"I got it," Dean took the handles of the wheelchair Sam sat in and gave the nurse a charming smile.

"Of course," she replied, stepping aside as Dean wheeled his brother from the hospital room.

As Dean pushed his brother down the hallway, he muttered, "Should have gotten her number."

Sam didn't reply. He slumped in the chair, his gaze a million miles away. He fiddled idly with the strap of the duffel bag on his lap with his right hand.

"Man, am I glad to get the hell out of here," Dean said cheerily, "I hate hospitals."

Sam remained silent.

"Even if the nurses are fine," Dean spoke in his brother's ear, hoping to get Sam to crack a smile.

As the Winchesters exited the front doors of the hospital, Dean stopped at the curb and put the brakes of the wheelchair on.

"Stay right there and I'll bring the car around," Dean said.

"Like I have a choice," Sam muttered.

Dean scowled but didn't say anything, he just walked into the parking lot towards the Impala.

Once we get to Bobby's and get settled, Sam will come out of this funk, Dean told himself.

Reaching the car, Dean unlocked the driver's side door and dropped onto the seat. Turning the key in the ignition, he carefully maneuvered the Impala through the parking lot towards the front doors of the hospital.

While Dean had gone to get the car, Sam had struggled up into a standing position with a pair of crutches Dr. O'Brien had given him. Pulling the car up to the curb, Dean leaned across the bench seat and opened the passenger's side door before exiting.

Slowly, brow furrowed with concentration, Sam moved around the back of the car towards the open door.

"Do you need a hand?" Dean asked, hovering, gripping Sam's duffel bag.

"Not funny, Dean," Sam ground out, struggling to keep his grip on the left hand crutch with his damaged hand.

"I wasn't making a joke," Dean muttered. Instead of forcing Sam to accept his assistance, he unlocked the trunk and dropped the bag inside, looked around for a moment and then grabbed the hospital's wheelchair, folded it and put it in the trunk as well.

When no one came running after him, Dean climbed behind the wheel and put the car in drive. The crutches leaned against the seat between the brothers and Dean paused a moment to toss them into the backseat. Glancing at Sam from the corner of his eye, Dean saw his brother's face was pale with beads of sweat on his brow.

"You okay?" Dean asked as he pulled the Impala away from the curb.

"Fine," Sam muttered and raked his hair back from this face with his right hand.

Saying nothing more, Dean leaned forward and turned on the radio, fiddling with the dial before hitting on a station with a song his brother would like. Dean turned up the volume as the soft rock sounds of Kim Mitchell's song, 'Go For A Soda' filled the car; Dean making an effort, mumbling along with the lyrics even though he didn't know them and bobbing his head.

As they left the hospital parking lot and turned onto the highway, Sam spoke again, "Did you steal that wheelchair?"

Author's Note:

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