Disclaimer: The characters, story, plot of Supernatural are NOT mine; they all belong to Kripke, that magnificent bastard. I just like to play with his action figures sometimes. :B
A/N: I love that song, btw: Ain't That a Kick in the Head. No idea why I named the story after it, considering what the song is actually about. It just seemed, strangely, to fit. *shrug* Enjoy my unbeta'd h/c, hurt!delirious!Dean, helpful!worried!Sam fluff-fest. Or something.
Also, I have no experience with head wounds (fortunately). If I'm off on anything, please feel free to bring it to my attention.
Summary: Dean takes a trip to the ER after getting whacked in the head pretty good. Sam helps him out.
Ain't That a Kick in the Head
The world around him shivers brightly, and suddenly there's a man standing above him. His mouth moves, and words come from it seconds later, like a bad film dub.
"Dean, you alright?"
He tries to say "yeah" but it comes out sounding more like "hurgle", and that just doesn't make sense.
"Shit..." There are some shuffling noises. Trees bending inward and up toward the sky; the earth is a fish bowl. "Can you stand?"
When he moves, white hot pain like lightning shoots down from the top of his skull, trailing fire in it's wake. He manages to sit up with some help from his brother's calloused hands. He wavers for a moment, leans forward and vomits.
Mumbling penetrates his brain, but he can't tell where it's coming from. "Shut up," he says, words slurring.
"You first," Sam says. With more help, he's on his feet, and they're headed toward his beloved car.
Leaning on it's glossy, black surface, he pats it sloppily. "I love you, car..."
"It loves you too, Dean. Get in."
---
The hospital lights are garish. Dean closes his eyes, planting his face right onto Sam's shoulder. It's dark and warm, and he likes it there.
"No, Dean. Don't close your eyes." Two strong hands lift his head away from his brother's body. He grimaces in annoyance and pain, but doesn't open his eyes. "Hey. Hey!" A slap of his cheek, and his eyes are wide now.
"You could have a concussion, dude. Stay awake."
A moment passes, his head still cradled in Sam's giant sasquatch hands.
"You need a haircut."
Another slap on his cheek, harder this time, and Dean's left sulking in the seat next to his brother, wondering why life sucks so hard all the time. He elbows Sam quietly in the ribs.
---
The pills they give him are pretty awesome, actually. There's no pain anymore, but there is a pretty worrying line of little green people marching up the doorjamb.
"Don't take my icecream!" He starts awake at the sound of his own voice, looking around the room for the little green thieves. Instead, he finds an amused-looking Sam staring at him from the other bed, one eyebrow raised.
Dean takes in the musty smell, the horrible orange bedspread. A twang in his chest; somehow it feels like home... wait. He looks over at his goofy brother, who is clearly trying his best not to laugh.
"Shaddup." He turns over and tries to sleep again. Now it feels like home.