Disclaimer: They're not mine. I wish they were but they're not. I'm just playing with them for a while.
It was a dark place that Dean Winchester found himself in. As he clawed his way back to consciousness, he slowly reacquainted himself with the intended function of his limbs. It took longer than he would have liked but it transpired that when he fell, he had managed to land at an angle designed to cause maximum discomfort to his right arm and wrist. On the positive side, though, his fingers were mobile so it was unlikely to be anything worse than a bad sprain.
As his senses gradually returned, he realised that his legs were pinned to the ground by a heavy object. Cursing softly under his breath he rummaged around, as best he could, through the numerous pockets on his clothing. A muted cry of triumph escaped his lips as his fingers closed around a box of matches. He had been hoping for a torch but this would have to do. He awkwardly brought both hands to the front of his body and, after several failed attempts, finally managed to ignite a flame.
Squinting against the flare he could make out a large shape lying across his thighs and knees, effectively trapping him and making standing an impossibility. He felt a warmth seep through the fabric of his jeans and a gentle, recurring pressure on his knees. Flicking out the flame before it could burn his fingers, he thumped his head back down on the ground, grimacing when a sharp pain shot across the base of his skull. He reached forward with his left hand and grabbed hold of the fabric covered object. He yanked it sharply up once, twice, three times. Nothing.
"Sammy?" There was a grunt and the shape shifted slowly to the right. Dean couldn't help but feel relieved. "Sam. Wake up."
"Yeah, it's me. Now get off me."
Sam rolled until he was lying next to Dean, heads almost touching. Dean felt him turning his head and followed suit till they were looking at each other through the darkness.
"You okay?" Only Sam could sound so concerned about his brother's health within seconds of recovering himself.
"What do you think?"
"Did you fall?"
"Me? I'm like a mountain goat. I don't fall." Dean's incredulity at the question oozed through his reply. Sam's confusion would have been funny if Dean hadn't been concerned about head injuries.
"Did I fall?"
Dean sighed and turned his head so he was looking directly up. "Yeah, Sammy, you fell." He paused, letting his eyes close briefly. "You fell on me."
Sam settled into a silence which lasted for all of thirty seconds while he processed the information Dean had just given him.
"Did I hurt you?"
Dean snorted. "You fell on me, dude, what d'you think?"
"God, Dean. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. But you poked me."
"I did not poke you, Sam. I do not poke people."
"What did you do then?"
"You were drifting. I had to get you back in the game."
"Oh." Sam considered that statement in depth. He wasn't entirely sure how they had both ended up on the floor and he didn't think he wanted to question it too closely. If Dean said he had fallen, then he had fallen. That was good enough for him. He lapsed into silence.
"I'm so never playing twister with you after a few beers again."