Dean was relaxing in the Fortress of Deanitude, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when he heard what sounded like a herd of stampeding Wildebeest coming towards him. He sat up straighter in his recliner, as Sam and Cas tried to push their way into the room. "Whoa! What's going on? Don't tell me Michael and his merry douchebag angels have burst through and we've got to man the barricades?" Dean leapt to his feet, ready to throw himself into the fray.
Sam ran over to him and hugged him hard. Dean froze, his eyes wide. There was a strict Winchesters-only-hugged-in-the-face-of-i
Sam stepped back. "God, I'm sorry, Dean. I'm just happy to find you in one piece."
"Of course I'm in one piece. I was just sitting having a beer. For the love of god, Cas, will you let go of me!" Dean growled as Castiel seemed to be doing his best to climb inside his clothes with him.
"You haven't heard?" Sam looked terrified.
Dean shook his head. "Heard what? Don't tell me they've cancelled Dr Sexy M.D." He clutched his chest, as the thought of his favourite guilty pleasure being gone was almost too much to bear.
"No, it's Dizzo!" Sam exclaimed.
Dean suddenly got a bad feeling. "What about Dizzo?"
Cas appeared in front of Dean, and clasped his shoulder with a look of intense sorrow on his face. "It appears that Dizzo has had an accident and broken her left shoulder. You know what that means, don't you?"
Dean's legs gave out and he sat down heavily on the recliner, automatically grabbing his left shoulder in sympathy. "Shit, I haven't got enough shirts for this! By the time the fan girls are finished I'll never be able to use this arm again!" Dean looked up at his brother, his eyes wide, and his lips trembling. “What am I going to do?” He begged, wondering if the fan girls’ reach extended to other dimensions. He shook his head. There was nowhere he and Sam could go to hide from them, especially as one of their own was hurt.
Sam squared his shoulders. He’d taken on man, monster and demon and nothing, not even clowns, scared him as much as fan girls did. He had to ignore his own terror and try to protect Dean, if only for the sake of his own wardrobe. Because he was sure Dean was going to be bleeding all over the place very soon, and he’d be the one whose shirts would be used as bandages.
Sam took a deep breath and made a decision. “Right. We’re going to ramp up the warding spells, lay booby traps and barricade the Bunker’s door. We mightn’t be able to stop them, but we’re going to slow them down for as long as possible.” Sam pointed to Cas. “You’re on wards. Dean. I want you to start on the door and I’ll work on the booby traps.” The three men moved with determination as they went about their assigned tasks.
Sam was in the War Room, laying a trail of plaid shirts into the Dungeon, hoping he could trap some of the girls in there, if they breeched the defences. Cas was muttering in Enochian as he painted symbols on the wall, and Dean staggered past with enough timber to build another Bunker.
Sam was happy with his booby traps. There were false trails to unused bedrooms made to look like his and Dean’s rooms, and he’d accidentally left his lap top open, with a letter of apology to Dean on it. The heartfelt emotion of the words should keep them busy for a little while.
Sam relaxed. They were as ready as they were ever going to be. He looked up at the door where Dean was hammering another piece of wood in place. “There, that should keep ‘em out!” Dean said with satisfaction and took a step back to admire his work.
It was then Sam felt the air change, as he heard the familiar telltale tap of keys. He looked up in horror, as Dean lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs. As Dean landed at the bottom, there was a loud crack and he howled in pain. “Son. Of. A. Bitch!” Dean went white and curled up in ball.
Sam ran over and dropped to his knees beside his brother. Cas soon joined them and they gently eased Dean into a sitting position. Sam carefully examined Dean, trying to ignore the pained gasps as he gently manipulated his misshapen shoulder joint. Sam sighed as he stripped off his shirt, and fashioned it into a sling to support Dean’s left arm. He looked at Cas. “We’re off to a flying start with a dislocated shoulder, and possible broken wrist. How’s the grace holding up?”
Cas reached out confidently to heal Dean, but when he touched his forehead nothing happened. Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sammy. You should know by now the girls always de-power Cas before they roll out the whump wagon. What do we do now? Circle the wagons or surrender gracefully?”
The lights flickered, and the sound of typing sped up, as Sam and Cas looked round worriedly. “Come on, let’s get out of here before they drop the staircase on your head.” Sam got Cas to help him lift Dean to his feet. Sam wrapped his arm around his brother’s waist, and helped Dean shuffle forward. As Cas went ahead to check for ambushes or trip wires, Dean looked up at his little brother and asked the inevitable question. “So which one of you will end up on bed bath duty this time?” He tried not to laugh as Sam went pale and started calling for Cas.