Title: No Rest For the Wicked
Author: NativeStar
Word Count: 2103
Rating: K+ (Rating may change for later chapters)
Warnings: No pairings, spoilers for season 2 especially 2.22
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Spoilers for 2.22, Following directly on from All Hell Breaks loose the boys deal with the aftermath while hunting a familiar demon.

A/N: Big thanks you to mayalaen for the beta :)

Overwhelmed

Today had been literally one hell of a day. Not only had they wasted the demon they had been hunting for twenty-three years, but their father had also clawed his way out of hell and, to be honest, that was only the tip of the iceberg. At the start of the day, Sam had been stone cold dead. With unspoken agreement, they were headed back to Bobby's. It was the nearest safe house with the two hundred odd demons fresh from hell swirling around. There wasn't a ward or protection Bobby knew of that wasn't etched into the walls.

Inside the Impala, the air was thick and quiet. The adrenaline had ebbed away letting the emotions wade in. Staring out the window Sam didn't realise it was possible to be so angry at someone, but, at the same time, want nothing else but to tell them it was alright, that you were here and that everything would be ok. The high from the fight and from knowing that they had killed the Demon had drained away leaving both boys almost running on autopilot.

The white road markers disappearing under the wheel broke Sam out of his thoughts as the car slowly moved just a little too far to the left before slowly moving back. Looking over Dean didn't seem to even realise it had happened.

"Dean."

"Hmmm?"

"Pull over."

Dean sighed. "Sam, please don't do this."

"Actually, for once, I don't want to talk. We're swapping seats. I'm driving the rest of the way."

Dean glanced over, frowning. "What? It's ok. I'm fine."

It never ceased to amaze Sam how far off base Dean's definition of fine could be.

"You're barely driving straight, Dean, and you look like road kill. There's no debate here. Pull over."

Truth was Sam felt a little guilty. Dean had a nasty looking head wound and was probably running on fumes even before that. Sam would be shocked if Dean had managed more than a few hours of sleep these last few days. He shouldn't really have let Dean drive to start off with, but he had been stunned at Dean's revelation. He had expected ten years. A single year was not long, not long at all.

Don't think about that. There'll be a way. There's always a way. It's just a case of finding it.

It was a testament to Dean's exhaustion that, less than a minute later, he silently pulled over, opened the door and stepped round to the other side. Shifting over to the driver's seat, Sam waited until Dean got comfortable, slouching down in the seat, and then pulled them back onto the road.

A couple of minutes later, he glanced over at Dean. He had positioned himself in the corner with the door half supporting his back, head tilted onto the seat behind and had closed his eyes. While Sam was pretty sure from his brother's behaviour that he hadn't sustained a concussion, he wasn't entirely convinced it was a good idea to let him sleep. And maybe, he admitted somewhat selfishly, maybe he just needed his brother with him right now.

"Dean! Come on, man. Don't go to sleep on me." Dean had, after all, been thrown into a gravestone.

"Wha'? Sam, lemme alone." The prompt but tired response relieved Sam. Reaching out he gently shook Dean's arm.

"No, Dean. Open your eyes. You gotta stay awake, at least for a little bit. You whacked your head pretty good."

Dean cracked open his eyes, mustering up the best glare he could manage.

"You mean you got me to pull over and swap seats because I looked like crap, but now you won't let me rest?"

"You've got a head injury."

"Yeah, and a pain-in-the-ass little brother," he grumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a relaxed smile. Sighing, he pushed himself up in the seat and flicked on the radio. The rest of the journey was spent in the company of rock and metal bands. Occasionally Dean would turn and stare briefly at Sam for a few seconds. Sam didn't let Dean know he noticed, but couldn't help wondering if Dean was letting him know he was still awake or if he was simply reassuring himself that his pain-in-the-ass little brother really was there.

A few hours later, the Impala rumbled up the drive. Dean had stayed awake with surprisingly few complaints, replying to Sam's intermittent questions and comments with a quiet word or two.

Pulling himself out of the car to lean on the roof, Dean sighed. The door to Bobby's might as well have been miles away for all the energy he had, but Sam had paused and was heading towards him, prompting Dean to make his way to the door.

Bobby and Ellen had got there a good half hour earlier thanks to the traffic and the boys' brief stop. The smell of coffee wafted down the corridor and, as Dean eased himself into a sofa in Bobby's cluttered lounge, he took a deep breath. He may not have wanted any stimulants right now, but the coffee smelled so good.

He didn't realise he had closed his eyes until he felt an icy cold sting on his forehead. Sucking in a breath, his eyes snapped open. Sam was crouched to the side holding a slightly bloody, wet gauze.

"Sorry. Thought you were out for the count. I was gonna try and take care of that for you."

"Oh, so you were going to let me sleep now?" His eyes were already drifting shut as the smothering tiredness settled over him again like a blanket. Dean was prepared for the next stinging pain and he barely flinched, not opening his eyes as fresh gauze wiped away more of the blood.

"Yeah, I reckon you can sleep now. Hell you can sleep for a few days if you want. You must be exhausted, man. At least I had...,"

Dean felt the gauze pause briefly above his eye. He could picture in his mind Sam swallowing before carrying on.

"It doesn't look like it'll need stitches." Dean watched him turn to the kit on the floor next to him, focussing on finding a bandage.

"Sam." Dean waited until Sam met his eyes. "It's ok. We both need some well-deserved rest." Relaxing again, Dean let Sam continue his ministrations.

"What?" Sam asked, confused when he saw Dean smiling less than a minute later.

"Nothing, it's just… We got that son of a bitch, Sammy. We really did it. It's almost hard to believe, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Dean realised they were alone in the room and the house was quiet.

"Where are Bobby and Ellen?"

"They're in the kitchen. Bobby found a bottle of the good stuff, but I think… I think they're talking about the roadhouse." Ellen may have put on a brave face earlier, but now that the fight was over, now there was time to deal with everything. "So much has gone down today. We can celebrate killing the demon later. We're all just beat right now."

Sam finished by taping a small bandage over the livid cut. Standing up, he quickly tidied the kit, snapping the lid shut and leaving it beside the chair to be put away tomorrow.

Everything can wait until tomorrow. Then I'll deal.

All Sam wanted to do was go to sleep. Whether he would be able to and if the nightmares would stay away was another thing, but right now he craved the blessed nothingness that came with deep sleep. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The anger at Dean's deal, satisfaction over killing the demon, fear for Dean's life, grief over those they had lost, the fact that he had truly died; it all came crashing in leaving Sam battered and almost numb, unable to process them all so processing none. He wanted to stop thinking, to stop feeling just for a while. He just wanted to sleep.

Reaching out a hand, he helped Dean out of the chair and, wearily, they both made their way to the stairs. Passing by the kitchen, Sam heard hushed talking and something that could be mistaken for quiet sobbing. The thought crossed Sam's mind that, while they may have won a twenty three-year-old battle, it hadn't come without a price.

Dean slept hard and long. He didn't surface until late afternoon, and even then could have happily slept longer. However, seeing the empty bed beside him, he moved achingly but carefully downstairs. He found Sam in the lounge, sat at the desk surrounded by a substantial amount of Bobby's impressive collection of books.

"Hey, Dean." Sam looked up briefly before returning to work.

"Morning."

"Afternoon actually. You slept over sixteen hours." Ignoring Sam's smile, Dean sat down opposite, absently picking up a book entitled 'Daemons: The Exorcism Rites' and started flicking through a few pages of Latin.

Finishing with his book, Sam closed it, turning his full attention to his brother.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm good."

"Dean…"

"Honestly, Sam, I'm good. Tired and got a slight headache, but, all things considered, I'm good. What are you up to? You haven't been doing this all day, have you?"

"No, I only got up an hour or so ago. I'm just making a start on the research. Bobby thought these books would be a good place to start."

"Research for what? You found a case already?" Dean saw the frustration fill Sam's eyes.

"There's no case, Dean. I said I was going to find a way to save you and I meant it." Sam was annoyed. He couldn't believe Dean would think he was researching something else. "There's no reason not to start now, especially as you only managed to get yourself a year. Bobby has a whole library on demons and summoning and exorcisms. There's no better place to start than here."

"Then I guess I should be grateful you didn't get started last night, geekboy." Dean lowered his voice. "Thanks."

Sam pushed the chair back from the table and crossed his arms.

"Dean," he sighed, shaking his head slightly with the look that usually meant Dean was going to find out just exactly how much and why his brother disagreed with him. Dean had been expecting, sooner or later, some kind of rant about the deal. But instead, Sam just asked him if he was hungry.

"If you are, I think Bobby might be sorting out some kind of breakfast or I guess its dinner now," Sam told him.

Grateful for the exit, Dean rose. "I'll go give him a hand. Don't think I'd be much help right now with the research with my headache."

Dean walked into the kitchen just as Bobby hung up the phone with a grim look. Seeing Dean, Bobby gave him a nod.

"Good to see you up, Dean."

"Thanks, Bobby." Nodding to the phone Dean asked, "What's up?"

"Not sure. I just got a call from Sal. Thinks there's a problem up with Thompson in town. He thinks it's our kind of problem." Dean frowned.

"Our kind of problem? As in supernatural, our kind of problem, or my truck's broken down, our kind of problem?"

"He thinks the guy's possessed."

"What makes him think that?" Dean had seen many people over the years claim someone was possessed only to find out there was a perfectly rational explanation for their behaviour.

"He's acting… off. Sal can't quite put his finger on it, but he swears to me he saw his eyes turn black," Bobby explained.

"And how exactly does he know what we do?" Dean queried, uncomfortable that some stranger knew exactly what they did.

"I helped him out with a problem a few years back. He asked me lots of questions and I answered them. Thought he might've even been considering hunting a thing or two for a while, but it turns out he's just got a streak of curiosity a mile long. Anyhow he don't spook easily, so it's worth checking out." Bobby headed to the door fishing his keys out of his pocket. "It's possible one of the demons that got let out decided not to go far. You up for helping me deal with this?"

"Sure. I'll get Sam and meet you out front in a minute." The anticipation of a hunt hummed through Dean, making his headache fade into the background. He smiled. They more than likely had a case. Sammy was alive and well and the demon was dead. In Dean's mind, he couldn't really ask for more.

All reviews and constructive criticism greatly appreciated!

Next chapter hopefully before the end of the week!