Tag to 11.15. The whole case brought up a lot of good and bad memories for Dean. Including the one where he got a chunk of his leg torn out. Needless to say Dean isn't feeling so hot. Going through the wall with his head hadn't been his choice though. Can Dean take anymore? He feels like he can't, he feels like he can't get back up.

A/N: Couldn't get the picture of Dean showing off his battle scars out of my mind, also all the feels from last week's episode...well I needed an outlet. And...hellatus! I'm dying.

DAMNED IF I DON'T GET BACK UP

Chapter 1.

The cold, messy night threw rain and wind at the impala as she bravely and smoothly (very important to Dean) speeds down the dark highway. The street lights seem to fly past them, they shine through the droplets of rain on the car's glass and paint the inside in colors. Thunder and lightening make a faraway, moody appearance on the horizon, the sound of which is barely discernible over the impala's 'hum'.

Inside the car the boys are comfortably cradled in her strong frame shielded from nature and the world. The only place where the Winchester boys feel they have a universe of their own; where they feel completely at home, in control, and safe. Sam sits on the passenger side watching miles after miles sweep past them. Dean sits behind the wheel, foot perhaps a little too heavy on the gas.

Sue him.

It's his drug, his way of coping. After a stressful hunt, physically or emotionally, the feeling of miles flying away beneath him gives a sense of comfort and control. Baby's hum sings to him of better and worse times. Both comforting saying, "It could be a lot worse," or, "When it gets better it'll be worth it."

He finds solace in the one entirely constant thing in his life. He takes care of her, she is faithful to him and Sammy. As he listens to her rumbling and eating up the asphalt and she sings soothing Metallica out to him he's not cloaked in the usual stress and general worry of his life. He has no reason to be worried about her, to be worried that she'll cut off on him. He's got Baby and Sammy and their heading home, Dean's head and heart should be as light and happy as it can be these days.

The darkness and the devil weigh heavy on his heart these days, the responsibility sometimes feeling as if it would literally crush him down to the ground. Hour after hour, and day after day looking for answers and finding none had done a number on him and he'd needed a break. A break down memory lane (one of his few good childhood memories) seemed like a good idea. It was just what he needed, and Sammy too. He just didn't know it.

Sam wasn't very much of a "pay your respects" kind of guy, especially if it was anything pertaining to John Winchester. But he'd agreed for Dean's sake and that was enough for the older Winchester. They'd had fun and Dean could literally feel the muscles relaxing, the world falling away a little as he was transformed back into the little boy he used to be. Excited and clueless of the dangerous, spiteful world out there.

Then it happened. Dean knew it was too good to be true. The body, the blood...the creepy ass symbols carved into dude's chest. It's with a heavy heart and even heavier feeling feet that he goes to question his childhood heroes. He swears if any if them were demons he'd just go ahead and find a gun and...he just really can't do this. Everything...EVERYTHING is so messed up.

He finds himself going through the motions, tracking down the killer, the crime scene, discovering who they need to save. And Dean thinks as they rush to save Harley that he really could have done without being that douche's saving grace. Then they bust through the doors and its Gunner standing over the boy's body. Gunner Lawless. Dean's Gunner Lawless. The man he had idolized.

Then the demon shows and Dean's got this heavy feeling in his gut like he knows what's going down. Gunner must have sold his soul or the demon had some hold over him. He's just so sick of the whole thing. It figures the only other man beside his father that he looked up to would sell his soul. Hell, this way Dean's demon deal was practically destiny.

But he believes, he has to believe that it's never too late to do the right thing. He has to believe he and Sam can fix the world. Has to believe that they will learn someday to give each other up instead of sacrificing the world. He hopes, he's not very sure. But he knows they have to keep trying to do the right thing.

Gunner Lawless gives up his life and dooms his soul to hell to finally do the right thing. And Dean finds it oddly comforting. Now as they speed towards home his heart and soul are wrapped in a warm haze of numbness, his body refusing to feel the pain and guilt of what's he's just gone through. Baby vibrates under and around him, he is looking for a way to do the right thing, he will find it.

He doesn't register the way his heart beat echoes loud in his brain, or the way the lights seem so bright. Doesn't feel the way his stomach rolls, or the burning pain in his shoulder. Is just taken up in the comforting knowledge that giving up your life to do the right thing is noble...is right. He finds Sam sitting beside hm, kind of noticing him for the first time. He finds comfort knowing he AND his brother will fight for what's right, will give up everything to do the right thing, finds comfort that Sam is, in fact, even stronger than Dean.

Sam is uneasy about how the whole hunt ended. Was uneasy about all of it from the beginning. He had wanted to be with Dean, he knew they deserved a break, but sitting in one place ALL week long bore especially hard on his stir crazy brother. He was actually surprised it had taken Dean as long as it had to break.

He, however, did not like the idea of going down memory lane and looking at his brother now behind the wheel of his beloved car he thinks he was probably right. Dean doesn't look so hot, listing a little towards his window, unconsciously squinting while looking out the windshield. He knows Dean got roughed up quit a bit on this hunt, and besides that he'd been the closest to plastered Sam had seen him in YEARS.

But he really, REALLY does not even want to know what this hunt did to his brother emotionally, and even mentally. Literally the reaction Dean is prone to have makes him grimace just thinking about it. Where were they headed? Silence for a few days, drinking binge, or kind of angry and violence hungry...Dean had many ways of coping. And Sam had to learn to cope with them.

He would really like to avoid the silence one and the drinking one...like a lot. The violence and the anger he can take. That's even a little expected, even Sam finds a nice bloody, hands on job is good for the soul after a trying hunt. He keeps giving his brother glances, not still entirely sure of the extent of his injuries. He's going to guess minor concussion, maybe just a head ache, to be slept off, and his brother seems to favoring that left shoulder. It's the stubborn one, always wants out of its socket.

Sam winces thinking back to the sound of the wall shattering under his brother's weight, it was his head and shoulder that had impacted first. Yeah, concussion and bad shoulder sounded pretty close to Sam. Knowing how little sleep they both had been getting makes Sam uneasy and worried to have Dean at the wheel or injured, his body isn't ready to cope with any kind of injury.

He needs to get Dean in the passenger seat, get some food in him and get him some meds so he'll sleep all the way home. And hopefully sleep away the melancholy Sam can see dancing it's way over his brother's features. First off he guesses he should take care of the silence possibility.

"Dean?"

He's rewarded with an answering grunt, not really very encouraging.

"You good?"

Another grunt, yes or no, Sam's not sure. But the silence is starting to look more probable and Sam REALLY does not want that to happen, like really not. The last time Dean had coped that way Sam had nearly lost what little mind he had left. They'd both dropped like ten pounds, and had spent their days staring at each other across the library tables with dark bags growing under their eyes.

Yeah Sam was really not interested in that, best way to get a reaction out of Dean Winchester. Make him mad or use Sammy Winchester, practically the same thing. But when Sam Winchester decided to use Sammy Winchester it was an entirely different matter.

"I'm hungry," Sam simply states, pulling out his phone and using the "around me" app to try and find somewhere they could stop the car and look at Dean's shoulder and gets some meds in him. Dean gives him a response for that, a look that obviously says, "Hungry? Your hungry? I'm not, but whatever you want Sammy."

Sam smiles softly knowing he's got a victory already.

"What do you feel like?" He asks, scrolling down to finish viewing their nearest options.

Dean shrugs, "Not really hungry."

Sam wants to pump his fist in the air. Yes! No silence.

Dean must see the exit ahead because he slows and looks behind him before pressing the gas again and turning off of the highway to drive towards the nearest town. Sam tries to find somewhere that would have something to tempt Dean but is all out of luck. Most of these places listed would probably be closed by now.

Looks like Waffle House for them. Sam doesn't even want to think about how many Waffle Houses he's been too in his life. Of all the gallons of their disgusting brew of coffee he's consumed. But he does have to say in the middle of the night in a fix their waffles can hit the spot.

"There's a Waffle House down that way," Sam tells his brother as they turn into the Main Street of the sleeping town, where most all the shops and restaurants are dark. "Looks like it's probably the only thing open."

"Story of my life," Dean mumbles. But he's already pointing them towards it, the empty streets making way for Dean to speed a little. Sam chuckles a little at his brother's chagrined face, and he's rewarded with a tired, but fond smile. He returns it, heart lifting a little.

Dean sighs heavily as Sam exits the car as soon as they park. He follows groaning under his breath. Some coffee does sound great, even if it is nasty and probably burnt from sitting on the burner. He follows his brother who looks behind him and holds the door with a backward stretched arm waiting for him.

Dean lets the door shut behind them, and hands Sam his wallet going to sit down. Sam frowns at him like he's saying, "I can pay for myself, jerk." And follows him over to the table.

"What do you want?" Sam asks, standing beside him where he's already fallen into a seat at a window booth.

Dean shrugs, wincing as he moves his shoulder, "Coffee definitely, dunno not really hungry."

"I'm getting you something," Sam mumbles as he makes his way to the counter.

The lights are down in the restaurant and easier on Dean's eyes, he'd die before he admitted the country radio playing in the back ground soothed him. He runs calloused hands down his stubbly cheeks and let's out a deep breath.

A steaming styrofoam cup of coffee is placed under his nose by one grinning brother who proudly announces its fresh. He sniffs it, letting the warm smell travel up through his nose and clears his head a little. God, it smells and feels so good. He pulls it towards himself further and hunches over it a bit breathing it in. Sam chuckles sitting across from him, stirring sugar and creamer to his cup.

"Dude, it's not weed."

"Ahhh," Dean sighs, "Feels like it. Feels like I could get off just smelling it."

"Woah," Sam outright laughs, "TMI."

Dean chuckles too, giving his brother an eyebrows raised look. "It could be really hot, I could..."

"No, no, no," Sam stops him, "Please no, just drink."

Dean snickers a little, finally taking a sip and feeling like he could pass out from bliss. He groans in ecstasy and takes another sip closing his eyes. He opens them only to find Sam retreating, his own coffee in hand, moving to another table.

"Hey, where you going?" He asks, momentarily, honestly confused.

"Giving you two some time on your own."

Dean rolls his eyes and motions for Sam to join him again. As he does his eyes still reflect his laugh, smile still haunting his lips, and Dean laughs a little too.

"I'm a little scared to see you with the waffles."

Dean gives him a face like 'you know it' and then looks around smiling mischievously, "At least no else is in here."

Sam rolls his eyes, just as the cashier lets him know their food is ready, "Your incorrigible." He says over his shoulder going to get it. Leaving Dean looking smug.

Sam brings back their food on a tray and places a steaming stack of three waffles on a plate, with butter melting over them in front of his brother. Dean looks at it a little hesitantly before the steam floats to his nose where he smells it in, nearly melting into a puddle right there. Seems Sam knows what he wants even better than himself. He imagines he'll feel miles better after he's eaten.

So without further ado, he drowns the waffles in syrup and digs in.

Across from him Sam is feeling very proud of himself even as he squirts whipped cream over his own waffles and drizzling strawberries on top. He follows Dean's example and digs in.

"So, you good?" He asks, around his first bite of waffle.

Dean cocks an eyes brow at him and swallows about his fifth bite, Sam has no idea how he even eats that fast. "I'm good."

"Your shoulder? That's the bad one right?" Sam points out, swallowing some warm coffee after the waffles, the bitter brew complimenting the sweetness.

Dean nods, taking another bite of waffles and gulping down about half of his coffee. "It's fine."

"Not dislocated?"

Dean shakes his head, "Nah, just wrenched it a little."

"How about your head?" Sam questions, knowing he's cutting it a little close.

"I went through a wall, how do you think, Sam?" Dean asks, eyes glittering a little in annoyance.

Okay, cutting it a lot too close, Sam thinks. He holds up his hands apologetically, and goes back to his waffles. "Just making sure you're okay." He mumbles, looking out the window instead of at his big brother.

He can feel Dean relent a little across the table and knows he's using the Sammy Winchester card a little dirtily. He drinks down his coffee, watching Dean from under the hair that's fallen into his eyes.

His brother looks oddly relaxed for the stress they've just gone through. He notices how everything about him seems to be loose. His pupils are a little wide and then wildly small when the light shifts, so maybe a little more of a concussion that he thought. He's followed Sam's gaze out the window and is staring at the impala, reflecting the lights, otherwise she's nearly undetectable in the night.

This is a rare happening that Sam forces himself to appreciate. It may be caused by an injury but. Sometimes when Dean got a hit on the head it would kind of detach him, numb him from the world and reality of what was really happening. Sam can't think of a better time for a concussion to impact Dean like this. He can't imagine the severe fall back from this hunt that he knows was just way too close to his brother. It seems somewhere out there something or someone is still on their side, still fighting for their odds. Even if it's as simple as Dean getting knocked a little silly instead of having to painfully deal with cold reality.

Across from him Dean hums around his waffles contentedly and gives Sam a sincere smile. "This was a good idea, Sammy." He says, mouth open and giving Sam a fine view of his half chewed food.

Sam frowns but smiles afterwards, "I know, knew you were hungry too."

Dean rolls his eyes, whatever, let Sammy think he scored one. He can't really bring himself to care. He's starting to feel pleasantly warm and sleepy now that he's eaten. He sits back, away from his empty plate and waits for Sam to finish.

"You remember that one time," he muses, gazing out the window, "After that hunt and dad..."

"...took us to a Waffle House and bought us coffee and waffles? Yeah." Sam smiles over at his brother. "I remember, first time he got me my own cup of coffee."

Dean snorts a laugh, "You were so hyper, dad was like caffeine Nazi."

"Was not," Sam grunts, taking another bite chasing it down with more coffee. "But seriously, you drank coffee for years earlier than me...so unfair."

Dead laughs, "Dad knew I needed it, cause I had to look after your wild ass."

Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, knowing arguing was fruitless, "What did I do all those years without caffeine, how did I live?"

Dean shakes his head, "You were one wild kid, seriously. I don't know where you got all that energy from. You can still go the longest out both of us."

Sam nearly chokes, "Did you just admit to getting old?"

"Old?" Dean chuckles, "I'd say that was stretching it. God, it takes you a long time to eat, hurry it up, we need to get on the road."

"I'm going, I'm going," Sam mumbles around the last bite he hastily shovels in.

Dean takes both their cups and fills them with fresh coffee. Sam sees the way he sways a little, turn a little pale. Oh yeah, he's totally getting drugged up. After Sam puts their trays and dishes on top of the trash can and uses the bathroom, he joins Dean outside where his brother is holding their coffees. He motions for the keys and Dean gives him a suspicious look.

"I gotta get something out of the trunk," he says truthfully.

Dean joins him and stand over his shoulder, sipping the hot, black coffee. Sam ruffles through their first aide kit until he finds the meds his looking for, basic ibuprofen, some painkillers and a strong Benadryl. Dean watches him confused.

"You okay, Sam?" He asks, trying to catch a look at Sam's face.

"I'm fine Dean," he says smiling, "These," he takes his cup of coffee from Dean and places the pills in his empty hand, "Are for you."

Sam watches a moody shadow pass over his brother's face. "Sam, I'm fi..."

"You are not fine, Dean." Sam says, taking him by the elbow of his jacket and pulling him towards the passenger seat. "Just take the pills and rest, I'll drive it's no big deal."

Thunder sounds closer, lightening lights up Dean's profile, showing off his sharp, features.

"But I don't feel an..."

Sam cuts him off, "You have a concussion Dean," Dean opens his mouth to objet, "You do." He says firmly. "Now we can fight about this and I win, or you can just get in and sleep and we're agreed."

Dean sighs, but gets in sipping his coffee and Sam shuts the door, making his way to the driver's side. He smiles over at Dean when he's seated and cranks the car. Dean gives him an ugly glare as he swallows the pills in one go and the impala purrs to life. Sam makes sure Metallica stays on, it's ridiculous how much that music really does calm his brother.

They high tail it out of that town, and are soon driving down dark back roads, where there's no light but the occasional security light in front of a lonely house. Dean scoots down until his head rests on the back of the seat, he crosses his arms to make it more comfortable and leans over towards the window for more support.

Sam thinks he's fallen to sleep when he suddenly shifts and scratches his leg restlessly through the jeans. Dean huffs and sits a little and pulls the leg of his pants up until he can get to the skin. Then he scratches sighing with relief.

"Dean?" Sam questions, wondering if this is just some kind of concussion dream. "What are you doing, you alright?"

Dean yawns, "I'm fine, just you remember that leg wound from a while back, got infected real bad?"

Sam nods, "Yeah, it was that werewolf up in the mountains, right?"

"Yeah," Dean sighs sleepily, settling again after one last scratch, "Still itches sometimes."

Sam smiles as Dean smacks his lips and leans his head against the window he's cushioned with Sam's coat. He hears the moment Dean's breath evens out and he finally succumbs to sleep. Sleep it off, he thinks fondly. He hopes the reality check when Dean wakes up won't be too bad.

Sam makes himself more comfortable and leaves a casual hand on wheel as the other taps to the beat on his thigh. He finishes his coffee and starts in on Dean's even though it's black. Things have been hard for them lately, sleep shallow and monster-filled, work long and fruitless. Even as he hopes Dean's sleep is peaceful his brother snuffles and groans a little in his sleep. Sam watches grimaces wash over Dean's face, sees the waves of tension sweep through him, the way his eyes movie restlessly under their lids.

He wonders what kind of new horrors or old night terrors haunt his brother's dreams tonight.

...

Dean just really wants to finish this. He's beyond frustrated. He could rip out this werewolf's heart...with. His. Hands. He grits his teeth watching Sam a few yards away from him, back pressed up against a tree just like him. Both breathing hard and trying to locate the wolf with their hearing. Guns loaded with silver bullets grasped tightly in their hands, silver knives tucked safely in their boots or belt.

Sam's cheeks are red with the cold and adrenaline and the brother's can't help but share a cold smile of pure exhilaration over the hunt. Even if it is turning out to be a bitch. Dean's feet are freezing buried in the snow drift against the tree trunk, but he stays still trying to minimize the white clouds of breath he's producing. Sam motions to him quickly, and then Dean can hear the nearly silent foot falls very close to them. He can hear the soft growls that escape the wolf's mouth with each breath. They've already planted one silver bullet in the things left leg, it doesn't have much longer.

Sam nods to Dean's question asked only with the raising of both eye brows. They both silently cock their pistols and they come up in readiness to rest beside their ears. Dean holds out a hand...wait for it. Sam holds his eyes waiting for his big brother's word. Dean breathes deep, waits for the next telling foot step, hears the growling under the breath of the werewolf...

But he doesn't expect to feel the warmth of that breath on his neck.

Even as Sam reaches out a hand and screams a warning, he feels a strong, clawed hand, latch onto his shoulder and brutally shove his head into the tree trunk and then into the snow covered ground in a blink of eye.

When his head and the tree make contact Dean loses sight for a millisecond and comes to with ringing in his ears. The snow is white all around him and he rolls lightening fast to try and gain footing and stand. But the wolf grabs him by the collar of his jacket, pressing him into the cold snow and opens its jaws to tear into his throat. Dean grabs fruitlessly at its arms holding him down, it's going in for the kill.

Sam barrels past him, tackling the wolf, but is met by a wall of pure muscle. He unsuccessfully tries to push the wolf of his stunned brother. Dean knees the creature right in the balls, smiling smugly at the roar of pain. Sam grunts as he gets a firm punch right in the mouth, but he doesn't relinquish his hold on the creature. He pushes with all his might and rolls with the wolf off Dean.

Dean sobs in a much needed breath and gasps trying to gather himself, he spots Sam's gun lying in the snow just out of reach. He throws himself towards it and nearly passes out from the vertigo that spins the world around him. Just as his fingers brush the gun handle he fills a hand wrap around his ankle. With one jerk the wolf drags Dean well away from the gun, he pulls Dean to him using his hands even as Sam stabs his silver knife deep into his belly, jerking it out to repeat the motion in his heart.

The werewolf roars in pain, and Dean kicks it in the face. With the last of its breath it digs three claws of its left hand into the meaty flesh of Dean's calf. Screaming and jerking back as Sam buries the blade in its heart. The movement ripping flesh and muscle from Dean's leg, painting the werewolf's claws and hand in red.

Dean hears a blood-curdling scream, that he doesn't realize was his own until a few moments later. His breaths are coming fast and rapid. The pain burning through his body forcing tears from his eyes and causing his body to feel like it's going to crawl out of his skin. He gags a few times managing to keep his food down.

Sam is above him in a moment, hand squeezing his strongly, speaking to him calmly with a worried tremor in his voice. Dean can't really understand what he's saying. There's still a ringing in his ears, the world is still spinning a little. All he remembers is Sam pulling him up and popping him against himself. From there he remembers vaguely seeing the leg of his jeans ripped and blood gushing out. The snow crimson with it, oddly beautiful.

tbc...

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