A/N: So I've joined the ranks of serializing the drabble words! You were all so worried about Dean, and this chapter is just so…not helpful! This is a double drabble. But hey, it's for my birthday! I can go all out if I want ; ) Besides, I'm also using past challenge words, so it counts!
Disclaimer: They would be an AMAZING birthday present, Mr. Kripke, really! I would be so honored….
"Ok, does anything else hurt? Can you move your hands?"
"No pain, just this pressure in my back…" Dean grunted, cautiously bending his wrists and flexing fingers. "Arms are ok."
At least we're not looking at quadriplegia.
Sam hated his own hands at the moment. Clumsy, gargantuan fingers fumbled the phone as he tried to dial 911. Glared at the tactile members too slow to get off a shot at the creature before his brother had been tossed like a rag doll.
Dean twitched his fingers again. Lithe, agile digits that had probably saved his own life by firing the first iron rounds. Sam was momentarily jealous.
The right hand moved a third time, fisting before laying out flat before the unspoken request got through Sam's thick skull. Because as much as Dean was loathe to give into fear, to have no control in a given situation, he hated feeling alone much more so.
Sam scooted close, weaving fingers together, palm to palm-interlocking puzzle pieces.
"You freaking out on me?" Dean asked, unable to risk craning his neck to look anywhere but straight up into Sam's face. Then again, at the moment there was nothing else he would rather see.
"Like a little girl," Sam assured him, squeezing Dean's hand between both of his.
At least they were still good for something.
A/N: I've done hugging, hand holding…*shrugs* Brotherly love is just too damn cute