam?" he called out tentatively, although he was actually hoping not because there was no way that could be a good thing, and maybe he was just in the laundry room or down at the pool, and Dean really should have checked more around the motel because Sam didn't usually just wander off even after…

Sam. Dean's increasingly frantic steps nearly stumbled over the figure buried in the grass. God help him, trying to crawl.

"Sam!" And then, because he could swear Sam winced as Dean dropped beside him, a more gentle, almost choked, "Sammy." He skimmed torn clothing and skin, afraid to touch.

His brother, broken and bloody, trembled.

"Easy, Sam, I'm right here." One hand finally settling on the sweat-matted head to keep him still, Dean was already dialing with the other. No clue where he was, exactly, but he rattled off as many landmarks as he could remember and the operator seemed to know. Help was promised, he was told not to move Sam or panic, and that was about where Dean shut off the now-pointless conversation and the phone. He shoved it in his pocket to leave him free to lay the other hand carefully on Sam's back. "Sam? Can you hear me?"

Another groan. At least all his limbs seemed to be moving, in the slow-motion, useless scrabble of someone who was in pain and not thinking too clearly. Dean stilled them gently one at a time, feeling along their length, looking for breaks and not finding any obvious ones. Still, he didn't dare move Sam, not if he'd been thrown the way Dean suspected, because spinal injury was a real danger then. Although judging from the trail of flattened grass, Sam had already moved himself plenty. Trying to get help, and Dean's heart lurched as painfully as every time he'd seen Sam thrown or choked or jumped on a hunt. But this, a stupid car…

Sam shuddered again, body fighting the pain. Dean leaned down next to his head. "Try not to move, Sam, okay? Just lie still. You were hit by a car but you're gonna be okay. Help's on the way."

He heard the weak cough, and Sam's head turned a little farther to the side despite the light pressure Dean kept on the back of it to try to stop him from doing just that. "Dean?"

The whisper melted his stoicism, and Dean flinched, leaning his forehead against Sam's temple. "I'm right here, okay? Just hang on."

"Dean…" It hurts, he could hear the rest, as if Sam had said it aloud.

Dean closed his eyes, pretending no one else existed but him and Sam, even though he could hear a siren in the distance. "I know, Sammy. It'll be better soon, I promise."

And he did what he could to make it so until the paramedics arrived and separated them.

00000

Unfamiliar hands all over your body was disconcerting enough when you were awake and all right and able to say no. When you were confused and helpless and in agony, it was hell.

Sam kept trying to shift away from the foreign touches, especially when they started holding him down and manipulating parts of his body that screamed in pain. Or maybe he was the one screaming; he wasn't sure. A female voice was trying to soothe him, but Sam turned away from it, not trusting it, not trusting anyone except…

Another voice momentarily argued with the female one, and even as Sam blindly sought it out, fingers slid familiarly into his own. "Take it easy, Sam – they're trying to help. Everything's fine, you're safe."

Dean. He clung to that one touchpoint of coherence and repeated the name over and over like his own version of a protection chant. Dean Dean Dean…

"Okay, we're gonna move him now." His whole frame lurched, sending fresh pain through his body. Even worse, his hold on Dean – or his brother's on him – jostled free.

"Dean!"

"I know, Sam, I'm not going anywhere." More distantly, "Look, I need to go with him, okay? And don't give me that insurance crap – he's my family and he's not going without me."

Another jostle, and Sam lost comprehension, voices rising and falling around him while he struggled to stay conscious. Watch your back, remember your alias, don't give away the secret… But his thoughts felt murky, moans spilling out of him without his control. How was he supposed to stay on guard like this? He couldn't do this alone. Sam's fingers splayed, looking for contact. "Dean." Don't leave.

A warm hand closed around his cold one. "I'll be right here, Sam. These nice folks are letting me go with you. I've got things under control, man, take it easy."

Heavy with relief, Sam breathed out. His fingers spasmed once under the weight that trapped them – just checking – then he let himself drift away from the pain and confusion and into peace.

00000

The news was actually better than Dean had hoped. The same thick grass that had made him so hard to find had probably also saved Sam from serious injury: there wasn't any spinal damage or serious head trauma. He did have a cracked pelvic and collar bone, wrenched shoulder and knee, bruises, and a lump on the head without concussion, which sounded daunting but would add up to an amazingly short hospital stay and recovery period. Barring complications, two weeks in bed, another two taking it easy, and Sam would be cleared for lighter hunting. Or construction work, as far as the doctor was concerned. They had sedated Sam to let him rest, and Dean had been so reassured, he'd even caught a little sleep himself in the comfortable easy chair by Sam's bed.

But all his senses were still tuned to Sam. As soon as he heard the soft sigh that signaled increasing awareness, Dean sat up and leaned forward, closing one hand around Sam's wrist. It was confusing enough waking up in pain and half-drugged without having anything familiar to ground you.

The forehead pulled into fine frown lines, Sam's nose wriggling. His eyelids creased, struggling to open.

"Hey," Dean said softly.

Slits of hazel, a brilliant green in this light, appeared, looking glassy and unfocused. It took a while more for cracked lips to separate. "Dean?" The rough voice was filled with the same confusion as his face.

"You're in the hospital, Sam – you played chicken with a car, remember? You lost."

The frown deepened.

Dean half-smiled; Sam always did over-think things. "You're gonna be okay, just get some more sleep. I've got it covered here. I'll tell you all about it when you graduate to two-syllable words, deal?"

At least some of that seemed to make it through the sludge, because the lines of tension eased. Sam's body shifted ever-so-slightly toward him and his eyes shut again, breaths evening out.

"Yeah," Dean said softly. "You're gonna be fine, Sammy."

He believed it himself when he said it out loud like that, and eventually curled back into his chair to also get some rest. Sam would need him again soon enough.

00000

The edges of reality blurred, nightmares slipped into the waking world when his head wasn't clear. Jess seemed to show up standing by his hospital bed, and pinned to the white tiles above him. Sam kept startling, from sleep, from the confused wanderings of his mind, groaning when his bruised body protested. But Dean was always waiting, and that at least made it bearable.

It only took a few times – or at least, Sam thought it was a few times – before Dean got tired of the whole gasping-jerking thing and, in his typically practical way, decided to do something about it. It took a little longer for Sam's dulled mind to realize he could hear his brother's voice running in the background all the time, or feel him kneading aches out of his arms and legs, or even just heard him humming. Metallica, of course. Sam smiled.

"Something funny?" There was a smile in Dean's voice, too, inviting him to share the joke.

"Mmm." Sam turned his head that way, eyes still heavy, voice on vacation somewhere, but knowing he wasn't alone and glad for it.

"You always had a weird sense of humor." A hand slid under his head and lifted it enough for him to drink from the glass at his lips. "You know, if you wanted a vacation, you could have just said so."

He snorted softly, sore but oddly comfortable, the real pain still distant. They'd learned their own form of therapy over the years, and Dean's hands were magic on his aching arm.

"Sammy?"

"Dean," he murmured, because some answer seemed required, and that was all he could think of right now. It was gratitude and comfort and relief, and his brother would understand just fine.

"Dude, just… go back to sleep before you start drooling." The amusement had returned; the hands had never stopped. "Might as well take advantage of the expensive looking after while you can."

He did.

00000

Dean had done most of the lifting, Sam a little loopy from the drugs they'd given him to go home on. Dean almost wished they could borrow the wheelchair, because transferring a limp Sam into their room when they got back was going to be fun, but he wasn't complaining. Considering three nights before he'd been kneeling next to Sam's body and praying he would be okay, it would take a lot for Dean to complain again.

At least until Sam started waking up and getting cranky and demanding.

But for the moment, there was a contented haze on his brother's face as Dean pushed him down the hall toward the front entrance. He'd have to take a picture for when it would be fair game for blackmail, but now, he gave the flop of dark hair an affectionate swipe, and a smile was directed his way.

"You okay there, tiger?" he asked cheerfully. There actually was a stuffed tiger buried somewhere in Sam's bag. Dean had bought the toy in a moment of weakness in the hospital gift shop but would sturdily deny knowing where it came from when Sam would ask later. They could always give it to the next kid they exorcised or rescued, or Sam's sentimental side might rear its ugly head and the tiger would end up becoming their newest mascot, floating around the Impala for weeks until Dean buried it in a shallow grave.

"Dean." It was fond and only a little slurred and not followed by anything else, so he leaned further down to peer over into his brother's face.

"Yeah, Sam?"

But that seemed to be the extent of it, a thank-you and a few other things Dean really didn't think they had to go into, in one word. Sam was already dozing, like the doctor had said he would for the bulk of the next few days, body healing and recouping its strength. At least he was finally getting some rest, and even the nightmares had seemed to fade with the cutback of medication. Not much of a conversationalist yet, but Dean had always thought talking overrated. Sam was communicating just fine.

Dean smiled, patting Sam's good shoulder. "Sammy," he answered quietly. And they left together.

The End

Also check out the round robins I and some talented friends did, either up now or soon to come on Tyranusfan, Phx, Yum, and Geminigrl11's pages.