Hi. First off, I realize it's been so long you have probably forgotten what this story is about, and I apologize for that, life has been...ummm... complicated. Second, I wrote this in about ten minutes sooooo not too sure about its quality ;) Third, it is a short chapter and they probably will all be short ones from now on or I will never be able to post. Fourth, I hope you will enjoy.

And not just any hands, freakishly huge ones, and that can only mean one thing; Samantha is on the case, his case, and he is so not in the mood for this shit right now.

"Hang on man, be right back."

Sam's footsteps crunch along the ground and he hears the distinctive sound of a car door opening and closing. Sheesh, he hates when Sam talks to him like he's got the intelligence akin to something like a sack of potatoes. He hisses as he tries to straighten his body out, the numbness and pain in his side making it impossible to move out of the s-curve stance he's adopted on the damp, soggy, dirty, annoying, stupid, and friggin' irritating ground.

Really, it kind of goes without saying at this point, pretty much a guarantee that he won't be making a break for it. He hurts like a bitch and hell, he can't even be sure his damn appendages are still attached let alone up to the challenge of springing up from the ground and running off like an idiot into the night just to piss Sam off. Hmm, on the other hand, doing exactly the opposite of what baby brother wants could be fun.

He lets a small chuckle roll out from his throat at the thought of him hobbling off into the trees while Sam stands dumbstruck and in awe once again of his big brother's awesomeness, and the timing of his little mind-stroll couldn't be worse. Leave it to old Dean Winchester luck to have that sound trickle from his lips the moment Samsquatch makes his triumphant return. He is about to ponder aloud to his brother that if he doesn't tone down the serious, 'Dean's in trouble again' look off his face a bit his eyebrows are gonna be stuck in perma-style concern for the rest of his life, when Sam's behemoth hands paw at him again and invade his coveted personal space.

They are giant, those things, and they are needling a swath of razor blades along the surface of anywhere they touch. If only he could move his own hand enough to flip his brother the bird it could make this whole situation a little less demeaning.

"I'm not even going to ask what the hell is going on in that frozen brain of yours Dean. Trust me, we need to get you out of here and warmed up. Let me take care of it okay?"

Warmed up, that does have a nice ring to it but, on the other hand, he knows the look in Sam's eye; it screams out 'now I'm gonna do something you are going to hate but I'm going to do it anyways because I always think I know best and you aren't in any condition to argue and…' The monologue running rampant through his head stops cold when his brother produces a blanket from flippin' somewhere and bends down to his level with it. Sam cannot be serious.


Hell. No. Number one, no freakin' way is Sam going to scoop him up off the ground and number two, no freakin' way is he going to wrap him up in a damn blanket like he's an invalid.

"geddd 'way S'm… m'good..."

Well frick, that was delivered with a tone and inflection so pathetically pathetic that it makes even him think maybe he needs Sam's help after all. Damn it.

To Be Continued... Thanks for stopping by!