Enkidu07, 'm soooo sorry for taking soooo long with this fic for your bday… this is like eons late… 'm sooo sorry.

But I hope YOU like it.

I own nothing and I'm sorry for all the grammar/spelling mistakes. Point them out to me, okay… so that I won't do them again. And there's a little tiny SPOILER for 5x11.

Enjoy…

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So, there's one thing that you need to know about Dean Winchester before I start this tale of hurt, cold and one pissed off little brother aka. Sam.

What that thing is, you ask? Well… Dean Winchester is one lucky son of a bitch. And I mean really, really lucky. As in of epic proportions lucky.

-:-

"Son of a…" Dean cursed, while staggering all over the snow; left, right, straight, left, left, left, straight, right, right… if anyone would be watching him, he would think 'he's drunk out of his mind'. But he wasn't drunk. He was just losing important body fluids and functions, but he wasn't drunk, although he wished he was. Oh man, did he wish he was.

He just wasn't able to lift his legs high enough not to stumble and fall every three steps on the dot. 's all.

Left, left, left, fall. Get up, straight, straight, right, fall. Get up, right, right, right, fall. And then repeat it all over again.

He groaned. He would rather be drunk. This was no fun at all, because when being drunk, you at least don't feel any pain.

He was holding his left arm against his stomach and his right one stretched forward to prevent face planting into the snow… every three steps. But it didn't help much… there was still some snow that found its way under his jacket, his button-down and his T-shirt. If something goes wrong, it goes wrong epically.

The snow was melting slowly down his back. It tickled. And it was cold. But it didn't hurt. At least one thing that didn't.

He knew his left shoulder was dislocated, he damn well heard the sound it made and he was still feeling the pain. Oh, fuck could he still feel the pain.

He knew that one rib was definitely broken, for the other two, he couldn't be sure.

And man, as for his head… the hounds barking in there need to find a new bone to chew, because his brain ain't gonna cut it for much longer, if they keep clawing at it like that.

"Argh, fuck!"

He stumbled and fell. Okay, yeah two ribs totally, definitely broken and one… still not sure yet.

And his shoulder… yeah, ouch.

And with his knees deep in the cold, crunchy snow, he only wished for one thing... sweet, lovely deliverence of passing out.

But no… he had to get moving, he had to get to Sam. Then everything will be okay.

He groaned and pushed himself up, his palms clenching around the white snow.

He tried really hard to ignore the pounding in his head and the throbbing in his shoulder, because otherwise he can just start crying right there and now. Or pass out. Anything would be welcomed right now.

-:-

So how's that for lucky, you ask? Well… he doesn't know that his other rib is broken too? Naw, he's lucky because he's stuck in a public park, and a public park has people in it. People who're gonna find him and put him in a hospital and won't that just be peachy. Sam's gonna be so pissed.

He told Sam, that he was gonna go out to get some food.

He told Sam, that he was gonna be right back.

He told Sam, that, no, he wasn't gonna go do something stupid.

He told Sam, that, no, he won't go anywhere alone.

He told Sam: "Man, I'm not stupid."

So basically, he lied and he was pretty sure Sam knew it.

But come on, he just wanted to see if he could still hunt alone. If he could still do this by himself without someone watching his back all the time. Like he did when Dad send him off to hunt alone. He did alright then, so…

Because, I mean… codependent? He and Sam are not codependent. Duh.

Two broken ribs, the third one holding strong… kinda, a dislocated shoulder and a concussion, prove nothing. The doctor didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

And it was just a simple salt and burn, seriously. What could have possibly gone wrong with that?

Don't answer that.

-:-

He hissed when walking jarred his shoulder and ribs.

He was awesome. Floating in pain and snow in the early morning hours, feeling so awesome, the awesome was flowing out of his ears. Or was that blood?

Awesome.

-:-

Because you see… ghosts really love to haunt places they died at. And the ghost of a man that was hung in the park, well it wasn't a park back then, but it is now. And he was buried in there too. Yeah, who knew?

Dean would shrug, but his left shoulder hurt and the other one was too frozen to make it move.

But look at the bright side. Sam will be to busy patching him up to yell at him.

Oh, who's he kidding? His brother is multitalented. He can multitask. He'll probably bitch at him, while patching him up and not even break a sweat doing it. And he'll probably not even breathe in the process. Yeah, Sam is awesome like that. Not breathe, yell, bitch and inflict pain like it's nothing. Yeah. His brother is a freaking genius.

-:-

"Pete, come here… Petey… come, boy. Come here!"

Sarah yelled after her dog.

The park was quiet; it was early in the morning. People were probably still at home making coffee and waking up to go to work. She loves this time of the day, when the sun is barely up, illuminating the far away hills with blood red light.

Yeah, she loves this.

The dog ran to her, putting his paws on her shoulders.

"Good dog, yeah, you're a good dog." She scratched behind his ears:" Good boy, now let go off me and we can move on."

Petey barked at her.

"Your breath stinks, dude. No more beef for ya."
But she smiled anyway and placed her hand on his warm, wet paws and pushed him down.

"Come, boy. I'll race ya."

She started to run and Petey ran after her.

She felt safe. The town was small, the park was small and it was safe. She passed some early joggers a few minutes ago and that made her feel even safer.

"Come Petey, come."

She ran down the path, among trees with Petey jumping all over her all the way.

-:-

Yeah, Sarah felt completely safe. With her huge dog by her side and she was going to self defense classes and she had a mean kick. So, yeah… felt completely safe.

But sometimes… feeling safe isn't exactly the same as being safe.

-:-

There were voices that were coming closer and closer to him, making his head hurt more. He leaned against a tree, chipped some bark and ice off of it and wheezed out a breath that turned smoky white in the air.

The morning was still young, but people are soon gonna fill up the park and then… he'll have nowhere to hide anymore. He really needs to get to Sam, even if that means his little brother bitching and moaning about how it's not safe to go hunt alone. And his only defense would be ''m old enough, man'. And then Sam would look at him, huff, roll his eyes and push at his shoulder twice as hard just to make it hurt.

Yeah… Dean had been there twice… or umm… ten times before.

-:-

You wanna see where Sarah and her dog come in? Well… get comfy.

-:-

Dean groaned when he slipped to the ground and his ass hit the snow and soaked through his jeans right away. But he couldn't move. For the life of him, he couldn't move. He knew that sitting on the snow was not good for him, but he just couldn't move. His arms were hurting, half frozen, his ribs were complaining at his sitting position, but he just couldn't freakin' move. If someone would offer him all the money in the world, he wouldn't be able to move to grab hold of it.

And his stomach felt tight and too full and his head was seeking out new levels of pain to torture him with.

He closed his eyes and pushed his left arm closer to his chest. His breath was taken away from him, when one of his ribs protested at the movement. But he didn't care. He was cold and pain was slowly becoming just a background noise.

And then he felt it. A tongue on his cheek; soft, slimy and warm.

And another lick. And a lick. And a lick. And it smelled so bad… like… beef twice digested.

He opened his eyes and for a tiny second, he thought he was looking into Sam's eyes. Brown, big, shiny. But then his brain kicked in and formed a 'why would Sam be licking me' and 'why would he smell like beef when all he eats is salad'?

And then the long, pink tongue licked him again, from his jaw to his eye. It licked all the blood off of that side of his face.

"Get offa m'."

He slurred and felt the weight of the dog settle on his thighs, warming them up.

After the dog attack, its owner's high pitched voice came and almost split his head in two: "Petey!!!"

Dean groaned, closed his eyes and left his face open to be licked over and over again.

"Oh…"

Oh? What does 'oh' mean?

Dean opened his eyes to check and saw a figure wearing a white woolen hat with light brown, almost blond long hair peeking out. Her eyes were blue in the light, her cheeks red from the cold, her mouth slipping from a smile into worry, nervousness, fear. There were some snowflakes falling on her face, her black sweater… she seemed to bring serenity to all the mess he was in.

He tried for a smile, something that would say ''m not a killer, rapist or psycho of any kind' but what came out was a grunt, followed by another lick from the dog.

"Are you… alright? Petey, come here." The dog licked Dean one more time for good measure and went to Sarah to sit down by her legs. He was a good dog.

"If I look okay, then 'm okay."

"Umm, you don't… do you feel okay?"

She leaned down, her hands itching to touch the man before her. He looked… awful. Bloody, cold, wet… hurt.

He chuckled: "No."

"Uh… what's your name? I'm Sarah."

Oh man, he had to think what his name was. This was not going as planed. His plan was: go, salt and burn, get back. Barely remembering his name while freezing his ass off, was not part of the plan.

"Dean."

"Ummm, okay, look, Dean," she emphasized his name, "'m gonna call an ambulance, okay? I don't know if I should move you or… anything. I…"

There was something in that sentence that just didn't fit right.

Ambulance?

"No, no… no ambulance. Don't. Don't."

He blinked and tried to reach his hand towards her to stop her from dialing. Man, she worked fast. She was already typing in the number.

"Don't." he whispered again.

"Why not? You're hurt…"

"Don't… please."

There was something in his eyes. Something that… spoke volumes. About everything. Something that… felt okay to be near him. Something that… was safe. Trustworthy.

"Umm, okay, okay. But you need help. You don't… look so good."

"Damn," he smiled, "and here I was aiming for a date."

Sarah smiled.

-:-

See, Dean is lucky. He is. For now. But wait until Sam gets there…

But even if that would mean days of 'I told you so' looks Sam would be shooting his way every chance he'd get… he needed Sam to get there. He needed his brother to help him. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.

-:-

"Sam."

He whispered.

"Sorry?"

"Sam."

He coughed, smiled and sniffled. And then groaned, because apparently you shouldn't cough when you have, yup 3 ribs broken, because that hurts really, really freakin' bad.

And his head… when did a marching band start to play in there? And the kid with the drums really should play more in tune with the others.

-:-

So you see… there you go again. Dean is one lucky son of a bitch. Not only did he manage to injure every part of his body sans his legs, but they were numb anyways, so he couldn't say for sure that they were fine, he was also on the verge of passing out. He would say 'finally' but… what then? She would call for an ambulance and then he would be screwed.

Sam!

-:-

"Phone." He mumbled out, his lips cold and getting numb by the second.

"Huh?"

"Phone."

He could only speak in one word sentences. Well, they weren't sentences per se, they were more like words mumbled with almost numb, probably kind of blue lips.

"Sam."

He mumbled, closed his eyes, swallowed and opened them back up half afraid that if he closes them, he would never open then up again.

"Phone, Sam? What? I don't…"

Petey barked and tried to bite at her phone.

"Shhh, boy."

She was kind of lost with the words Dean was saying to her and she was half way to offering her phone to him, only to see that he couldn't move his hands, his fingers. They were lying dead in his lap.

"Dean, I don't…?"

He mumbled out a number that she punched into her phone, her fingers shaking, her cheeks burning with cold. The numbers he told her… it seemed he knew them by heart and not even the pain he was probably in, could take them away from him.

"Sam." He whispered, looked at her straight in the eyes and slid down the tree some more with closed eyes and a sigh.

"Ummm. Okay, then. Uh…"

She looked at her dog and pressed 'call'.

It rang exactly once before a voice laced with caution and worry answered.

"Hello."

"Ummh, hi. Uh, is this… is this Sam?"

"Who's this?"

"My name's Sarah. I uh… a man gave me your number."

"Who?"

His questions were interrupting her every sentence.

"Dean."

"Where are you?"

"In the town's park…"

"Where in the park?"

"Near the south entrance. Look, Dean's… pretty bad."

"Stay there."

The line went dead.

"Well, Petey, that was… a nice… talk."

She crouched down and buried her hands in Petey's neck. Soft and warm.

-:-

Told you that Dean was one lucky man and you didn't believe me. But the thing with his luck is that it has a really weird sense of humor, because the next time he opened his eyes, he wasn't met with a girl or a dog, he was met with… well, to be honest, Sam does have those puppy eyes, but he is not a dog, even though Sam was always the dog, he couldn't have… with those eyes and those ears and that hair… so…

-:-

"Dude, wake up."

Pissed. Sam sounded pissed. And relieved. And pissed.

"Dean, come on."

And man, Sam looked pissed too.

This was bad.

"Sammm…" he stretched the 'm' into a moan and a hiss when he felt himself be lifted and pulled up. The sudden change in pressure, ohgodnotgood… he choked on bile that came up halfway into his mouth, but tried with all his power not to embarrass himself with throwing up all over himself. Especially not in front of the lady. He can throw up all over Sam later when they'll be alone.

He couldn't even feel his brother's hands on him. He couldn't feel anything. Nothing except how numb everything was and how sour bile tastes like when you're swallowing it back down.

He was freezing, if not frozen already. He couldn't feel pain anymore. That was good. And it was bad. Because as soon as his body will start to unfreeze itself, pain won't even begin to describe what he'll feel.

"Is he gonna be okay? I wanted to call the ambulance, but he told me not to. I…"

"You did great. 's okay. I'll… he'll be fine."

The 'once I beat him up for being stupid' was left unsaid and Dean hissed.

"Okay."

"Thank you for calling me. I'll get my brother to a hospital. Don't worry."

He smiled at her and she saw it then… brothers. Oh, Dean is in so much trouble. Sam seemed angry and worried and relieved and the force he used to drag his brother up… she could see that Dean was in good hands.

-:-

And that was it. After that, she was ignored. It was rude, yes, but… Sam could handle it. He can handle his own brother for God's sake.

-:-

"I need you to wake up, man."

Was whispered into his ear.

"Nuhuh…"

"Dean, I need you to at least not be a boneless jackass here…"

"Huh?"

He opened his eyes like someone poured cold water on him, and stiffened his body like there was an iron rod going through him.

He couldn't see Sam anywhere in his line of vision, but the voice he heard just a second ago was so close to him it was like it was living inside of him.

And then he felt it… Sam's hands on his arms, Sam's breath on his nape, Sam's chest at his back… uh-oh…

The bright pain shooting through his muscles when Sam popped his shoulder back to where it belongs brought him back to the land of living, present and aware of everything.

What a way to wake a guy up.

"Owww, damn it Sam!!!"

Sam was silent behind him, a presence both scary and soothing. Dean didn't know what to do with that. Sam's hands were still on his body, gripping tight, bone breaking tight. Sam was pissed.

Oh Lord.

"Sam?"

Sam was still silent.

Okay, to be honest Dean expected yelling and multitasking and stuff, but silence. Silence was not in the plan. And it freaked him out big time.

Sam offered him an ice pack, when he stood up. Silently.

Dean took it and pressed it on his shoulder, noticing that he wasn't wearing his black T-shirt anymore. Nor his olive button-down. But before he could lose brain cells over the matter some more, a hand appeared in front of his eyes… Sam's palm filled with white pills.

He looked up at Sam's eyes seeing nothing else, but Sam trying to hold back a sneer.

That son of a bitch.

A glass of water was in his line of vision next.

Things just kept on popping in front of his eyes… yup, Sam was pissed alright.

Dean took it all. I mean, it being offered and all…

Sam sat down on the other bed and started typing on his computer. Silent.

Dean was slowly starting to really, really freak out. This whole silent treatment was starting to make his shoulder throb and would the marching band in his head just shut the hell up already.

"Sam?"

He sighed out, when he laid back down on the bed, losing his head into the pillow.

"Go to sleep."

It was said softly and soothingly, but Dean knew that Sam didn't mean neither to sooth nor to be gentle. The words were poison spilling out of his mouth.

Dean wanted to say 'I can't fall asleep without you yelling at me', or 'how can I sleep in all this silence' or 'this noise is killing me', or 'you can stop talking now Sam, I can't sleep with you yapping like that' or 'shut up, Sam'.

But what he did say was: "'m sorry."

He pressed the ice pack deeper onto his shoulder, hissed and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. His shoulder was fixed, Sam wrapped up his ribs, they were probably not as injured as he'd thought, his head was a mess of pressure, pain and a strange whistling sound… so, all he has to do now is to make Sam talk and to defrost himself. Piece of cake. He huffed.

He's so screwed.

"Go to sleep. Got a new hunt."

It was said softly and soothingly. And this time Sam meant it.

Maybe things weren't so bad after all.

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The End.