AN: For Kaz for helping me move the rooms around and being subject to the most battle wounds. And for Janice who thought she was in a coma the next day. xD

AN2: Interested in getting together with other fanfic authors/readers this Summer? Check out authorsnote dot org for details on the event!

AN3: Please check out my first book (novella really) that starts out what will be a series. It's called Version 2.0 and written under the pen name C.M. Adams. You can find it on Amazon for an ereader or hard copy. Thanks!

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"Whose stupid idea was this, again?" Dean asked as he and Sam hauled the oversized couch down the narrow staircase.

"Actually, it was yours, genius," Sam replied with an amused huff.

"Shut up," Dean grunted as he reached the bottom step. "I was full-on hoodwinked by granny-apple-pie."

The old woman they'd helped out with a ghost problem the day before, had been so grateful for there help that she'd insisted they come back for some homemade apple pie. And then somehow got Dean to agree to helping to remove some old furniture from the attic that had belonged to none other than the previously unrestful spirit.

"I'm fine with helping Mrs. Muncy," Sam told him as they rounded out of the staircase and toward the open front door. "But you seriously need to consider therapy for your pie problem."

"Homemade, Sammy! Sometimes you gotta make sacrifices for the greater good."

"Are you serious right now?" Sam's brows rose with the incredulous look that painted his expression.

"Leave me alone," Dean pouted as they reached the curb. Sam was laughing as the mutually dropped the couch down for the trash. Only...they miscalculated where the feet of it were landing.

"GAH!" Sam shouted when it planted right on top of his foot, pain so sudden and unexpected it kind of made it even worse. He quickly pulled out of harms way and realized in some part of his currently occupied mind that Dean was bent over as well. And the fact that he was hurt, too, spiked his concern for his brother just over the top of his own pain. He looked over at him at the same time Dean looked over to his younger brother. It was as if they'd both come to the same realization at the same time. And with the pain, they were suddenly thrust into a fit of laughter.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean laughed.

"Oh man," Sam grimaced, still laughing. "That sucked."

"Anything broken?"

"I don't think so. But that was not cool."

"Walk it off, Sammy! Walk it off," he winked, and they both limped back toward the house.

"You're such a jerk."

"Yeah yeah... Whiny little bitch."

"Now, boys!" Mrs. Muncy scolded from the doorway. "Such language."

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean cleared his throat.

"Did you hurt yourselves?" she said, worried when she saw them limping.

"We're okay, Mrs. Muncy," Sam replied for them.

"Oh good. There's just a couple smaller things up there that need to go. I'd do it, but..."

"It's okay," Sam interjected. "We're happy to help."

"Your pie is cooling," she smiled. "I'll even box it up for you. I know you're busy and have to get back on the road soon."

"You're the best, Mrs. Muncy," Dean grinned, then turned to Sam. "Need a break?"

"Nah," Sam shook his head. "Let's finish up. Wouldn't want you to have to wait much longer for your affair with what'll probably be your dinner."

"Damn straight."

They went straight back upstairs and headed to grab the last couple of items that would go out to the trash.

"I'll grab the chair," Dean offered. "You get the ottoman?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied and bent over to grab it, unfortunately completely blind to the wall shelf that was right in front of him.

Dean hadn't been looking. All he heard was a loud thunk, and when Sam yelped, he looked back over at him. Sam's hand was planted against his forehead, his face pinched in a way that alerted Dean that he'd hit it on something. And when Dean put two and two together, seeing the shelf sticking out of the wall in front of him, and no blood dripping down the kid's face, he had to stifle another laugh.

"Jesus, dude... It's a damn good thing you don't work for IKEA delivery," he smirked, still looking at his brother with some concern. To his surprise, Sam began to snicker despite the pain. "You okay, man?"

"I've had worse," he squeaked. "I think we're doing a fine job beating the crap out of ourselves today, though."

"Go sit down," Dean told him. "I got this. I'll even share my pie with you."

"Your pie? I'm pretty sure half of that is mine," Sam argued. "And I'm fine!" he bent over and picked up the ottoman. "Try not to fall down the stairs with that chair, okay?"

"Shaddup," Dean retorted.

It took Dean a little longer to get the chair out. By the time he got back into the house, Mrs. Muncy was mother henning over Sam with an ice pack straight out of the 60s. "You poor dear. Are you sure you shouldn't go be checked out?"

"Trust me, I'm okay," Sam smiled at her.

"And I'll keep an eye on him," Dean assured her as he entered the kitchen.

"Be sure that you do, Dean," she told him, then reached for the boxed apple pie. "Here you are. Thanks for everything, both of you."

"No no. Thank you," Dean smiled as he took the pie.

"You two be careful out there, ya hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied as he got up out of the chair and handed back the ice pack.

It seemed as though Dean got back to the hotel in half the time. Sam knew it was because he wanted some of that pie while it was still warm. And despite the throbbing pain in his head, he couldn't help the amusement that forced a smile at Dean's unnatural obsession with the dessert.

As they entered the room, Sam headed straight for his bed while Dean headed for the table. "I'm gonna lay down for a few," Sam told him. "Friggin' head is throbbing."

Dean's brows furrowed, pie set on the table for a moment while his concern for his brother won out. "Dude, lemme look at it," he walked over to the bed as Sam flopped down on the side of it. After flicking on the table lamp, Dean grabbed Sam's chin in one hand to move his head to a position where he could better view it in the light. He had to push Sam's hair out of the way, brushing it this way and that just to be able to get a look at where he'd hit it just past the hairline. "Yeah, that's a bit swollen. Dude...oh man," he let out a snicker.

"What?" Sam questioned.

"You hit the corner of it, didn't you?" he surmised.

"I don't even know. Why?"

"Because here's an L-shaped dent. You've permanently been stamped with the symbol for loser," he laughed, and was abruptly cut short when Sam sucker-punched him in the gut. "Ow," he rubbed his belly as he backed away, smile still in place. "Sorry, bro. Here," he dug a bottle of pain killers out of his bag and tossed it to Sam. "Bottle of water next to your bed. I'll go get you some ice to put on your half-a-Harry Potter mark."

"Real funny, Dean," Sam sighed.

"I know I am," Dean grinned and headed out of the room after waggling his brows. It took him longer than he'd thought, to find the stupid ice machine. There was nothing to carry the ice in, and he had to go to the front desk to request something. He told them his brother had hit his head, and instead of a bucket, the clerk was kind enough to give him a plastic bag.

"Just tie it up at the end, and wrap a washcloth around it, and it'll work well," she told him.

"Thanks," Dean smiled. "Oh hey! You don't happen to have any plastic forks, do ya?"

"Yeah, on the coffee bar over there," she replied. "Should be some left over from the continental breakfast."

"You're awesome," he smirked.

"And you just made my day a little less craptastic. Thanks," she smiled back at him.

If it were any other day, Dean would've thought to get her number. But there was pie and an injured Sam back in the room, and he was on a mission.

Individually wrapped forks in his back pocket, and bag of ice in his left hand, Dean juggled the key and unlocked the door to the room and let himself in. "Alright, kiddo. Got you some ice and a fork for your share of the pie, which you might wanna eat some of with those pain killers in your system," he told him as he kicked the door closed and headed to the bathroom for a washcloth, glancing to his brother. Sam was curled up on his side, unmoving. "Hey, Sam," he called out as he grabbed the cloth from the shelf and looked back over. Sam still hadn't moved. A jolt of fear shot straight through Dean's chest. He dropped the bag and cloth and tore over to the side of the bed. "Sammy!" he called again, and Sam didn't so much as flinch. This time he called his name and at the same time grabbed his shoulder, pushing him to lay on his back, "Sam!"

And Sam's eyes shot open, startled, "What the hell!" he went into defense-mode and knocked his brother's hands away. "Dean?"

"Dude, I was calling you name and you wouldn't wake up!" Dean said.

"Huh?" Sam's brows furrowed, then his hands went to his ears and pulled out...ear plugs. "What, dude?"

Dean's fear quickly changed to aggravation. "Ear plugs? Seriously?" he stood, shakily. "You have any idea how much you just scared the crap outta me?"

"Sorry," Sam pushed up onto his elbows. "My head is pounding and I wanted to get some sleep..."

Dean paced a little, trying to gain control back of his breathing and pounding heart. He wiped a hand down his face and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It's fine," he finally decided. Then his eyes went back to the bag of ice that had somehow managed to stay contained where it sat on the floor. He turned and gathered it up with the washcloth, then brought it over to the bed. "Here. For your stupid head," he told him without any heat behind his words.

"Thanks," Sam took it and laid back down, balancing it on the lump at his hairline.

"Gimme the ear plugs," Dean held out his hand.

"What?"

"I'll be quiet! Just...for fuck's sake, Sam..."

Normally Sam would argue about how ridiculous Dean was being. But his head hurt too much to go over it. And he could see how scared Dean had been. He'd thought that knock on the head had done enough damage to make him slip into a coma. It was kinda funny, to be honest. Especially with all the knocks to the head they'd taken in their lifetime. But fear was seldom rational, and he'd rather give Dean the peace of mind. He handed the little flesh-colored buds over into Dean's palm.

"Where'd you even get these?" Dean asked.

"They were in the first aid kit," Sam told him. "I wanted to take some ibuprofen with these pain killers."

"Great, so let's mess up your kidneys, now," he shook his head and headed to the table.

Sam sat up, holding the ice pack so it wouldn't fall off his head, and incredulously hung his mouth open at his brother's back. "Are you messing with me right now?" he asked, brows raised. "When did you suddenly become health-conscious?"

"You never take meds, Sam. Your rabbit-food consuming ass isn't as accommodating to massive amounts of medication."

"I think I can handle a couple of pain killers and ibuprofen!" he retorted, grimacing at the level of his own voice.

"When you wake up feeling like your stomach lost a few layers from the inside, you'll think differently," Dean told him, turning around with the opened box of pie in his hands. He flopped down on the bed beside him as he pulled the forks out of his pocket. "Eat some of this before you go into your coma, at least," he said as he handed Sam a fork.

Slowly, Sam lowered the ice pack from his head and took the fork, never once taking his eyes off of Dean's face. Sometimes Dean could be frustrating. But if you knew him, and really only Sam did, it was clear that ripping on Sam was just his way of not chick-flicking up his real feelings. Dean had been scared, and his scolding was really translated more like... "I don't know what I would do if something ever happened to you. I love you, Sam." And offering Sam the first of the pie was damn near close to making a demon-deal to bring him back from the dead. For Dean, anyway.

Sam wanted to say thank you. He wanted to throw his arms around his neck and hug him and tell him how much he loved him, too. Maybe that was the concussion talking...

Instead he settled for, "Save you the middle?" The middle was the best part; Dean's favorite. It had the best of the sauce from the filling, and the crust was always the best right there.

Dean almost smiled. "Hurry up, man. While it's still warm." Sam smiled and tore open the wrap around the fork...

~End~