E/O Challenge Word:

eighteen /āˈtēn/ number – Equivalent to the product of two and nine; one more than seventeen, or eight more than ten; 18.

Spoilers/Warnings: none; this could take place during any season

Disclaimer: Not mine

Word Count: 333...so another triple drabble

Your hands can heal, your hands can bruise. ~ The Civil Wars

At first, Dean wasn't sure which was worse: the audible snap of bone as Sam attempted to catch himself when he fell, or the way Sam laid motionless on the ground afterwards.

"Sammy..." Dean called, crossing to his brother and immediately squatting down beside him; quickly but carefully grasping the kid's shoulder and rolling him to his back. "Sam..."

Sam blinked up at him; pale and swallowing against the pain as he protectively held his broken arm against his chest.

"Shit, Sam..." Dean shook his head at the visual confirmation of what he had suspected; disbelief warring with self-loathing. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," Sam soothed quietly but sincerely with panted breaths. "Not your fault. I just fell wrong."

"Yeah, no shit," Dean responded dryly and sighed. "Well..." He reached for his brother, gently easing Sam to a sitting position and steadying the kid when he swayed. "Nearest hospital?"

Sam swallowed. "Not far. Exit 18B, I think..."

Dean nodded, his fingers hovering over Sam's already bruised and swelling arm.

He vaguely remembered seeing that sign before they had pulled off at the rest stop an hour earlier for a quick lunch...and an impromptu sparring match.

Dean sighed, still not believing this shit; that Sam's arm was broken because he had pushed the kid.

"S'not your fault," Sam repeated, staring at his brother. "I just – "

"Fell wrong," Dean finished and nodded. "I know. But I still don't like it."

"I know," Sam agreed and winced as Dean lifted him to his feet.

They were silent as they crossed back to the Impala; Dean settling Sam in the passenger seat before assembling an ice pack with a baggie and a couple handfuls of ice from their green cooler.

"Here," Dean said, sliding into the driver's seat and then gently wrapping Sam's injured arm with a thin towel before handing his brother the ice pack.

Sam's face scrunched as he held the ice in place. "Thanks," he murmured, leaning his head back as Dean cranked the Impala.