Sam raised his head at the banging noises that were coming from the kitchen and sighed, shaking his head at the scene in front of him. His brother was in the kitchen having a fight with a family sized tin of tomato soup and by the sounds of it, the soup was winning.

"God damn sonuvabitch!" The can was tossed into the sink and the can opener that Dean had been trying to use was flung onto the counter.

"You want some help in there?," Sam offered as his brother strode towards him, face dark.

"No, I got it." Dean disappeared into the bedroom and returned with his Bowie knife held between his palms.

Sam felt fear prickling his neck hairs. "What…..are you going to do with that?"

Dean smiled wickedly. "Improvise."

That, thought Sam, had been Dean's word for the last few weeks. Bobby's rooms were now littered with everyday objects that had found new purpose in their lives and that of Dean Winchester.

There was the coat hanger, Sam had been instructed to contort, that Dean used to get button done and his zip up on his jeans. Then there was the steering wheel cover that let his brother get a good enough grip to drive. (Even if he couldn't quite manage yet to turn the key to start or stop the car; the coat hanger had been tried and found wanting.)

Sam's glass and wash mitts had been the beginning of creating a monster. One that worked round it's limitations very ingeniously, with his brother's help, but still a monster nonetheless.

Said monster was now sitting on the kitchen floor, soup can between his legs and the knife poised over it, his hands either side of the hilt, thumbs resting on the top.

"I can open that for you," Sam offered.

"Nope, I got it."

"Dean you going to end up………"

He didn't get to finish as Dean drove the knife down and clean through the top of the can, more soup escaping all over him like a little mini volcano than was probably left in it with the force behind the hit. "A-hah!" Dean called triumphantly, wiggling the knife from side to side to widen the gap. When he was satisfied he stood, wiped and placed the knife on the table and lifted the can from the floor, tipping its contents carefully into a saucepan and placing it on the gas.

"Can you watch that doesn't boil over? I need to change." Dean didn't wait for an answer and Sam just shook his head and did as instructed.

"Next thing that boy needs to learn to make is a mop he can grip." Bobby entered the kitchen, side stepping the little slaughter house puddle on the floor. "He got it open then?"

Sam turned and lifted the Bowie knife. "Oh yeah. He was just making sure that it was dead before he cooked it I think."

Bobby shrugged. "Guess you can't be too careful with soup. Watch you don't burn that now or there'll be hell to pay." He looked in the pot. "And if that is supposed to feed three of us, I suggest you either scoop that up," he pointed to the mess on the floor, "or open another can. Just don't let him see."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll cook, you clean." He reached for the cupboard as Bobby fetched the mop.

---

Later

Dean hadn't had a proper nightmare in a few days now but tonight his scream had woken up the whole house. The first night in weeks that I've left him to get some sleep of his own, the younger Winchester thought guiltily as he stumbled down the stairs to Bobby's room that Dean was still using.

Castiel had offered earlier to sit with Dean, both men shooing Sam away to catch up on some of the sleep that his brother's restless nights had deprived him of. Tiredness and the comfort of knowing that Dean wouldn't wake up alone had him agreeing. Now he wished he hadn't.

The younger Winchester tried to shout a warning to Castiel as he skidded into the room, but he was just a fraction too late. It was the fact that Dean had managed to curl his fingers into a fist that had caught Sam's eye before he realised that Castiel was reaching to touch his brother's shoulder. The distraction was to the angel's cost.

Castiel turned at Sam's shout, just as the hand touched the hunter. Dean's eyes shot open and his fist came up, connecting solidly with the angel and knocking him on his backside. Dean hauled himself out of bed, disorientated and confused but Sam got there before he could stand. Sliding in between the crumpled heap of angel and the chair he blocked Dean, forcing him to stay seated. "Dean! Dean! Hey, hey, hey, it's me. It's Sam. It's a dream Dean, it's just a dream."

Sam watched as his brother instinctively pulled his hands in close to his chest and tried to move away, still not quite certain what was going on. Sitting down on the chair, Sam held his arms wide. "It's ok. It's me. Dean?" He said his brother's name softer this time, reaching a hand round to the back of Dean's head and gently pulling it down onto his shoulder. "It's me, it was just a dream." His brother tensed just for the briefest time and then relaxed onto Sam, his breath harsh in the quiet of the room. The younger Winchester scowled at the angel as Castiel pulled himself off the floor. "How many times?," he asked softly but with anger in his tone. "Don't touch him until after he wakes up."

Castiel gave Sam a sheepish look. "I forgot. I am sorry." He moved to sit beside Dean on the bed, raising his hand to touch the man's forehead. Sam caught the weight as Dean slumped onto him fully and then gently laid his brother back on the bed.

"There will be no more dreams tonight. Go back to bed Sam, I have him now."

"Look at his hands." Sam pointed out to Castiel. Dean's hands were still curled into fists. "Do you think that he'll still be able to do that when he wakes up?" Sam gently tried to straight out his brother's fingers and failed.

"Let me." Castiel took one of Dean's hand in his and slowly the hunter's hand straightened.

"Thought you couldn't heal his hands?" Sam asked confused.

"It was heating not healing. I warmed it to get the muscles to relax." Castiel took the other one and repeated the process. "Go sleep now Sam, he may need you in the morning."

Sam went to leave but Castiel's voice caused him to pause. "I don't understand why his hands? Out of everything that they must have done to him, why is he fixated on his hands?"

Coming back to sit on the bed Sam lifted his brother's hand into his. "Castiel, Dean's hands are who he is. Everything he is. He'll say more to you with a touch that he'd ever dare tell you. Most of Dean's skill and precision is in his hands, hands that he needs to be able to work with the tools of his trade, to hunt things, to protect people. They're his independence." He turned to Castiel. "Losing a limb is a hunter's worst nightmare. It renders you useless. Look at Bobby. He put a brave face on it but at the end of the day, he couldn't hunt, not the way he wanted to. But Bobby has a fallback, this place. Dean? He has nothing. He's a hunter or he isn't anything, in his mind at least and you can't hunt if you can't grip. Do you get it now?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes Sam. I know what it feels like to have the abilities you rely on, take for granted even, taken from you. I get it."

Sam cringed and blushed. "Yeah. You would. Sorry."

The angel turned back to his sleeping brother. "It's late Sam. Go rest. If he needs you I will call."

----

Morning

Sam grabbed a coffee and headed out to where his brother was sitting on the top step of Bobby's porch. Dean slid over and made room for him to sit down.

"Morning." Sam turned his head slightly as he spoke but Dean continued to stare at something off in the distance. " How are feeling?"

"I'm fine, this morning at least." Dean paused and Sam waited to see if he would continue. "That was a bad one."

Sam sipped at his coffee. "I kind of got that."

Dean's face crooked into a little half smile. "Yeah, sorry I woke you."

"Want to talk about it?" Sam asked tentively.

His brother shrugged and took a drink of his own coffee, hiding his face a little too long in the huge mug, another of Sam's finds.

"Well?" Sam pushed gently.

"Nothing much to talk about. Same old, same old. Last night it seemed more real for some reason, that's all. Cas tells me that I punched him, made a fist and everything." Dean pulled a hand away from his mug and tried to curl it. He got half way and had to stop. "Seems it's all in here then." He tapped at his head. "Whatever it is that's stopping me using my hands properly." He gave a wry smile. "That's not good to know."

"You'll get there." Sam reassured.

"When? Next week, next month, next year?" Dean's shoulders slumped just a little.

"I don't know Dean, I wish I did. But I do know something. You will get there."

"You sound so sure."

"That's because I know you. You know now that it isn't anything physical that's stopping you using you hands, so all you got to do is figure out what's screwed up in here." Sam slapped his brother's head playfully.

"Watch the hair." Dean ruffled his hair with the palm of his hand. "I could be old and dead for real before I figure that out." Dean's face was back in the mug but he was grinning behind it now, Sam could hear it in his voice.

"Yeah, well. You said it." He put down his mug and gestured for Dean to do the same. "Give me your hand."

His brother put down the mug but didn't offer out the hand. "Why? You gonna hold my hand and tell me everything will be fine?," he asked snarkily.

"No, but now that I know I can't do any physical damage to your hand….." Sam reached out, grabbed Dean's hand and forced his fingers to curl in. Pain rippled across Dean's features but Sam held the hand in position and asked the question anyway. "That hurt?"

His brother shot him a look. "Like a bitch."

Sam let go and Dean slowly uncurled his fingers, a little look of awe on his face as he managed it.

"Again?"

Dean hesitated and then nodded.

"We're going to keep going until you can't anymore or you can do this on your own. You ok with that?" Sam curled Dean's fingers in and smiled as Dean nodded again even as he bit into his bottom lip to fend off the pain.

Bobby was sitting at his kitchen table, watching the little scene on his porch with a soft smile on his face. "Have to be cruel to be kind, eh Sam?" He asked quietly. "Then again, no pain, no gain is kind of a Winchester motto."

He went back to his book and left them to it.