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A Helping Hand by DizzoJ

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Sam folds his arms and leans on the bathroom doorframe, shaking his head in concerned amusement as he watches Dean sitting on the bed. He's been there a good five minutes now.

"D'y wanna hand?" he asks quietly.

"Kiss my ass."

Dean huffs sourly and shuffles round so that his back is turned to pitying onlookers.

"Take that as a no then."

Sam watches his brother's chest shudder and swell around a deep, hesitant sigh, as his shoulders brace in determination.

His hand slowly lifts the hem of his T shirt.

Dean pauses, feeling Sam's sympathetic eyes boring into the back of his head. "Sam, haven't you got anything better to be doing?"

He hears a heavy sigh, as Sam turns and pads barefoot into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He emerges a few minutes later to find his brother still sitting on the bed, still hunched over clutching the hem of his T shirt, his shoulders still set in single-minded determination. Sam can't see it but he just knows the tip of Dean's tongue will be poking out between his lips, slightly to the left, in fierce concentration.

Dean's trembling slightly when suddenly the shoulders slump weakly in frustrated defeat.

Sam smiles sadly; walks slowly over to the bed and settles down beside his brother, a gentle bumping of shoulders to let him know he's there. Dean stares into space as Sam gently wrestles the syringe out from between his white-knuckled fingers.

Dean doesn't even have time to turn his head away as Sam slips the syringe quickly, smoothly and without fuss into the soft fleshy skin on his flank.

A flinch.

"Sonofa …" Dean looks up at Sam, wide-eyed; face glistening with nervous perspiration.

"Didn't hurt," he grunts casually.

Sam grins, "course it didn't; does Sammy's little soldier want a lollipop?"

Rearranging his T shirt and his remaining dignity, Dean glares; "make the coffee, bitch …"

"No sugar!"

xxxxx






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