Summary: It was a Shapeshifter case in Milwaukee. Nothing out of the ordinary and they managed to kill said Shapeshifter. How were they supposed to know there were two of them? Besides, it wasn't as though they wouldn't notice if their travelling partner wasn't actually their brother. They knew each other better than that. Right?

Warnings: Some violence. Mild language. Hurt/Protective!Sam. Mildly hurt/Protective!Dean. Some brotherly fluff

Setting: Sometime Season 2.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to the CW, Eric Kripke, all those guys, and everything else Supernatural.

Tells

"Shapeshifter in Milwaukee," Sam said, pushing his laptop across the table to Dean who stuffed the last bite of his sausage in his mouth. He reached out and pulled the computer closer in order to read the online newspaper.

"People getting attacked by clones?" Dean said, his eyebrows lifting as he read the article. "Seriously? They're calling them clones?"

"If you didn't know about Shapeshifters, what would you call them?" Sam said, taking his computer back.

"Insane," Dean said and just smiled at the classic bitch face, sipping his coffee.

Sam sighed and shook his head, turning back to the screen. "No one's been killed, just beaten severely, enough to be hospitalized."

"So this guy just wants to hurt people and scare them," Dean said.

"Looks like," Sam said and Dean shook his head.

"Damn Shifters," he muttered and pulled out his wallet, tossing some bills on the table. "Let's go to Milwaukee."

Snatching his computer and his bag, Sam followed Dean out to the Impala where they settled in and took off for Milwaukee.

"Could you describe the person that attacked you, Ms. Wright?" Sam said to the latest victim, Anna Wright. She was young, in her mid-twenties. She was also very battered. One eye was still swollen like her cut lip. Bruises covered her face, a stitched gash sat above her eye, and a butterfly bandaged cut was near her hairline. The Shifter had clearly enjoyed simply beating the woman.

"It's impossible but it-it was...me," she said even as she shook her head. "But that's impossible, right? I was seeing things, hallucinating, I had to be!"

"You are sure that's what you saw though?" Dean said. "You saw yourself?"

She sniffed and nodded. "I—she—it was right in my face, held me so I had to look at her—it. It-it was me. She—it was wearing the exact same outfit I was. None of it makes any sense and I sound crazy!"

"No, you don't," Sam said consolingly. "We believe you."

Anna looked at Sam warily. "Maybe you're crazy then."

"We're not, Anna, we just know about things most people don't," Sam said. "We're going to find this thing. You're not the first person it's attacked and you won't be the last if we don't stop it."

"Did it say anything to you?" Dean asked.

Anna shook her head. "It just smiled and laughed. When it was done it went out the window."

"All right," Sam said. "Thank you for your time."

Anna nodded again and they left the room.

"So that wasn't really helpful," Dean said as they walked through the hospital. "She didn't tell us anything the others haven't already."

"No, she didn't," Sam said with a sigh. "We'll have to find where it's hiding out if we want to find it. Its victims are random."

Dean grimaced, remembering their last Shapeshifter encounter. "Sewers?"

Sam nodded with a sigh. "Sewers."

Dean swore.

"Why can't monsters ever live in style? Why always the dark, damp, and creepy?" Dean grumbled as they navigated the sewer system.

"It's because they know it pisses you off," Sam said from behind. "It's a whole supernatural conspiracy."

"You're not funny," Dean muttered and Sam grinned in the dark. "Shut up back there before I punch you."

"I didn't say anything," Sam defended.

"I know you, Sammy. I heard that grin and I know what you were thinking," Dean said and Sam just grinned again, unable to argue. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

They fell into their usual silence and continued their search for the Shapeshifter or at least a sign of it. Their flashlights travelled the floor, the ceiling, the walls. They looked for shed skin or signs that someone—something—was living down there.

When nearly three hours had passed, however, they were frustrated and ready to give up. They were damp and tired, and just wanted to lie in a bed.

"Can we call it a day?" Sam said. "Maybe the Shifter is living somewhere else. We'll research other dark, damp, and creepy places."

"First of all, shut up," Dean said to Sam's use of his own words, making Sam grin. "Second of all, the sewers are the only dark, damp, and creepy in this town of a thousand people."

"It's Milwaukee, Dean, there's more than a thous—"

"Really, Sam? Now?"

Sam smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"Anyways," Dean said exasperated and Sam laughed silently. "These sewers are the only place the Shifter could be hiding out. I'd really rather finish this tonight."

Sam hummed in agreement and they continued their search. They had barely taken a few steps down the tunnel when they heard someone behind them run by, their feet hitting the damp floor. Sam and Dean whipped around, flicking their flashlights through the dark to find their company. The tunnel was, naturally, empty but they looked around slowly, unwilling to be caught off guard by a Shifter.

Sam felt a nudge on his right arm and knew what Dean meant. Gripping his .45, he spun around and raised it, pulling the trigger instantly. The silver bullet left the barrel and hit the Shifter but did so in his shoulder. With a cry of pain, the Shifter grasped his smoking and bleeding shoulder and glared at them. With a scream of rage, the Shifter jumped them and Sam, his head smacking hard against the floor, fell quickly into the blissful unknown.

Sam groaned as he woke up, his brain pounding behind his eyes. He gingerly touched the back of his head and grimaced as he immediately identified the blood matting his hair. He clenched his eyes shut and then slowly opened them. His vision was blurred and his memories hazy as he attempted to remember. He could hear water dripping somewhere nearby and it sounded obscenely loud. He blinked a few times and cringed at the pounding of his head. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he forced himself to sit up but had to stop there. He leaned against the wall with his eyes shut again, waiting for the nausea to end and for the place to stop spinning.

"Sam?"

He frowned at the quiet call and opened his eyes to look for the voice's owner.

"Sam!"

Oh, he knew that voice. He tried to yell back at his brother but just the thought of it made the nausea return with a vengeance. He would forever deny the whimper that escaped him.

"Sammy."

Dean was right next to him all of a sudden, startling him.

"Sorry," Dean muttered. "How're you doing?"

He cracked one eye to glare at Dean. "Like my head got bashed in, what do you think?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let me see."

Sam did so reluctantly, not wanting to move at all. He felt Dean carefully move his hair to get a look at the gash that was still bleeding steadily.

"Gonna need quite a few stitches," Dean said eventually.

"I could've told you that," Sam mumbled, feeling pained and extremely tired all of a sudden.

"Hey, hey, stay awake," Dean said, shaking his shoulder. Sam moaned and tried to push him away half heartedly. "C'mon, man, stay awake. No way you don't have a concussion. Stay awake or hospital," he threatened.

Sam forced his eyes open at the words. He glared at Dean again, or tried to. He was sure the most he managed was a miniscule grimace.

"All right, let's go, kiddo," Dean said and began to move them around so he could help Sam up.

"Shifter?" Sam said quietly, trying to keep his head still as he was dragged to his feet.

"Dead," Dean said, adjusting his grip. "Got 'im while you were taking a nap."

"Shut up."

Dean chuckled and they made the slow trek out of the sewer system. Once above ground, Sam breathed in the fresh air and was glad it was evening so there was no sun to make his head explode.

"Good, Sammy?"

"Tired," Sam said and didn't argue against the hand that took hold of his arm.

"I know, just a little longer," Dean said and pulled them towards the parked Impala.

Sam allowed himself to be manhandled into the passenger's seat. Settled, he threw his hands over his eyes, trying to will the agony in his head away. He heard the driver's door open and felt Dean join him in the car. He unconsciously relaxed when the car started and the familiar sounds and feel of the Impala calmed him somewhat.

"Let's fix you up, Sammy," Dean said and the car began moving.

Sam dozed and would not remember the drive to the motel.

Sam winced as the thread and needle tugged his skin. He just wanted to sleep but Dean wouldn't allow it. He knew he had a concussion. If he knew then he should be allowed to sleep. Right?

"In a minute, Sam, just hold on," Dean said, finishing up his stitch job.

Sam sighed and waited as Dean tied off the last stitch and cut the remaining thread. He felt Dean dab more peroxide on the area before covering the stitches with a bandage for the night.

"All right, meds," Dean said, putting away the suture kit and leaving the bed.

"I'm okay, Dean. I just want to sleep," Sam said, already slowly moving so he could lie down.

"Pills first," Dean said, pulling pill bottles from the first aid kit. He opened each bottle and shook out one or two pills of each and then got a glass of water. He returned and sat on the bed next to Sam. "Here. Take these, all of them."

Sam took the handful of pills and knocked them back in pairs of two, taking a sip of water after each pair.

"Can I sleep now?"

"One more thing."

Sam huffed. "I'm Sam Winchester, twenty-three. You are my irritating brother Dean Winchester, twenty-seven. Milwaukee, Shapeshifter. Happy?"

"Delighted," Dean said dryly. "Go to sleep, bitch. I'll be waking you up in an hour."

"Don't you dare, you jerk. I will punch you if you wake me up."

"And I'll shoot you. Go to sleep."

Grumbling, Sam managed to get under the thin motel blanket and fell asleep very quickly.

They stayed holed up in the motel for a few days to allow Sam's head to heal enough that he wasn't nauseous at every movement or seeing double. They were finally ready to get back on the road four days later and were just finishing packing up the car.

"You sure you're ready?" Dean said over the car's roof.

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance. "Could you shut up for once? I'm fine, Dean. No pain, no blurriness, no nausea. I'm fine."

Dean hummed and scrutinized his little brother. Sam stood for the examination while giving Dean a look of pure exasperation. Dean eventually nodded and sat in the driver's seat. Sam blew out a breath and sat in his own seat. Sam glared when Dean glanced at him again. Dean held up his hands and then started the car.

As they drove down the highway, Sam glanced at Dean with a frown. His brother had been acting strange lately. He wasn't quite sure what it was but he knew something was definitely different about Dean. He knew his brother better than anyone, better than himself, so he was certainly aware when Dean started acting different in any way.

Dean moved differently, a little stiffer. Sure after everything they'd gone through it wouldn't be a surprise but it wasn't like Dean. Dean didn't walk stiffly, he walked tall and relaxed in order to pretend he wasn't crumbling underneath everything they were going through. There was also the fact that he was sitting perfectly straight as he drove. Dean didn't sit straight unless he was rushing to the hospital because Sam was dying. No, Dean slouched as though he was sitting on a couch because he was in his baby and was comfortable.

Another thing was that Dean hadn't looked at him since they left the motel. Obviously they did not have to constantly stare at each other or talk but Dean always glanced at him, even if it was just a casual look because he happened to look in Sam's direction. No, his eyes had been stuck on the road and hadn't moved.

Sam frowned as he came to notice all these things and more, things like how Dean's lips didn't twitch. Yeah, it seemed ridiculous but he knew these things about Dean. Dean was constantly thinking—despite his protests and comments about Sam being the one whose brain never shut up—and because he was constantly thinking, his mouth moved. He mouthed words of whatever he was thinking, he silently sung the words of whatever song was stuck in his head, his lips twitched into frowns or smiles barely noticeable at whatever memory or humorous thought he had entertained. This wasn't happening.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Sam blinked at the sudden voice and realized Dean had spoken, was glancing between him and the road. He shifted without being too obvious and raised an eyebrow when he saw the speed they were going at. Dean had always liked going fast but going almost forty over the speed limit when all they were doing was driving was not like him.

"Hey, man, slow down," Sam said.

"Huh? Oh," Dean said and lifted his foot slightly. Well, now they were only thirty over the limit.

Sam frowned again as he continued to watch his brother. The more he watched, the surer he was that this was not Dean. But who—or what—was it? Demon? Angry spirit messing with him? Curse? Hex bag?

"Sam, what the hell? Why are you staring at me?" Dean snapped.

Sam swallowed and surreptitiously gripped the silver knife in his pocket. "Dean, remember when we were kids? Well, I was sixteen and we had that Shifter case in Boston?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"How did you know that it wasn't me? When the Shifter took me and took my place?"

Dean smiled but had yet to look at Sam again. "Easy, Sammy. I know my brother."

"But what was it that tipped you off? There had to be something that really made you realize."

Dean shrugged one shoulder. "What can I say?" Still smiling, he looked at Sam. "I practically raised you, Sam."

And Sam knew then. He knew because the light that usually came into Dean's eyes when he talked about his role in Sam's life, his upbringing, wasn't there. That light that made his green eyes shine, that light that made Dean look younger, that light that made Dean look like he was perfectly content with his life.

That light that showed the pride he had in his little brother.

It wasn't there.

Sam moved quickly, yanking his knife from his pocket and slicing it towards the thing masquerading as his brother. He managed to cut its upper arm and his eyes widened when the thing hissed in pain and the cut burned and smoked.

Shapeshifter.

It shot out its injured arm and took a solid hold of Sam's returning arm. With a grin that did not work on his brother's face, Dean jerked the steering wheel to the right and the Impala flew off the road. Sam fought the Shifter's hold and tried to reach for the wheel to get them back on the road.

The Shifter, though, was stronger and couldn't care less about wrecking the car. It took its other hand from the wheel and pushed Sam up against the passenger door just as the car smashed into a large tree head on.

Sam felt himself get thrown around and his head cracked on something. He felt something shatter and felt pain all over his body before he was welcomed into darkness again.

Someone needed to stop laying on the horn. It clearly wasn't getting them what they wanted if they still had to hit the horn. It continued and he cursed inside his head. He was going to punch someone. Or maybe shoot them. Punch them and shoot the horn so it couldn't be used. That sounded like a decent plan. Now to get out of bed and actually do it.

He frowned when his hand twitched and he heard the sound of glass hitting metal, felt said glass sliding off his skin. He also became aware of just how hard the pillow and bed was. And why was he bent at the waist as though he had been sitting?

Sam's eyes slowly opened and then shut against the sun that was glinting off a reflective surface directly into his eyes. He tried again and even though it hurt like hell, he managed to keep his eyes open. Still disconnected from his body he just tried to look around and find out what had happened without actually moving.

His head was absolute agony and, combined with the bright sun, made his eyes water. He struggled against it, struggled to remain conscious even as he become steadily more aware of the pain throughout his body. The sun shined on shattered glass, the pieces laying all around him on a black surface. Where the hell was he? What happened? He tried to move but only succeeded in dragging his one hand, his left hand through the broken glass. He barely winced as the glass cut into his skin.

He blinked once and it all rushed back.

Dean. Shapeshifter. Tree. Car crash.

His entire body jerked in remembrance and panic but he forced himself to still when white hot pain tore through his entire right side. Breathing through the pain with his eyes squeezed shut, he attempted to take inventory of his body and find out what his situation was.

He could feel blood on his head, his face, so there was a cut somewhere bleeding sluggishly. There was something wrong with his right arm but he didn't know if it was broken or what. His legs seemed okay. However, his right side, his abdomen was throbbing and in searing pain. He wasn't sure he wanted to know just what was wrong.

He was halfway in the car and halfway out. Without his seatbelt and with the Shifter he had been unable to brace himself, and had gone through the windshield. He was folded over the destroyed dash, his upper body lying on the damaged hood of the car. His long legs were awkwardly folded under the dash, both at odd angles and were stiff from being in such positions for so long.

He finally felt himself fully connected to his body again and made another attempt to move. It was excruciating but he forced his body to obey. Using his left arm he pushed himself up and back. In one more or less quick movement, he was unfolded and crying out as he found himself lying across the bench seat on his back. His right arm was dangling off the side of the seat, the shoulder pulsing with pain indicating it was dislocated.

That wasn't the worst.

That pain in his side, well, it was definitely bad. Apparently that part of his body had become a magnet for sharp objects, objects such as a large piece of glass and his own silver knife. He swore loudly and let his head fall back against the seat, trying to think clearly and decide what to do.

He needed a hospital but he had to find Dean. The Shifter had him. Shifter! They had never even considered that there had been two. Since when do Shifters hang out in packs or even pairs? Why did they have to keep going after Shifters? It never ended well. One of them always got caught and the other had to realize their company was a monster, not their brother. Damn Shifters!

He took deep breaths, realizing he needed to get to the trunk. He needed the first aid kit. Was it in the trunk? He struggled to remember, the pain in his head increasing with the effort. No, it wasn't in the trunk. It was in the back, in Dean's bag.

Suppose that's a little better, he mused and fought to get the strength to sit up. He cried out again as he forced himself into a sitting position, sweat, blood, and even tears pouring down his face.

He needed a hospital. He needed Dean. He wanted Dean.

Out of nowhere the sound of the horn blaring entered his mind again, reminding him that the horn had been going off this entire time. He turned his head to glare at it but ended up frowning at the paper taped to it.

Better hurry, Sammy, big brother doesn't have much time left. You know where I am.

Sam felt his body go cold at the thought of Dean dying. How long had he been out? Was Dean already dead? No, no, he couldn't be. He would know if Dean was dead. But how much longer did Dean have? Surely Dean couldn't wait for Sam to go to the hospital, not that he would before finding his brother.

With a shout of anger, he punched the note and, by extension, the horn, making the horn finally stop and the paper to crumple. He groaned at the new pain in his hand. Now he damaged his one good hand.

Good job, he thought scathingly, rolling his eyes at himself.

He could feel his energy and strength waning and slumped against the back of the bench seat. The position jarred the glass and knife in his side and he hissed, but he couldn't do anything. He knew what was happening. He knew he was going into shock.

God, he wanted Dean.

And with that thought he found enough strength to pull through the agony of pressing against the seat to reach for Dean's bag in the back. He grasped the material and yanked it over to rest on his legs. He collapsed onto the seat again, breathing hard.

Trying not to pass out, he unzipped the bag and rummaged around blindly for the first aid kit. He eventually found it and pulled it out, kicking Dean's bag to the floor. Swallowing painfully and trying to ignore the way his body was beginning to violently shake, he opened the first aid kit and sat it on his thighs. He just needed the gauze, bandages, medical tape, and pills from the kit, knowing he shouldn't and couldn't stitch the wound. He only had one hand. Stitches would have to wait until he got to a hospital which would wait until after he found Dean.

With a shuddering breath, he took hold of the knife's handle and slid it out of his body. He couldn't help his newest cry of pain and whimpered as he immediately moved to take out the imbedded glass. He swore and clamped his hand over the open wound, feeling the blood seeping through his fingers.

He honestly had no idea how he was going to do this. He had to wrap the bandage around his abdomen but he only had one hand.

He stared up at the Impala's roof for a long while, trying to figure out how to take care of himself, quickly coming to the realization that he didn't want to.

He wanted Dean. He wanted his big brother to take care of him. Yeah, he was a twenty-three year old man that constantly asked to be treated as an equal adult but wanted his big brother to take care of him.

He made so much sense. He rolled his eyes at himself again.

He pulled his hand away from his side and reached into the kit, searching for the medical tape. With a joint effort between his hand and teeth, he managed to tear off several pieces of the tape and stick them to the closest surface, the steering wheel to await use. Then, tossing the tape aside, he pulled out the stack of pre-cut pieces of gauze. He took about half of them and slapped them on the bleeding wound, quickly grabbing some of the pieces of tape to secure the gauze to his skin despite the blood.

He groaned at the thought of the bandages, knowing he had to sit up. With yet another deep breath, a breath that seemed harder to take than before, he pushed himself back up, leaning heavily against the back of the seat again. He took the roll of bandages and stared at it for a few moments, fighting off the shock still trying to take over his body.

God, he wanted to sleep. He had lost a lot of blood. He seriously needed a hospital. He seriously needed his brother.

Finding some hidden reserve of strength somewhere, he took the end of the bandage and let it rest on his side as he snatched a piece of tape. Sticking the bandage to his skin, he then proceeded to slowly wind the bandage around his torso several times, somehow making it tight enough to secure the gauze and put pressure on the wound to try and stop or slow the bleeding.

Eventually he was done the exhausting task and collapsed again, dislodging the supplies to the floor. He stared up at the roof again, trying to calm down so he could go after Dean.

Wait, they were outside of town. The car was totalled. How was he going to get back to Milwaukee?

He cursed.

He had to get into the sewer system. Dean was down there somewhere.

"Hey!"

He frowned at the sudden voice. Was he hallucinating now? Wouldn't be a surprise.

"Hey, you okay?!"

Who in the hell was that?

"Hey!"

He jumped when the voice was suddenly right above him and he looked up to see a thirty-something man hanging in the driver's window.

"You need help!" the man said and proceeded to wrench the door open.

"My—my bro-brother," Sam gasped out as the man manhandled him out of the Impala. "Need m'brother."

"Just you here, man, and you need a hospital now."

"M'brother...need...find...m'brother..." Sam struggled to say as he was set in the passenger's seat of a pickup truck.

"You can give your brother a call from the hospital." The door shut and the man rushed back to the driver's seat.

Sam's vision was tunnelling and blacking out while shivers wracked his body. The shock was settling in fully now and he couldn't fight it. His head lolled back against the seat, his right arm hung limp beside him, his left hand was pressed to his wound, blood trailed down his face.

"De...m'brother...have...have t...fin'..."

He blacked out then and was not aware of the drive to the hospital.

"De'n!" he tried to shout but it was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. He clutched painfully at the bandages around his torso and fought to breathe normally. He darted his flashlight everywhere, looking for a sign of his brother.

He should be in the hospital. He had been in the hospital. Pickup Truck Guy had dragged him directly into the ER. He was taken immediately and placed in a room. He was left alone for a moment which he used to get out of the hospital. Outside he found the closest entrance to the sewers and dropped down.

He hissed quietly as the pain spiked. He hadn't had any kind of painkiller. Pickup Truck Guy had dragged him out of the Impala before he could take the pills. He had escaped the hospital before any drugs as well though he was considering running back for morphine. Well, if he didn't have to find Dean first he would go back. His right arm was in agony despite the makeshift sling he had made out of his torn over shirt but he was able to hold a flashlight with it still so he was ignoring the pain.

"Where's Sam?"

His head flew up at the voice, the voice he knew without a doubt was his brother's. He started running, oblivious to his pounding head, his excruciating arm, and his now seeping wound. He ran through the tunnels until he found himself at a dead end. It was an open space except for the chair in the center where his brother was tightly restrained.

He stopped and stared at Dean for a few moments. Dean looked...fine. Sure he had a good size cut on his temple that was bleeding and the left side of his face was black and blue and his wrists were torn from struggling against the ropes, but that was it. Dean wasn't even in the range of dying, he wasn't even in the range of passing out. The Shifter had lied in that note. He shouldn't be surprised. Of course the Shifter lied.

"Sam!"

Sam blinked to return himself to awareness and rushed to his brother's side. He pushed the light-headedness and dizziness aside to give Dean the attention he needed.

"God, Sam, what are you doing here? You need a hospital, man."

"Already went," Sam said vaguely and tried to untie the ropes.

"You mean someone took you and the minute you were alone you took off," Dean said. "Knife, Sam, knife!"

"Right," Sam muttered and pulled the knife Dean always kept in his boot.

"Sam!"

Sam spun around in time to avoid getting his head smashed in by the Shifter still acting as Dean wielding a metal baseball bat. It was a seriously bad idea but he rolled across the floor to avoid the weapon. He kicked out when the Shifter got close enough and sent it sprawling across the space until it hit the wall. Sam struggled to even move let alone get to his feet. He couldn't breathe and he was sure he had broken a rib during the car crash and said rib was now attempting to put a hole in his lung.

"Sam!" he heard Dean yell. "Sammy!"

He couldn't draw a breath which made him panic which made the impossible task of breathing even harder. He could feel blood basically pouring out of the wound on his side and his entire body was engulfed in a white hot pain. Despite having absolutely no strength he managed to turn his head so he could see Dean. He wanted his big brother to be the last thing he saw even if he had to take Dean's angry, scared expression instead of a content smile.

"Sammy, no!"

He heard a snap but couldn't bring himself to try figure out what it was. Cold was falling over his body and his breaths were coming even shallower. He tried to keep his eyes open in order to pretend he wasn't dying but it took so much effort. He heard another snap and thought he saw Dean move but couldn't make sense of anything. With a hand on his side and Dean in his mind, he let his eyes close one last time.

"Yes, we're coming to your place when he's ready...got a truck bringing her over now...sleeping...it's dead, both are...some guy in a pickup said he brought him here...should be good to go in a couple of days...no, no cases for a while...tell you later...yeah...yeah, okay...see you later, Bobby."

Sam groaned as he was brought back to consciousness but a conversation that made absolutely no sense. And what was that incessant beeping? God, it was irritating as all hell. Alarm clock? No, this is a beeping, not a blaring or music. So what the hell?

"It's the heart monitor, dude, nothing can be done about it. It's kind of necessary."

There was the voice again, the one that had been having the nonsense conversation.

"Hey, I wasn't talking to myself. I was talking to Bobby."

Was he talking out loud without realizing?

"No, I just know you that well," the voice said, sounding amused. "Come on, Sam, open your eyes."

Dean.

It was a fight but Sam's eyelids were eventually pulling back to reveal his dazed hazel eyes. Said dazed eyes managed to focus on one thing, though, despite the pain and drugs: Dean. Dean, whose own green eyes were bright with a hint of worry. Dean, who was smiling as he waited for awareness to return to Sam. Dean, who had a hand on Sam's chest. Dean, who was there.

"D'n."

"Yeah, it's me, Sammy. I'm here."

"D'n."

"I'm okay. Way better than you, dude, but you'll be okay too. Though once you are, I am giving you a well deserved beat down."

"Huh?"

Dean continued smiling as he pat Sam's chest and looked down at his brother's confused expression. "You almost died, Sam, literally. You lung was punctured, you were bleeding internally while simultaneously bleeding out. You had the biggest concussion of life. Your right shoulder was badly dislocated and your collarbone is broken. If you had stayed at the hospital when that guy brought you here, they could've fixed you in no time. But, no, you had to make a grand escape and a grand gesture, didn't you?"

"Thought...note said...dying..."

"Yeah, I saw the note," Dean said with a sigh. "Suppose I can't say too much. I would've done the same as you if you were the one the Shifter had."

Sam hummed, falling back to sleep despite wanting to talk to his brother.

"Still owe you a beating but that'll come later," Dean said and Sam hummed again. "Go to sleep, idiot."

And Sam did.

"Do you see this? Do you see this?!" Dean said loudly and dramatically as he stared at his damaged Impala.

Sitting on chairs on the front porch, Bobby and Sam watched as Dean shouted and gestured and fretted over the car. Bobby shook his head in exasperation while Sam was stuck halfway between a fond smile and a cringe. He was still healing. They had only been at Bobby's for about two days and had been in the hospital for four. He was hardly allowed to do anything and it was a surprise that Dean had allowed him to sit on the porch with Bobby instead of continuing his confinement to the bed and couch.

The stitches had come out of the gash on his head the day he left the hospital. His arm was in a sling that was secured around his body to keep his arm stable and stuck to his chest to prevent movement. The stitches still remained in the wound on his side and were covered in thick bandages that still had to be changed twice a day. His lung was completely healed and his broken ribs were healing. All internal bleeding had ceased. He was still on painkillers and antibiotics and would be for a few more weeks.

"I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch!"

"You already did, Dean," Sam said with a quiet sigh. He just raised an eyebrow when Dean glared at him and Bobby snorted, earning himself his own glare.

"Calm down, Dean, this is nothing," Bobby said, trying to calm the oldest Winchester down. "You completely rebuilt this thing after the accident. For you this is nothing more than a scratch."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew Bobby was trying to make the damage seem like less than it was but those words were not going to help.

"A scratch?" Dean said, turning to face Bobby fully. "A scratch? Are you freakin' insane?! Look at her! A tree, Bobby, a tree!"

Bobby threw his hands in the air and got to his feet. "Fine, I'm out. Have fun, son. Good luck, Sam."

"I heard that!" Dean said, having already turned back to his detailed examination of the Impala's front.

Sam just grinned at Bobby who pat his uninjured shoulder and disappeared inside. Sam returned his gaze to Dean who now had the driver's door open and was examining the inside. He watched his brother growl and mutter and prowl around the car. The amusing but familiar and comforting sounds made him relax and his eyes closed as he attempted to rest.

He had a feeling he dozed off for a little while at some point. When he woke up, the sun was setting and Dean was sitting next to him sipping a beer. He looked over at the Impala and found a tarp was pulled over the front of it to cover up the place where the windshield once was. He recalled that Bobby had mentioned it might be raining overnight so understood the need for the tarp. The Impala was damaged enough without needing water damage inside as well.

"M'sorry about the car," he said quietly, not wanting to break the silence but wanting to talk to Dean at the same time.

"Did you drive it into the tree?" Dean said, not looking away from the sun sinking behind the trees.

Sam's eyebrows came together. "No."

"Not your fault then," Dean said matter-of-factly. He looked over at Sam with a raised eyebrow, making Sam look away shyly, sheepishly.

"I'm apologizing for the Shifter then and just in general that the car got totalled...again," Sam said and Dean chuckled quietly.

"Gives me something to do while you lounge around," Dean said and Sam rolled his eyes.

"You're a jerk."

"That I am."

The brothers laughed and fell into a comfortable silence for a while as they continued to watch the sun set. Dean let Sam take a sip of his beer and considered his brother.

"How'd you know it wasn't me?" he eventually asked as Sam was handing the beer back. He was still on lots of medication and really shouldn't be drinking any alcohol.

"Took a while," Sam said with a frown. It should not have taken him as long as it did to realize the Dean he was travelling with was not his Dean.

"Maybe but you still noticed," Dean said. "So how'd you know? There must've been something that tipped you off."

Your little quirks that I doubt even you notice? Sam shrugged his good shoulder. "You weren't acting like you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "In what way?"

You weren't looking at me. "Just small things, I guess. You...drove differently, walked differently."

"Seriously? What else?"

Sam swallowed and felt himself turn red with embarrassment. "You didn't look at me."

There was a pause.

"What?" Dean said, sounding genuinely confused and Sam sighed.

"When we were driving, you...it didn't look at me. You always do, always just glance in my direction. It just stared at the road," he explained.

"Huh," Dean said as though it was something interesting and not totally embarrassing that it was something Sam actually knew. "Anything else?"

Sam sighed again. Might as well tell him everything. "You didn't look at me...right when you mentioned the fact that you raised me."

Dean was silent again as he took another drink from his bottle. What were these things that Sam seemed to notice? They were miniscule details, things he didn't even know he did yet Sam knew? Knew well enough that they were what separated him from a Shapeshifter?

He tapped his bottle against his knee and looked back at Sam who was making sure to keep his eyes on the sun that was nearly gone. Bobby's porch light had come on and was now illuminating them.

Was it really that strange that Sam knew these things about him? Did he know such things about Sam?

He knew that Sam leaned towards him. Even when they fought Sam leaned towards him like he was doing now. He was leaning slightly to the left. It could be assumed he was doing it to avoid jarring his injured right arm but Dean knew, he was leaning towards his big brother, was doing so unconsciously. He did it in the car, when he was sleeping, everywhere.

He knew that Sam relaxed when he came in the room. Even when they were fighting. It had always been like that. Dean's presence brought calm to Sam, allowing him to relax because he knew he was safer with Dean there. Sam was more than capable of defending himself and taking care of himself, but he was also well aware that Dean would always do absolutely everything possible to protect him. As such, Dean's presence meant safety which meant Sam could relax.

He knew that when Sam's hazel eyes brightened to be greener he was either happy or trying to tell Dean how much he loved him. They were not people that freely said 'I love you', not even to each other, but it was in their eyes when necessary. Sam's brightened right up to resemble Dean's and when that happened, Dean was immediately reminded how much his little brother loved him.

He knew that Sam tapped out the beat to his favourite songs on his leg with his fingers though he would always deny it to Dean. Sam would never admit to liking any of Dean's music but Dean knew. There were some ACDC songs and a Metallica song that he always tapped out the beat to.

Yeah, he could see how Sam knew such little things about him. He knew such little things about Sam but those little things made Sam who he was.

"So it wasn't that he didn't exude the awesomeness that I do?" Dean said, taking another drink of beer to hide a smile when Sam snorted.

"Not quite, Dean."

"Ah, well, you probably didn't notice. Too focused on where I was looking."

Dean glanced over to meet Sam's eyes and saw the eyes that were greener than normal. Dean grinned and looked back out at Bobby's yard.

"You always look at me too," he said.

"I do not," Sam protested.

"You do."

"Do not."

"Do."

"No, I don't."

"Dude, you so do."

"Boys."

The End