First things first, this story takes place during season twelve, but just chronology wise. Let's say that Mary didn't come back, there's no Lucifer or Kelly debacle, Sam wasn't shot by the BMOL, and the Brits were trying to be decent people and find a way that they could all help each other out nicely. That's where this story takes place.

I've got a few chapters done already (fingers crossed for one per week), and if you could take a second to review to let me know if this story is interesting or not, that would be great :) Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!

I don't own Supernatural and I edited the cover image, which I don't own the original of either.

November 9, 6:00pm

Dean took the drive back to the bunker a bit slower than he normally would. There was less music and less muttering about incompetent drivers and less tires bouncing into potholes. Conversely, there were more half glances towards Sam, whose head was leaned up against the window. His torso was rigid and upright, leaving his neck being the only twisted part, and Dean knew that it would be sore later. Still, it must have been better than twisting the rest of his chest.

"You're staring again," Sam commented as Dean's eyes quickly went back to the road. The younger man's eyes were closed, and there was a slight smirk on his lips.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Dean replied simply, and shrugged.

"Mhm." There was nothing else said for a few more minutes until Dean's driving slowed down even more. "We there?"

"Yep, bunker sweet bunker," Dean nodded, turning the Impala into the bunker's garage and parking it before shutting it off.

"Good. I need to get this…hospital stink off me," Sam said, glad the vehicle had stopped, and reached for the handle.

Dean was faster however, getting out of the car and opening Sam's door before he could twist fully to get it open. "Slow down there, Speedy Gonzales. Showers can wait," he reminded

"Dean, I'm fine, seriously," Sam fought back, trying to bite back a wince as he got up and out of the car. He didn't try hiding it behind a smile, Dean knew how crappy he was feeling. The day passed out in the car proved as much.

Of course, the older brother wasn't expecting too much out of the younger one, considering they had just gotten out of the hospital after staying there for three whole nights. It had been a rare, multi-day trip to the stark white and antiseptic drenched place that both of them hated more than they probably should have.

"As soon as those pain meds wear off, we'll see. Shower, food, meds, bed," Dean nodded, leaving no place for an argument.

They both walked slowly back inside the bunker, Sam's face a shade paler by the time they reached the library. His breathing was a bit more labored, considering the extensive work that had been done on his literal entire chest area.

Dean had made a slight mental note that werewolf cases were to be avoided and sent to someone else if possible for the next few months. Less than a year after the last…bad one, there had been another. Another crazy werewolf with a gun, another bullet in Sam's chest, and another too close call that Dean would rather not think about extensively.

"Call life alert if you slip," Dean quirked a smile at Sam, who was making his way down to his room.

"Call a fireman if you burn down the kitchen," came the slightly slow reply. Still, Dean kept the smile on his face as he went into the kitchen to make something Sam would take with his meds. He was beat, of course, and could use a shower himself to get off the overly clean, starchy smell. But food came first, so Sam could take his meds and go to sleep hopefully without incident.

He made the food robotically, just glad for a task to get his mind off of everything else that had recently transpired. By the time it was done and Dean made his way back into Sam's room, he was already sitting up in bed with his laptop on. He was in grey sweatpants and a light shirt, his go to when he wasn't feeling up to much else, and his hair was still wet.

Dean shot him a 'really'? look, a bit displeased and annoyed as he carried in the tray of food and swapped it out with the laptop, which Sam replied to with a bitchface of his own.

"No research. Food, meds, bed," Dean instructed.

"First, it was emails," Sam mentioned, shaking his head a bit at Dean's continued 'feel better faster' lists. "And, kind of important ones too." He gestured with the fork towards the laptop.

Dean pulled up Sam's desk chair and kicked his feet up on Sam's bed, reading through the email. It was from Mick Davies, who was reminding them about the meeting with the other British Men of Letters in London in four days. Sam had agreed on going, and Dean had been thinking about it because…flying. It had never been his thing, and it would never be his thing. But he didn't trust the Brits and certainly didn't want Sam alone on their home turf, so he would end up going one way or another.

"And?" Dean prompted, finishing reading through the lengthy reminder.

"Click up on the next one," Sam instructed, taking another bite as he waited for Dean to finish reading. "I told him we probably couldn't make it, and he said that this was literally the only time that everyone could meet. Apparently they're bringing in the…big guys to talk through this attempted team up with us and a few other hunters. It's happening, and they need us to be there," he paraphrased.

"Well, you're not going," Dean answered quickly, looking over the computer at his brother. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Dean held up a hand. "You were shot twice in the chest just a few days ago. Get some rest, binge some shows, I got this one. I can handle a merger with a bunch of fancy suits."

"I was fine on the drive here, which takes longer than a flight out, and you and flying, don't…really mix."

"You half slept, half sat in pain the entire way over," Dean reminded. "And I've gotten better with flying," he added defensively.

That time, Sam hit him with the 'really?' look. "You can count how many times you've been flying on one hand, Dean."

"Exactly," Dean raised a hand and closed the laptop. "New experiences, get above five and everything. But you're not going. And we're not leaving the fate of the United States' hunters as we know them up to some yahoos that may or may not have been keyed into the apocalypse. I'm going, Sam, no arguing."

It took a few moments, but Sam eventually went to sigh, winced, and finally nodded. "You do know you have to leave tomorrow then?"

Tomorrow? Right, of course, travel took time, and he should probably drive east first to have the shortest flight time possible. Maybe he'd head to New York…or some other east coast city. Gosh, he had to start planning. And he would have to pack and how the hell would he be getting any of his weapons with him? "Course I do," he replied matter o' factly.

Sam let out a light scoff and shook his head.

"It'll be fine, Sam," Dean shook his head back and got up, leaving the laptop sitting on the chair. "Get some shut eye." He picked up the empty plate and tapped out two pills, handing them to Sam with a glass of water, both of which he took.

It was obvious from the lack of response that Sam didn't like Dean going off alone as much as Dean liked the idea of Sam going off alone. There was a quiet "night" as Dean shut off the light to the room and left the door cracked open.

It was so Dean could hear in case Sam needed something, but also so that there wasn't a solid divide between them after the past few days. The days which Dean shoved out of his head and down the list of things to think about. He had to clean up the kitchen, shower, pack a bit, and figure out how to book a flight.

November 9, 11:00pm

The first three were accomplished rather easily, and Dean's hair was still damp as he settled into one of the chairs in the library and began looking at flights. From New York to London, it took around seven hours to fly. Seven hours in a pressurized capsule thousands of feet above the ground, he could do it, sure. Dean shook his head again and booked the first direct flight closest to the Brit's location as he could find. There was no sense in thinking about it more than he had to.

Driving, which was something he preferred any day of the week, would take around a day in itself, minus pit stops and a night at a motel. Two days of travel, one…hopefully random day in London, a meeting the next, and home on the first red-eye out. Then a drive back. In total, he was looking at nearly a week of being gone. Which was nearly a week in which Sam would be by himself, still on the mend…

Dean didn't even think twice before pulling out his phone and calling Cas. He sat there for a few rings, muttering that the angel had better freaking pick up, before the line connected.

"Hello?" came the gravely voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Cas, you got a sec?"

There was some shifting on the other end of the line. "Dean? Of course, how's Sam?"

"Snug as a bug in a rug," Dean smirked absently.

"I don't…" Cas trailed off and Dean could practically picture the angel trying to figure out how a bug could be snug while inside of a rug.

"It's a saying-you know, never mind. We're both in the bunker, he's all doped up," Dean exaggerated, "everything's good."

"Well, that is good to hear. I was getting worried."

"Yeah," he replied quietly. "I woulda called earlier, but we had to get back, and you know, but listen, I've got a favor to ask, you busy for the next week or so?"

"Not…particularly. I was tracking a demon, but another hunter took care of it. I was on my way back. Why?"

"I've got this…meeting with the Brits," gosh, even saying the idea out loud sounded awful, "but it's on their home turf. Some…amicable way we can all work together or something. Sam can't go, and it would help if someone were here to watch out for him and keep an eye on the bunker."

There was more rustling, as he guessed at Cas nodding. "Of course, Dean. I can make it there later tomorrow."

Later tomorrow, probably after Dean had left, so…a few hours of leaving Sam alone. That should be fine…it would have to be, anyways. "Yeah, that works," was his short reply.

"I'll leave tonight. Driving is still…less preferable to flying," Cas commented, which elicited a slight scoff on Dean's part.

"Whatever you say," he nodded although no one could see. "And Cas? Thanks, sorry about the short notice."

"It is no problem, Dean," the angel assured. "We will keep in contact."

"Yep. Sounds good. Night, Cas." With that, Dean ended the call and put the phone next to the laptop. He ran a hand through his hair and checked the time, figuring that he should get a decent amount of sleep, given he wouldn't be sleeping much over the next few days.

With the flight booked, things packed, and nerves more or less on edge, Dean shut the laptop and headed off to try and get some sleep.