Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Word Count: 700
Disclaimer: Don't own them
The boys return from a hard and damaging hunt. Dean needs some help; he doesn't want it.
"Dean, how long you gonna be in there?" Sam yelled irritably at the locked bathroom door.
The response was an agitated snort; "keep your friggin' hair o …" the words snapped into a grunted hiss of pain.
'Just taking a leak' Dean had said; since when did 'just taking a leak' take fifteen goddamn minutes?
When you're trying to do it with one arm, that's when.
When you're delaying an unpleasant inevitable, that's when.
Eventually, after Sam had paced up and down huffing impatiently, examined the blossoming bruise on his cheekbone, changed his socks and brewed a cup of coffee, there came a protracted fumbling with the bolt which heralded a hesitant opening of the bathroom door.
Dean stood in the doorway, partially silhouetted against the stark lighting behind him.
Listing pitifully to starboard, his pale face was beaded with sweat, his right arm cradled protectively against his chest.
Sam put his mug down on the table beside him.
"C'mon dude, sooner we do this, sooner it's over."
Dean gave a shuddering sigh and trudged grumpily across to sit on the chair that Sam was gesturing to. As he began to lower his rump into it he hesitated, rising again; "Uh, I'll just make m'self a coffee.
Standing behind him, Sam pushed him back down into the chair.
"Dean, quit stallin'; do you want me to reset that dislocated shoulder or not?"
Dean bristled "stow your naggin' bitch, I'm not stallin'."
Yeah, snorted Sam, that's why you've been locked in the bathroom for half an hour.
Dean spun round to glare at his brother over the back of the chair, letting out an involuntary yelp of pain in the process; "you try havin' a leak when you've only got one workin' hand …" he snorted, voice heavy with insulted indignation.
Sam shook his head with an exasperated smile, grasping Dean by his uninjured shoulder and ignoring the flinch that resulted.
There was a barely perceptible nod, followed by a laboured swelling of the chest around a deep, shuddering breath.
"Right, lets do this."
Sam brought his hand across to rest flat on the back of Dean's injured shoulder, cringing as he felt the defined ridge caused by the displaced joint.
Dean winced and tried to shrink away from the touch.
"Well, friggin' get on with it," Dean snapped, wiping his brow with his good hand.
"I will, if you'd just keep still."
Dean muttered assorted expletives under a deep breath as his jaw clenched resolutely.
Sam's hand wormed it's way up under the arm clamped across Dean's chest and his hand balled into a fist, pressing up, deep into Dean's armpit.
"Dean …for Heaven's sake!"
"Jus' do it …"
Sam braced and leaned into Dean's back; "one…"
Dean took another deep breath; "I hate you so much."
"Sure you do … two …" Sam smiled, flat hand pressing hard against Dean's sweat dampened T shirt.
Dean clenched his teeth waiting for three.
Sam jerked, thrusting his fist up into the hot, clammy nook under Dean's arm, and punched the joint back into the socket with a sickening crunch.
The violence with which Dean's head snapped back, eyes squeezed closed, yawning a gaping howl which was either silent or beyond the range of human hearing shocked even Sam, who stumbled backwards with a start.
Lurching forward, Dean looked for all the world like he was about to recycle everything he'd eaten in the last week, before the convulsing heaves levelled into harsh panting breaths.
By the time Dean opened his eyes, blinking back a haze of tears, Sam was kneeling on the floor in front of him.
He was answered with a nod. "Yeah, thanks ... I think."
Dean sat up and timidly massaged the offending joint, experimentally wiggling the fingers of his right hand.
A mug of coffee appeared in front of him and he took it with muttered thanks, shakily wiping his tearing eyes with the heel of his free hand.
"Wasn't so bad …" he grumbled as he took in a long, comforting sip of the hot drink.
Sam grinned; "'course it wasn't Dean!"