EIGHT

Sam sat back, leafing through the magazine and sighing. He made it to the end and threw it to the hospital bed, bored out of his mind.

He heard his phone ring and had time to feel surprised before he pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the number calling, didn't recognise it, but answered it anyway.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sam," said a girl's voice, and he blinked, trying to place it.

"Hi," he said slowly.

"It's me. Becca. From the bar?" she prompted.

"From the… er…"

"A coupla days go? You had to get your brother home after all those shots?" she said, sounding a little disappointed.

"Oh! Right! Yes!" Sam said quickly. "Becca – I'm sorry I didn't call you, it was just that – well, my brother's in hospital, I'm just visiting him right now," he said soothingly.

"Oh, sorry Sam, I didn't know. Is he alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, just a slight accident… He'll be fine."

"Well tell him not to drink so much," she teased. "Anyway, just returning your call, so… If you're free some time, call me back, ok?"

"Returningmy call?" he echoed, lost. Then his head snapped up, eyeing the only other occupant in the room and huffing. Several harsh words went through his mind as he worked through how his phone had apparently managed to call the girl by itself. With Dean's help, obviously, he concluded. "Absolutely, yes," he added quickly. "Sorry I didn't leave you a real message," he added hopefully.

"That's ok, I got your number out of it. Good job you called and didn't get through, or I would never have got your number," she said breezily, and he heard the smile in her voice.

"Yeah, lucky," he smiled, deciding to let it go.

"Well I'll let you go. Look after that brother of yours. He might be a bit of a wise-ass, but he's still pretty cute when he talks about you," she said. "Gotta go. Call me," she added brightly.

"I will, Becca," he grinned, cutting the line and shaking his head.

Something in the room besides him stirred and he looked over to find Dean taking a deep breath and opening his eyes. He blinked at the room, then raised a hand to rub an eye. He found a large circular sucker attached to the back of it, leading to a wire, and paused, disorientated.

"What the–"

"Hey," Sam interrupted cheerfully, leaning forward in his chair. Dean's face creased in disappointment and he relaxed into the hospital pillow abruptly. "Well thanks," Sam said charmingly, shaking his head.

"It's not you, man, it's another of these damn places. You know I hate 'em," he managed, his voice rough from non-use. He rubbed at his eyes anyway, hissing in apparent annoyance. "What day is it?" he rumbled.

"Thursday," Sam supplied helpfully. "How do you feel?"

"Oh the usual," he said tightly, "like I've been hit by a truck."

"Dean!" Sam protested, sounding like he was torn between being angry and being outraged. Dean just blinked at him as if he had no idea what he'd just said. "That wasn't funny, man," Sam managed more quietly.

Dean thought for a moment, then a look of alarm crossed his features before he cleared his throat and nodded curtly.

"Yeah, I ah… Sorry, Sam. Didn't mean it to mean somethin', it just kinda came out," he admitted awkwardly. It was silent for a few moments, then he blew out a sigh. "So what did I miss?"

Sam eyed him, then decided his brother had been through enough without having to worry about the reactions of a possibly over-stressed brother. He pasted on a brave smile.

"You, Mr Jimmy Page, were admitted in the early hours of Wednesday morning – yesterday – with a real nasty puncture wound, caused by – get this – falling from an unsafe scaffolding structure whilst carrying out maintenance work to the hospital's closed upstairs wing," he said smugly.

"Mm-hmm," Dean noted a little blearily, his eyes sliding round the room. He yawned, blinked a few times, and sniffed to himself, apparently finding the room below his excitement expectations. "Did you, ah, remove the freaky corpse before any Suits saw it?"

"I managed to distract them until it was taken care of, yeah," he said smoothly.

"Your arm," Dean suddenly noticed, and Sam looked at his left arm, currently in a light-weight sling.

"Yeah… Got a slight cut on my shoulder from the same spike that got you. And… and the… thing," he added gingerly.

Dean rolled his head away from him and looked at the ceiling.

"Did you make sure… Did you make sure she was dead?" he said quietly.

"I did. It was. Lucky break, really," Sam offered.

"I guess so. With that pipe stuck through her, she was better off," Dean allowed.

"That's not what I meant," Sam said carefully. Dean didn't answer for some moments, intent on studying the ceiling, it seemed.

"What did you do with her?" he asked eventually.

"I ah… Had to put it in the furnace," he admitted.

"Whut!"

"It was the only way to get rid of the evidence." He paused, thinking. "And… it saved you the chore," he added gently.

"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded, a little harshly, and Sam let his eyebrows twitch in sympathy.

"Look, all I'm saying is, this way you didn't have to shoot it – her – yourself. It's… easier," he admitted. God, I hope I don't sound trite, he added to himself.

"Don't be so trite," Dean tutted.

"Trite?" Sam echoed, starting to smile.

"Trite," Dean confirmed. "Not a long word, I know, but it ain't so small right now," he muttered.

"I didn't think you'd be upset over me disposing of it. Not after it made us the victims of mass defenestration," he added with a childish smirk.

Dean didn't smile, just stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

"Actually? 'Defenestration' is only when you're thrown through a window," he said mildly, and Sam's face dropped. Dean looked over at Sam's slightly annoyed expression and let himself smile. "Look, don't worry about it. At least you had the perspicacity to get it done," he added, his eyebrows raised and his tongue sticking out slightly from behind his upper teeth, grinning in a way that reminded Sam of so many childhood taunts and fights.

"Sure," he allowed gently, shaking his head. Then he looked up again. "What beats me is why you were still there, man. I would have thought you could have gotten out of there before I turned up and saved your ass from a messy death."

"You wanted me to MacGyver some weapon out of nothing?" Dean challenged. "I didn't even have my knife. And anyway, that chick was faster than she looked."

"Sure," Sam repeated, this time dripping with sarcasm, and Dean shot him a look that would have melted half of his cassette collection. "Anyway, important thing is, it's not going to be attacking any more people, and you're going to be out of here in a few days."

"Super," he managed, but Sam noticed he let his eyes wander to the window.

He watched his older brother, and just for a second he saw something. Maybe it was the light from the windows catching the green in his older brother's eyes, or perhaps some effect of all the medication after surgery prompting them to appear something other than they were. He couldn't be sure. But just for a moment he thought he saw sadness, or perhaps even regret.

Dean blinked and took a deep breath, rolling his head to look back up at the ceiling. Then he looked at Sam, his eyes holding nothing but boredom.

"Come on then Sammy, make yourself useful and get me the remote," he sighed.

"Alright dude, but if it's Magnum P.I. we're not watching it."

"Aw come on, that man has to have the porn-tachiest porn-tache in existence," Dean chuckled.

Sam shook his head and got up from his chair, crossing to find the remote control. He tossed it at his brother, watched him chuckle like a small boy, and suddenly felt very glad they were where they were.

Because at least they were together.

THE END