Title: Bumps and Bruises
Author: Enkidu07
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me

The sound of cracking rock has Sam reflexively flinching away, head whipping around in panic. Screams mingle with the avalanche and his eyes widen as he sees Dean push a woman to the ground, protecting her body with his own. Boulders engulf them, dust spewing, and Sam forces his attention back to the rock face in front of him. Adrenaline fuels his efforts and he wrenches the last of the root free of the cliff wall and slams it into the fire burning at his feet. As the root bursts into flame, the chaos quiets abruptly, a final cry echoing in the silence.

Hikers and motorists all turn their faces to the jumbled rock around them. The remote mountain road is strewn with boulders and dust but Sam's confident the mysterious accidents that have plagued the mountain pass are over. Job finished, he single-mindedly pushes his way to where he last saw his brother. Sirens whirl in the distance.

"Dean!"

Sam sees the stunned faces of the bystanders first. A woman is reaching out, her fingers not quite touching his brother's sleeve. "I think you should sit down, honey," she murmurs in a shaky voice. Sam pushes through the small crowd and breathes a quick sigh of relief when he sees his brother already back on his feet. Dean's gaze latches onto his and he stumbles forward, closing the gap.

The woman turns her attention to Sam. "I hear the ambulance. Make him sit down." Her eyes keep getting wider and she moves toward Dean again. Sam pushes between them, letting Dean latch onto his sleeve and aborting her approach.

"I've got him. It's okay now." He raises his voice a little, "It's over. Everything is okay. Everyone stay calm, help is coming." He softens his voice as he turns into Dean, "You okay?"

Dean nods and winces, fingers spasming tight around Sam's bicep. "You get it?"

"Yeah. It's over."

"Can we go?"

Sam scans Dean's temple. The left side of his face is covered in blood and dirt, and his right arm is still tucked to his side. "Maybe we should wait for the ambulance."

Dean straightens up with effort, deepens his voice. "Or maybe we should go."

Sam scans the area again. Their audience is still agape, watching the exchange. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."

Navigating the fallen rocks is tricky, but once Sam winds his way around the first bend, the road clears. A "Caution: Falling Rocks" sign appears on the side of the road and he shakes his head and pushes the accelerator a little harder.

Sam glances over as Dean reaches unsteady fingers toward his bleeding temple. Sam's hand shoots out, stills Dean's advance, "Leave it. You're covered in dirt; don't rub it into the wound. We'll clean it at the hotel. Where else are you hurt?"

Dean grunts but lets his hand fall back to his lap. "Just bruised."

"Where?" Sam persists.

Dean's silent.

"Dean?"

"I'm thinking. Everywhere?" Dean turns a half smirk in Sam's direction, pale and bloody, and Sam winces in sympathy. "You get it?"

"Yeah. The root was growing through the rocks. That's probably why burning the tree last week didn't take care of it, but we got it. Anything broken?"

Dean scoffs. "Maybe my head. You won't let me check."

Sam scans his hairline, "You think it's fractured?" He asks with renewed panic, looking for some place to pull over.

"No. No. Not really. Hurts like a bitch but I think it's just scratched."

Sam's attention is split between Dean and the road, thinking furiously.

"Sam. Seriously. I was kidding. Not broken. Not a direct hit."

Sam breathes out. "Where else?"

"Right shoulder. Ribs. Left kidney. Leg. Elbow, maybe." Dean's breathing is slow and controlled as he runs through the damage. "Probably a concussion. Feel sick."

Sam matches him breath for breath and starts to calculate time and first aid needs. "Okay. We'll be there in twenty. Can you make it that far or do we need to stop and assess the damage?"

Dean settles back, closes his eyes, "Take me home, Jeeves."

Dean manages a hobble from the car to the hotel room. His left eye is squinted closed against the blood covering his face. Sam can now see that his lip is split and dark with clotted blood. He lets Dean hold onto him rather than risk grabbing onto sore limbs.

In the room, Sam's attempt to pull off Dean's coat almost takes him off his feet.

"Whoa, Sam. Ease up."

"Off Dean. Let me help." Sam gets the coat and Dean's button up off before Dean pushes away and into the bathroom.

Dean looks at himself in the mirror, blanches, then turns and heaves into the toilet. "Fuck."

Sam hovers for a second, makes sure Dean isn't going to pass out. "You good for a second? I'm gonna get the kit."

Dean raises his middle finger and Sam takes that as a yes.

Sam snags the collar of Dean's undershirt and eases him back far enough to close the toilet lid and flush. Dean's uncooperative limbs flail against him until he seems to get with the program and helps Sam get him seated on the commode.

"Here, wash your face." Sam hands Dean a soaked washcloth.

Dean pushes it to his left eye, rests his head on the cloth.

Sam forgoes the other washcloth and wets the hand towel instead. He blots at Dean's temple until Dean starts sliding sideways away from the pressure. "Okay. I think bed. You good to move?"

Dean keeps his head tucked, but he reaches out with the bloodied cloth and lets Sam haul him to his feet. He swallows a few times, but then steadies and Sam guides him to the bed, tossing towels to cover the pillowcases. Dean's knees start to give out but Sam keeps him on his feet. "Dude, let me lay down."

"Jeans. Need to get 'em off so I can look at your leg. Once you're down, I'll have to cut them off."

Dean growls but inches his fingers to his belt and laboriously gets it loose. Once his jeans are around his thighs, he tilts himself toward the pillows and Sam helps him lay down and then pulls off his boots and slides the denim the rest of the way free.

Sam assesses Dean's prone form, looking for any unseen critical damage. A purple bruise is emerging along Dean's right quad and Dean is tucked around his ribs with his right arm still pulled close. Sam fetches some water and clean cloths and then carefully lowers himself to sit beside his brother. Before starting on the head wound, he rests a hand on Dean's shoulder, checking to ensure the joint is still in place through the light undershirt. He then slides his hand down Dean's arm to feel around the elbow joint. It feels puffy but isn't visibly bruising yet. Finally, he exerts gentle pressure on Dean's chest to get him to shift onto his back.

"I don't think it's dislocated," Dean says, squinting at Sam through hooded eyes.

"I don't either," Sam confirms. "What about your ribs? Right side too?"

"Yeah." Dean tolerates a hand ghosting over his ribs, a palm pressing gentle pressure along his rib cage. Dean winces but nothing shifts.

"We'll ice for bruising after I fix your head."

Dean grimaces and then admits, "Think my shoulder blade is bruised, too."

Sam wrings out a clean cloth and cleans the dirt and blood from Dean's face. Dean reaches up to take over, but Sam catches his wrist and lays his hand back on the bed. "I got it. Just hang out for a second, okay?"

Dean shifts restlessly as Sam thumbs at his split lip. The cut has mostly clotted so Sam just unwraps an alcohol wipe and presses it gently to the wound. "Here, keep pressure on that."

He tilts Dean's chin up and to the right to get a better look at his temple in the lamplight. The wound is still sluggishly oozing blood, but it looks more like a nasty scrape than split skin. He presses the cloth to the wound, easing up on the pressure when Dean hisses and tries to twist away. "Sorry, sorry. It's not bad, but I think it's bruised too. I'll pour instead of blotting."

Sam arranges the towel under Dean's head to catch the runoff and then just pours peroxide over Dean's temple. Dean's breathing stays even and Sam watches the medicine slowly froth along the length of the wound, washing out the dirt and blood. When it starts to slow, he raises the bottle and pours a fresh dose. With the third and fourth dose, the yellowed bubbles are mostly gone and only fresh bright blood wells up along the deepest scores. He digs through the kit for some antibiotic cream and smears it along a clean bandage. Then he squeezes a line directly along the wound. Dean starts at the touch, but holds himself still while Sam pushes the bandage carefully along his temple. Sam wipes the rest of the blood from Dean's face and then prods his good shoulder. "Open up. Let me see your pupils."

Dean squints at him in the bright light and Sam carefully thumbs his left eyelid to get a look at his eyes. Dean tolerates it long enough for Sam to get a good look at his pupils then turns away, sealing his eyes closed. "Head hurts, Sam."

"I bet. Have some Tylenol and I'll look at your shoulder."

Sam gets him some water and then gives him a break while he gets fresh water and cloths. Sam can't get a good look at Dean's ribs through his undershirt so he finds a small hole and just rips. Dean startles at the sound and then presses his hand to his face when the movement jars his head. "Fuck, Sam. Warn a guy."

Sam doesn't respond, just runs careful fingers over yellowing ribs and then palms his belly, watching Dean's face for any signs of tenderness. Dean shifts uncomfortably, but doesn't seem to be in pain, so Sam coaxes Dean back onto his side to look at his shoulder. Dean goes willingly, pressing his face into the pillow. Sam runs a hand over Dean's shoulder blade, judging the damage by listening to Dean's jerky breaths. "It doesn't feel broken. Definitely bruised. It's blue already." Blue welts are sprinkled along Dean's lower right side as well. "These look superficial but if you start pissing blood, you tell me, man. Dean? Got it?"

"Yeah. Got it."

Sam takes the opportunity to run his fingers along Dean's scalp as well to look for any other bumps or bruises. Dean inhales roughly a couple of times, but no skin is broken.

Finally, Sam feels along the edges of the bruise marring Dean's thigh until Dean jerks away, grunting into the pillow. "I think you'll live."

"Feel like I got pummeled by boulders."

Sam snorts. "You kinda look like it too. I'm gonna get you some ice and some muscle rub. You okay here?"

"Might throw up."

"I've gotcha covered." Sam snags the wastepaper basket and brings it close to the bed. Dean's body is tense, his face still mostly buried in pillow. Sam makes quick work of a few ice packs and balances them carefully along Dean's shoulder, elbow, and leg. A shiver runs through Dean's form and Sam pulls the blanket up around him. "Sleep for a little while. I'll wake you up in 20 and we'll take the ice off and try the warming rub."

Dean slowly relaxes into the bed. As he unclenches, the ice bags shift and Sam adjusts, keeping them in place. "Gonna need a vacation after this." Dean murmurs, already half asleep.

"I've been telling you, man."

"The Grand Canyon is off the list, though. No more rocks."

end.