Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own sometimes pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

Author's Notes: Never thought I would be writing a Royal Pains story but brothers always get to me, as Dean and Sam are prime examples.


Evan R. Lawson leaned against the bar waiting for his drink order, eyes scanning the boring all male crowd at the exclusive Men's Club event. But his head snapped left as a man a few years his junior ordered a purple nurple.

As if aware of the scrutiny, the tall dark haired man looked to Evan with an expression of embarrassment. "It's for my brother," he explained with a long suffering sigh.

"Least your brother has originally," Evan drawled as he tilted his head at the two on tap beers that the bartender sat before him.

Sam smiled, glad that there was at least someone in the crowd that wasn't an AARP card holder.

"I'm Evan Lawson," Evan greeted, not feeling like tagging on that he was the CFO of Hank Med, suddenly missed making a connection solely of his own.


And the two men shook hands.

"You new to the Hamptons?" Evan asked, wondered why he hadn't crossed path with the man before.

"No, just here visiting."

Evan nodded, remembered not to long ago being a mere visitor to the rich neighborhood. "So which member suckered you into attending?" because surely no one young would attend of their own free will. 'Or if there wasn't some hope of snagging some nice financial backers,' he added on his own excuse for enduring the present almost on death's doorstep's members.

Sam forced himself to not shift, to meet the man's eyes head on as he lied. "Randal Wessman was my great grandfather."

Evan choked on his sip of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he faced his companion, sporting a knowing smile. "Dude, you're what 7 foot?"

Always conscious of his height, Sam corrected with a bite, "6 foot 4."

Turning in his seat, Evan nodded across the room to a full length painting of a man of short stature. "That's your "great grand daddy"", he drawled, eyes twinkling as they met Sam's, " on his tip toes. No one in his blood line is over 4 foot 8 inches."

Sam felt stupid, like a very tall fool. 'I'm going to kill Dean. What kind of con man picks an African American police officer or a guy whose whole family is shorter than Napoleon to impersonate? My brother that's who!'

Evan, noticing the man's blush, leaned closer and whispered, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I got into my first Hampton party posing as a far removed cousin of the host haling from Germany. If anyone asks who's your benefactor tonight, tell them it's my brother, Dr. Hank Lawson."

Surprised and warmed by the other man's understanding and assistance in a deception, Sam found himself liking his bar mate. "Mention your brother, not you?"

Offering up a sad smile, Evan admitted with rare frankness, "He's the favored son here, not me." 'And in our family too,' he let unsaid but tacked on, "That is basically nothing new though." He knew which Lawson brother people deemed the screw up.

Sam understood that, had always felt Dean was John's favorite, in spite of what old yellow eyes had wanted Dean to believe. That Dean had always lived up to their father's expectations and he never had. 'Never would,' a spike of grief washing over him at the reality that his dad was gone and there would be no more chances to earn his father's approval. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to Evan. "Older brother?" he hazarded a guess, but knew in his gut that the look in Evan's eyes was one trying to, not only live up to everyone else's expectations of him but his brother's. 'That's something I know about 100% too. .

"Oh yeah, he's the older brother and he never lets me forget it," Evan readily pointed out.

"I know that feeling," Sam laughed but there was unabashed affection in his tone. How could there not be when Dean had taken care of him his whole life, was still the best thing he had in his life.

Evan raised his beer mug, "To older brothers," he toasted and Sam clanked his glass with Evan's.

Sam smiled at wondering how Dean would react if he knew he just did a toast to him, without any prompting by him. "Speaking of big brothers, I better get back to mine. Nice meeting you, Evan."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll see you at another party, hopefully one with a heartbeat," Evan said, earning him a smile from Sam before the he turned away and struggled to make his way across the room.


Having sent Sam on an errand to get him a drink, Dean dropped his 'I'm fine' façade and leaned heavily against the nearest wall. Friggin' ache in his chest was increasing instead of decreasing as the night progressed. That old man ghost had nearly squeezed him to death, probably would have if Sam hadn't blasted him with rocksalt. Not spying his little brother in the crowd, he unobtrusively pressed his hand to his chest, willed the tightness to dissipate.

He startled when an unfamiliar but concerned male voice came from his left asked, "Are you alright?" Turning, he saw man in his mid thirties with curly short brown hair inspecting him with sharp eyes. Dropping his hand, he straightened from the wall and cockily assured, "Yeah. Just taking a breather from the stimulating company here."

Though the man's eyes remained concerned, his tone lightened. "Yeah, I understand. This is like the times I had to go along with my grandfather to meet some of his old cronies."

Dean gave a quick tilt of his head, honestly answered, "Wouldn't know about that?"

"Never got stuck doing that?"

"Never met my grandfather, either of them," Dean admitted, saw the other man give a solemn nod of his head. Uncertain why he had confessed that, he interjected, "I'm Dean."

"I'm Hank," the other man returned, putting his hand out.

As Hank shook hands with the younger but taller man, he noticed a white bandage coiled around the man's wrist peeking out from the cuff of the suit jacket. "Recent injury?" he prodded, hoping it sounded conversational.

Dean's eyebrows raised at the other man's perceptiveness. "Hazards of my job," he vaguely answered, was surprised the next second when the other man didn't let it stand there.

"And your job is?" Hank pressed, could tell by the paleness of the man's skin, the tempo of his breathing and the haze in his eyes that he was in pain.

"Security," Dean replied with a smile he didn't feel, especially under the pushy guy's probing gaze. "Well, see you around Hank," he concluded, walking by the man.

Instincts and compassion overriding polite courtesy, Hank grabbed the other man's arm, stopping his escape. He saw anger in the man's eyes as they clashed with his own and felt the arm under his hand tense, knew the man was a second away from putting him on his butt. "I'm a doctor and I know you're in pain," he announced bluntly, hoping to forestall a fist to his face.

Whatever guesses Dean had made to the man's motives, Hank's words discredited all of them.

"If you tell me what happened to you maybe I can help," Hank offered, judged the man before him as the type that would ignore all of his body's thousand warning signs, would be too tough to seek medical help until it was practically too late.

Dean felt he had been robbed of his barriers by a preppy do-good doctor, no less. Pulling his forearm from the doctor's surprisingly strong grip, he deflected, "Your spidey senses are wonky this time, Doc. I'm fine." Then he walked away, began to look for Sam in earnest because, he was so ready to get out of there, to call the fruitless fact finding trip a bust and get away from too perceptive, noisy strangers.


Finally reaching Hank's side, Evan handed his brother his beer. "I met this guy at the bar. Seems we're NOT the youngest guys here after all. Funny enough, he's here with his older brother and," he dropped his voice and leaned over to speak in his brother's ear so the words wouldn't carry, "crashed this party." Then he pulled back, still spoke lowly, "At least we crashed an awesome party with scantily clad women, the best alcohol known to man and with a host that gave out complimentary gold bars."

Hank, having lost Dean in the crush of the room, gave his brother an intense look, "Where's this guy?" wondering if it would turn out to be Dean or his brother.

Scanning the crowd, Evan pointed to Sam, who was visible due to his height especially in the osteoporosisly stooped crowd. "There."

Visually following his brother's finger line of sight, Hank scowled. 'It's not Dean, must be his brother.' Searching the persons around the circumference of tall young man's position, he cursed as none of them turned out to be the young man he had met earlier.

Evan, easily picking up his brother's anxiousness and frustration, prodded, "What?"

Absently, Hank replied, "I think I met his brother."

"Guy waiting for a purple nurple?"

Hank's eyes swung to his brother's in confusion. "A what?"

"You know you really have led a sheltered life, bro," Evan chastised, watched as his brother's attention fled again, returned to an almost feverish search through the mingling seniors who were scattered across the club's reception rooms. "So this guy lift your wallet?"

Turning incredulous eyes on Evan, Hank sharply denied. "No!" But at Evan's staredown he qualified, "I think he's injured." Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. "I shouldn't have let him walk away."

Evan shrugged his shoulders. "His brother didn't seem concerned over him."

"Like he would let on he was hurt," Hank scoffed, "especially to a younger brother." Knew that he had his own issues with showing weakness to Evan and he would guess he wasn't even 5% as stubborn as Dean was.

Stepping into his brother's line of sight, Evan put a hand on his brother's chest, demanded Hank's full attention. "Yeah, he's the older brother. How in-depth did your conversation go with this guy? You get his astrological sign, his favorite movie and his batting average?"

"No, I just…" But Hank broke off, didn't know how to voice how it felt to know he had let someone down, had failed to follow his Hippocratic oath but more than that…had let himself down by not treating his patients as people. Of not helping someone that he knew in his heart needed help, his help.

"What?" Evan prompted, didn't understand the insecurity rolling off of his brother.

Rubbing his head, Hank faced Evan, admitted, "My gut is telling me that he was in pain, a lot of it. But I backed down, chickened out from pressing him about it. And when he walked away….I just watched him go, lost him in the crowd.

Troubled by the turmoil in his brother's eyes, by the self hatred, tremble in his brother's usually strong voice, Evan felt a determination flare in him, to take care of his brother because, for maybe the second time in his life, Hank needed him to. Putting on his 'in charge, calm' voice, he announced, "OK. His brother's still here so he's around here somewhere. We'll find him and, if I have to, I'll pin him to the floor while you do your whole doctor thing on him. And I'll even let you charge him our special friends-and-family rates."

Overwhelmingly glad for Evan's support and calm, determined strength, Hank couldn't help smiling, especially at the notion of his beanpole thin brother trying to pin the well toned, muscular, stubborn Dean down. "We're not charging him anything," he firmly stated as he started to move through the crowd, felt the reassuring presence of his brother at his back.

"Some day we're going to have to renegotiate the low scale charging rates for your services," Evan insisted, following on his brother's footsteps, remembered doing it a million times as a kid.

"Some day but not today. Ok, the guy looks a lot like his brother, dark hair, and complexion but a little shorter, more intense," Hank described even as his eyes continued to move across the club's patrons, searching, heart thudding in his chest as time continued to tock away without sight of Dean.

"He's younger than everyone else here but us. I got it," Evan blasé returned, knew that it wasn't like the guy could really blend in with the gathered group of old timers.


Feeling flushed and like the air in the room was in too limited a supply, Dean pushed his way through the gathered men, stumbled as he headed for the door. Knew that, if he face planted, they would just write it off to having one drink too many and that would be more embarrassing then them knowing that he fainted. 'It would be pathetic if someone thought I couldn't hold my drink when these old geezers are guzzling down alcohol practically by hoses,' he sardonically thought, putting one foot in front of the other, determined to make it outside.

Nearly tripping down the three terrace stairs, he found himself on a garden straight out of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Pressing a hand hard against his chest, he bent over, tried to get the air to flow right through his lungs. But it wasn't working, not the cursing at his own failing body, no matter how far he bent over, no matter how shallow he tried to make each breath. Growing pain shafted through him making him feel like the ghost was back, was intent on finishing the job of squeezing the life out of him.

Desperate enough to know that he needed Sam, he pulled out his cell phone, hit the key for Sam's speed dial but before he could press the 'Call Sam' button, he collapsed to the ground. His cell bounced from his grip as he ungracefully crumpled to the highly overpriced landscaped grass. Grasping for breath with spots rimming his vision, he wondered how the rich and famous handled it when a guest expired on their premises, whether they called the police…or a private security firm to do away with the inconvenience of the body. 'This won't be the first time I've died…but it might be the last,' he morbidly thought, prayed that Sam would be OK without him.

When someone dropped to their knees at his side, he believed that his thoughts of his brother had conjured Sam to him. Turning his head, he was disappointed and surprised to see, not his brother, but the do good Doctor hovering over him.

"Hey, stay with me," Hank gently implored, hand coiling around the side of Dean's neck as he began to catalogue the younger man's symptoms. Eyes holding Dean's pained, but surprisingly calm gaze, he asked, "Do you have pain in your chest?"

Dean gave a cut nod, not wasting his feeble breath on words. Then his hand was gently moved from his chest and laid on the grass. His shirt was then ripped open and he knew buttons were flying, marring the landscape. 'Dang Doc, you now how much that shirt cost me?' Dean complained internally, glad to focus on something other than the fact that he was soon going to be unable to breath at all, would be dead before Sam even got back with his purple nurple.

Getting his first look at Dean's chest, Hank lowly cursed at the heavy bruising. Leaning down, he listened to the man's heart, hated what he heard…and didn't hear. Sitting back on his haunches, he ran his practiced fingers over Dean's ribs, found the deformity quickly. Eyes raising to Dean's, he hurriedly outlined, "You have a broken rib and I think you contused your heart which is hampering the blood circulating to your brain. I need to make a cut below your ribs, give the blood another outlet."

Having been injured and around injuries enough in the past to know that sometimes the medical jargon actually sounded as bad as it was, Dean nodded his acquiescence for the doctor to whatever he could. Just wanted to breathe, didn't want to leave Sam, not so soon after their father had died.

Turning to Evan, who had stood back out of his way, Hank rattled off his wish list. "I need a bottle of vodka, a big pen, a sharp knife and a small plastic bag and some duct tape."

Having mentally ticked off the possibilities of obtaining each item his brother mentioned, Evan protested, "Sharp knife? In this crowd? They don't seem the pocket knife carrying kind, Hank." An edge of panic slipping in because, the guy on the ground, he didn't look like he was going to stay breathing much longer.

Hank didn't disagree with Evan, wished he could. He was surprised when his patient rasped, "knife," and gestured weakly toward his right shoe.

With uncertainty, Hank padded down the man's ankle, stilled as his hand struck something hard. Pulling free a small but sharp silver knife from the back of the man's shoe, he faced his patience with confusion and awe, "Later you're going to have to tell me some more about your job." In alarm, he watched the man's eyes flutter, knew that the timetable in his head wasn't right after all. He had less time, not more. "Evan, go!" he ordered, knew instinctively when his brother left his vicinity.


Hunting the Men's Club's opulent lounge for Dean, Sam gritted his teeth at the marked absence of his brother. If Dean had gone off investigating some room without him, he was going to be pissed. He had told Dean that after their less than successful run-in with the old man ghost earlier in the day that they should do research, some reconnaissance of where the ghost had previously been spotted before they went for round two. The ghost had definitely had it in for Dean, barely even bothering with him, had been so focused on squeezing the life out of Dean that he hadn't sensed his approach, didn't anticipate the rocksalt shower Sam gave him. After which, Sam had unceremoniously hauled Dean to his feet and got them both out of the dilapidated old country club as fast as he could.

Their failure, however, had raised Dean's hackles, made him more determined to finish the ghost off with a vengeance. That determination had led them there, to mingle among the Hampton's elite male population over eighty years old, in a place that the ghost had once been rumored to be seen, though years earlier. And as a bonus, these very patrons would have enjoyed the Country Club in it's hey day.

But the patrons had proven themselves unhelpful at best.

"The old club, now those were the days. Met my first wife there…and my third mistress."

"Oh that place was overrated even in its prime. I turned down the invitations after my sons were through the social riggers of society."

"Died? No one ever died there…less it was of boredom."

Pulling out his cell phone, Sam was about to call Dean, declare it a day when he saw the man he had met earlier at the bar, Evan, push his way through the crowd with urgency, practically run to the bar. Watched as Evan headed back the way he had come with equal urgency carrying a liquor bottle and some things in his other hand.

Sensing trouble, Sam started to make his way through the pressing crowd, offered up apologetic smiles and "excuse me", "pardon me" as he jostled the arthritic limbs of the club's movers and shakers. He came to a stand still, frustrated that he had lost Evan's trail when he saw a door leading to the terrace click shut.

Slipping out the door, Sam stumbled to a stop at the scene before him, Dean on the ground, a man leaning over him slicing a knife across his brother's stomach.

Having turned his back to Hank's operating room antics so he wouldn't pass out, Evan saw Sam coming through the door, easily read the shock and then the fury in the man's features. Knew that, what Hank was doing behind him, it wouldn't be something a brother would like to see.

Walking forward, hands raised in a placating gesture, he began, "Whoa. Just let me explain." But Sam was breaking from his shock, was suddenly in motion, bounding down the stairs. And Evan decided to do the stupidest thing he had ever done. He stepped between Sam Winchester and his injured brother.

In one fluid motion, Sam used the hand that Evan put on his chest to swing the man around and slam onto the ground on his back. The action barely slowed down his hurried forward motion to get to his brother.

Looking up at the thud and the whoosh of breath from Evan, Hank saw that his brother was on the ground, was radiating surprise but not pain and that the tall dark haired man Evan had pointed out as Dean's brother was stalking forward, his expression fierce.

"Get away from him!" Sam commanded, his voice a decibel under a roar.

Before Hank could offer up an explanation, Dean's brother was upon him, forcefully shoving him backwards. He landed on his back, emanating the same out of breath whoosh that Evan had but he did manage to keep hold of the knife.

Having removed the threat, Sam knelt in the grass at Dean's side and pressed his hand to the cut that the man had made just under Dean's ribs on the left side. Instantly hated the way the blood welled between his fingers, escaped his brother's body. Looking to Dean's face, he realized that Dean's breathing was more gasp than inhale, that there was no color in his brother's cheeks but his lips were tinted blue and his stoic brother was writhing weakly under his hand. Knew that Dean was reacting to more than the inch cut on his torso.

Scrambling upright, Hank urgently explained, "I'm trying to help him. He's got a broken rib that has contused his heart and is cutting off the blood circulating to his brain. If you don't let me release some of that built up blood, your brother will die."

Listening to the man's words but his eyes fixed on Dean's pained eyes, Sam knew that whatever was wrong with his brother, it was killing him. Had seen the look in his brother's eyes before, after his heart attack, in the rearview mirror of the Impala right before the Semi hit them. But it took all of his strength, all of his love for Dean to have the courage to lift up his hands from the puncture wound, to let them hover just above, to let his brother bleed, to trust a stranger with his brother's life. Again.

With Sam's sign of contest, Hank replaced Sam's touch with his own on the incicison, but not to stop the welling blood. "I have to make the incision larger, get some blood out and be able to put in a tube so he can breath." His eyes intently focused on the task at hand and not on Dean's brother.

Pulling his bloody hands further back from the cut, Sam nodded at the other man's explanation, gave his permission. Relegated back to observer, he slid his right hand into his brother's left and tenderly rested his left hand on Dean's head. Instantly, Dean's hand gripped his with an intensity that was nearly bone crushing, revealed the level of agony his brother was in. When he felt Dean stiffen under his touch, he looked at what the man was doing to his brother. Immediately he wished that he hadn't as the knife cut into his brother's skin like it were simply rubber of a scuba suit, like something inanimate, not belonging to a human being, to his brother.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand back harder, an outlet for his own terror and agony at watching Dean being sliced open, being hurt, on purpose, with his consent. And though he had years of experience stitching Dean up, he had none of standing by idly while his brother was surgically sliced into. Jerking his eyes away, he focused on the source of his greatest strength, on Dean.

Leaning over so he could meet Dean's pained eyes, he lightly stroked his brother's hair, entreated tenderly, "Dean just hang on." And it was just like Dean to do the opposite of what Sam asked him to, for his eyes to close and his grip on his little brother's hand to loosen marginally right then and there. "You can't go, alright," Sam cajoled, as if this was merely a debate over Dean threatening to leave him behind at the motel while he did some research on his own. But Dean was set on proving that he didn't have to listen to his little brother and stopped breathing altogether. "I won't let you go," Sam determinedly hissed. Raising Dean's hand, he pinned their clasped hands between them while his other hand fisted in his brother's short hair. "Dean, don't do this!"

Sitting up, Evan watched Sam, not his brother, couldn't' look away. Felt choked at the raw emotions, the fear, the love flowing between the brothers.

When Hank cursed and Dean stilled completely, Evan wanted to be anywhere but there. Didn't want to be there if Sam lost his brother. Couldn't stand to watch the tragedy but also couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't walk away. 'Save Sam's brother, Hank. Save him,' ran through his head, cheering his brother on, imploring Hank to perform another one of his medical miracles.

Hank didn't ask for assistance from Dean's brother or his own, worked alone, heard Sam's entreaties and soothing words to his brother and knew what it would feel like if it were Evan grasping for each breath, dying unless something was done, unless the right thing was done. 'Please God let me be doing the right thing. Help me save Dean.' Wiping away some of the blood from the incision with his hands, he slid the tubing of the pen into the opening, taped it to Dean's skin and then taped the plastic bag over the tubing.

Sam startled back as Dean suddenly arched off the ground, drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. Was so similar to the way that Dean had come out of his coma that he felt the need to look behind him to see if his father was coming, would once again show up to make sure Dean was ok. 'Dad's dead. But Dean's alive, Dean's breathing,' and he slid his hand from Dean's head to cup the side of his neck, squeezing his brother's hand at the same time. "Hey, hey," the words gentle as tears shimmered in his eyes that relished at the sight of his brother's eye contact. "Thought you were going to run out on me there for a second."

"Never," Dean wheezed out the promise, striving to remove the terror he saw in Sammy's eyes. Falling back to the ground, he catalogued a new agony in his body on his left side, though it was almost a fair trade off for being able to breath.

With welling eyes full of gratitude, Sam looked to the man who had saved his brother's life. "I don't know who you are but thank you," his voice a cross between a sob and a joyous tone hiding back a laugh.

Hank opened his mouth to reply but suddenly paramedics were there, crouching down beside his patient, trying to crowd out Dean's brother. Though Sam moved to sit down beside Dean's knees, he noted that the younger man didn't relinquish his grip on his brother's hand, still clenched it securely in his own. Ripping himself away from his immersed focus on the brothers, Hank began rattling off his patient's condition, the procedure he had just performed and what the next steps should be. Stood up as did Sam when they loaded Dean on a bed and raised it. Then he trailed behind Dean, Sam and the 2 paramedics, followed them out to the driveway, watched as they slid Dean into the ambulance, saw that Sam took his rightful place at his brother's side, only returning a glare to the paramedic's suggestion that he follow behind them. And then the ambulance door was slammed shut and he was cut off, abandoned, dismissed.

And it hurt, that disassociation, that he couldn't follow up, couldn't be with a patient the whole way through, couldn't make sure, himself, that they would come through everything ok. And crap but he felt this one deep, couldn't be remote about a brother nearly dying, about a younger brother almost being left behind. It hit too close to home. Could have just as easily been he and Evan on that immaculate lawn, in that ambulance.

Was surprised when a horn honked, when he pulled his eyes away from the taillights of the ambulance and saw Evan in the driveway, in his car, engine running, waiting for him. "What are you…"

"We're going with them," Evan confidently stated but at his older brother's surprised expression, he softly entreated, "We are, right?" hoping to sway his big brother's mind. He didn't want to do it alone but he wanted this, needed to do this, to know, for certain, that Sam's brother was going to pull through. How could Hank not need to know that? How could he care so much about saving a life and then wash his hands of it, not care about their fate once they left his sight?

Recognizing the little brother need for his permission, his approval, Hank climbed in the car's passenger side, told himself he was doing it only for Evan as his brother sent his car rocketing out of the driveway as in pursuit of the ambulance. That it was enough, what he had done. That he did feel like he had completed what was needed of him. Wholly.

Hank couldn't help himself from making a mental note to remind the hospital staff to check the wound on Dean's wrist that he had spied earlier. To check the man for other injuries that he might have ignored like he had the broken rib, his trouble breathing, the fierce pain that had to have been increasing way before he crashed the Men's Club event an hour or so ago. 'If Evan ever hid injuries like that from me…' he thought with anger and fear, turned on Evan right then and there growled, "Don't you ever hide an injury from me, Evan. Ever."

Surprised to be the recipient of Hank's concern, of his brother doling out an overprotective threat in that 'do or die' tone that he hadn't done since they were kids, Evan shot a look to his big brother. "Right, like that's possible. Your old eagle eyes. Couldn't hide a skinned knee or a hickie from you even when I tried my best."

"Well don't try," Hank shot back, would bet that Sam was no slouch on the eagle eye department either but sometimes, brothers, they pulled something over on you.

"Is that what Sam's brother did? Hid an injury from Sam?" Evan asked, was trying to see where his brother's mind was at.

"Had to. I didn't get the impression that Sam knew Dean was hurt. And Sam didn't seem like the type to not care if something happened to his brother."

"You think? You're very perceptive, bro," Evan snorted, remembered the panic in Sam's eyes. Not to mention, the way Sam had taken him down when he had sought to keep him from his brother.

"Just don't kill us getting us to the hospital…or get a ticket," Hank commanded, making sure Evan didn't forget who the big brother in their family was.


Hospitals always drew lines that Sam couldn't cross, like friggin salt lines. Suddenly Sam knew how it felt to know where he wanted to go and be trapped waiting behind a line, to see a door swing shut in his face and know he couldn't follow his brother through it. It sucked.

He didn't see how it had come to this, how Dean had ended up collapsed on the grounds of a men's club, needing emergency surgery so that he could breathe, not go and die on him. Sure, the ghost had gotten in a few licks but it hadn't seemed serious. 'According to Dean,' Sam angrily qualified, was so sick of his brother protecting him, pretending that he was always alright, that he was invincible when he wasn't. Had nearly died on him a few months ago to prove that point.

'If that guy…that stranger hadn't been there, hadn't known what to do…Dean would be dead right now.' The paramedics had bluntly told him that even as they marveled at the ingeniousness of the stranger's medical treatment. Had compared him to MacGyver. 'Being saved by a medical MacGyver, Dean will hate that.' Because Dean liked the notion of being rescued by someone more badass than him, not some …pacifistic scientist. As for Sam, he didn't care if Mother Teresa came to his brother's rescue. The only thing that mattered was that he hadn't lost his brother. 'Yet,' rang through his head because, as lifesaving as the stranger's MacGyverism was, he was told that his brother was in critical condition, that there was a high risk that he would code in the surgery to repair the internal damage.

Somehow Sam wished that the stranger was there, was the one donning scrubs and heading into the operating room to ensure Dean made it through. Because, that guy, he trusted him, had watched how he had worked feverishly over his brother, had not backed down even when an unglued brother had come barreling onto the scene, promising him bodily harm if he thought about touching his brother again. Knew in his heart that the man cared whether Dean lived or dead, was personally vested in Dean's survival.

With their father gone, the wait for news was lonely. Though, in truth, their father hadn't been around once to wait with him when Dean was injured the past year, not even when he and Dean were patients in the same hospital. Waiting wasn't his father's specialty. 'Hadn't been his specialty,' he corrected, still struggling with the need to speak about his father in the past tense, to accept that his father wasn't just out on the road, one step ahead of them, simply choosing to not return their phone calls but was dead. For all the times as a kid growing up that it had felt like it was just him and Dean on their own, it was now the real thing. Just the two of them. No backup. No one to call when one of them got hurt, no one to sit beside whichever one of them wasn't in surgery, no one to provide a buffer to the growing fear of losing his brother. Dean was right all along. Being alone…it stank.

'Don't leave me alone, Dean. Don't you do it,' Sam pleaded, leaning forward, he linked his hands behind his bowed head and forced himself to wait. All alone.

Beating Hank across the corridor to the seated despondent Sam, Evan quietly asked, "Hey, how's your brother doing?" Felt a little sorry when his question startled the younger man.

Sam couldn't believe that Evan was there. And it showed how worried he had been about Dean that he only then realized that the man who had performed surgery on Dean, who now stood at Even's shoulder was Evan's brother. Standing, he stammered, "Oh Hey, Evan about back there…I'm sorry," ashamed that he had attacked someone who had been helping Dean, two someones.

Evan raised his hands in acceptance and forgiveness, "I totally get it. I understand doing things because of the bonds of brotherhood, Sam."

'You do' Hank internally questioned looking at Evan, not expecting sentimentally from his younger, cocky brother. But today, Evan was full of surprises, had not only insisted on coming to the hospital but had left him in the dust when he had spied Sam in the waiting area.

Nodding in gratitude at Evan's indulgence for his flipping out, Sam turned his attention to Evan's brother. "And I didn't even thank you for what you did for my brother," he said in chagrin, 'And I always prided myself on thinking that he had better manners than Dean. Well, not when Dean's life is on the line, I don't,' he qualified, remembered arguing with their father about what steps they could take to save Dean, about the anger he felt at the doctor at his grim diagnosis. But this man, he hadn't written Dean off. He just had to ask, "What you did…are you a doctor, a medic in the service?"

"I'm a doctor. I'm Evan's brother, Hank." The man offered up his hand, which Sam shook, noted with a twinge of nausea that both of their hands still had traces of Dean's blood on them.

Evan was surprised by the introduction, that Hank had announced his tie with him. Most times he figured Hank wanted to disown him, not outwardly claim him as his brother.

"So, have you heard anything about your brother's status?" Hank inquired, eyes fixed on Sam's, hoping to read something in the younger man's demeanor.

"No," Sam announced with a frustrated, worried sigh. "They just wheeled him into surgery a few minutes ago…let me here .." 'Alone.'

But when Hank nodded and he and Evan claimed seats on the chairs on either side of his own, Sam realized he wasn't as alone in this as he thought. Knew that he should be strong enough to do this on his own, to tell them thanks for offering to stay but they didn't need to. But, in truth, he wanted company, needed someone with him when Dean couldn't be. Like Dean had said about looking for their father, he could do it on his own but he didn't want to.

Reclaiming his seat, Sam watched the door that lead to the operating rooms, where Dean was: hurt, vulnerable, without him.

"Sam, I really think your brother's going to come through this fine," Hank consoled, knew it wasn't his place to make those type of statements but couldn't let the kid sit there suffering, believing the worst would happen. Felt struck when Sam turned his head to look at him, to take measure of him, of the truthfulness of his words. "He was breathing on his own, his heart rate was strong, he was conscious. All really good signs."

"They said.." Sam swallowed, hated that he was again sitting in a hospital, a grim prediction about Dean's health hanging over his head, "They said he could code…"

Hank couldn't ignore the truth, didn't want to lie. "He could…," he haltingly admitted, watched Sam's eyes darkened even as he continued, "but I think it unlikely. Your bother seemed physically fit, like he took care of himself, and his strong will are both very positive factors when a doctor considers how a body will handle a trauma."

Sam's eyebrows rose at Hank's perceptiveness of Dean's "strong will."

Reading the man's question in his eyes, Hank couldn't help smirk. "Earlier in the evening, I told your brother he looked unwell and he basically told me to go fly a kite."

A matching smirk found its way onto Sam's features. "Yeah, that sounds like Dean. His cockiness is only outshined by his stubbornness."

"I somehow don't doubt that," Hank drawled, glad that there was a lightening in Sam's eyes at their banter.

"So you really think Dean will be alright?" Sam quietly pressed, needed some more reassurances, couldn't lose Dean, not after losing their father just months ago. Couldn't lose Dean ever.

"I do, Sam. And we'll wait here with you until you hear an update," Hank firmly stated, saw Evan give him a grateful smile as if he were doing it for him, was being nice to one of his friends like back when they were in high school. And it made him feel like a good guy, a good brother. He really liked the feeling.

"Yeah and while we wait you can tell me where you learned to do that 'flip me on my butt' move. And maybe you can tell us why you wanted into the party rated the most boring by all of Hamptons social matrons," Evan rambled, using his light, joking tone, hoping to distract Sam from his worry about his brother. Hoped the method worked on younger brothers like it did on his older brother.

Realizing Evan's tactics weren't about badgering the worried man but about getting Sam to think about something other than his brother, Hank felt proud of Evan, of his compassion. Evan wasn't just the goofball he sometimes acted like…was instead a caring man who used his humor, his conning nature to work his own bedside manner on strangers. 'And on me,' Hank thought, recognized, for the first time, all the ways his little brother had been there for him, had gotten him out of his abyss of depression, pushed and pulled and joked him from his state of the hopelessness into the light, into the Hamptons, into a new life. 'I owe you, Evan and some day, I'm going to find a way to repay you.'

Though Dean was the master of distracting him from going all 'morose Sam' and Evan had a ways to go to even be in Dean's pee wee league, Sam wholly appreciated the man's efforts on his behalf. Especially when it would have been easy to succumb to his terror, to unravel everything he had kept tightly wound since Dean had almost died, since their dad had.

Sam felt a wash of gratitude toward the two strangers, the two brothers who were with him when Dean couldn't be, were ensuring that he didn't have to wait alone. And maybe that was another part of that bond of brotherhood Evan had talked about: a brother knowing in his heart what his brother needed and giving it to him. Sometimes knowing that and giving that even when the brother in need wasn't even your own.




I would love to know if anyone is interested in more of this story.

Thanks to anyone who took the time to read this crossover tale!

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.