Title: After the Fall

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A wendigo hunt takes a nearly tragic turn and Dean must pick up the pieces. Early Season 2 hurt/limp!Sam awesome!Dean/Bobby with a dash of kickass!Sam

Author's Note: I really…have no idea where this one came from. LOL Initially, I just wanted a little concussed Sam and then….this happened. So, enjoy, I hope!

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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"No. No, dude. Stop. Stay still already!" Dean wrapped an arm across his brother's chest and physically held him back from getting up. "Sam!"

"Dean?" Sam muttered the name in confusion, unable to get his eyes to open. "Gotta get to…we need…s'coming!"

"Shh, buddy. It's ok." Dean steadied Sam's head, grimacing at the feel of all the blood matting his long hair and tried to keep his muddy fingers away from the gash in the back of it. "Just take it easy. Come on."

Sam let himself be lulled by his brother's voice while the pain crashed through his skull, and he felt a wave of heaviness roll through him again.

Dean tightened his arm around his brother as Sam went limp in his grip and swallowed hard around the lump of fear in his throat. "I gotcha, buddy. Just hang on for me." He waited until he was sure Sam was out again and then carefully lowered him back to the ground, settling his head on the pillow of his leather jacket once more. It'd be hell getting the blood out of it, Dean thought, and in that moment didn't care if he had to throw the thing away. Dean went back to the travois he'd constructed and started lashing the sides together, wrapping the lengths of vine back and forth and hoped it would be strong enough to hold Sam, because his brother wasn't walking anywhere on his own any time soon.

Dean wasn't sure he would ever forget that horrifying moment. He looked up along the cliff face beside them to the top and shuddered. One wrong step was all it had taken as the wendigo had charged and Sam had pushed him clear. Dean had watched his little brother fire the flare and the creature go up in flames, and for just a second, had smiled. Then he'd watched Sam's arms windmill, watched the edge of the cliff under his brother's feet give way, and with a short, frightened gasp, Sam had been gone.

He swallowed again and tried to erase the image from his memory of looking over the side down thirty feet and seeing Sam lying like a broken rag doll, and still…so horribly still. Dean set the travois down, going over it with a critical eye and decided it was good enough. There weren't that many hours of daylight left, and he wanted Sam out of there before nightfall.

"Sammy?" Dean knelt next to him and sighed when he didn't get a response. "Ok, I got this." He pulled the frame he'd constructed over and laid it beside Sam, then gently pulled his brother over so he was on his side, slid the travois beneath him, and rolled him back onto it. He held Sam's head up until he had the ball of his leather jacket under it again and then sat back for a moment. Dean ran a hand through his hair and down his face and took a shaky breath.

"We're gonna have a little talk about you goin' over a damn cliff for me when you wake up, buddy," Dean promised him. He grabbed up his backpack and Sam's and set them on his brother's legs and then took up the strap of the travois. He'd torn the belts from both their bags to make it and slipped it over one shoulder. He gave the rig a test pull and smiled when it stayed in one piece and shifted smoothly over the leaf-strewn ground. "Friggin…heavy ass…sasquatch. Holy crap." Dean groaned as he pulled his little brother's considerable weight along the forest floor.

He'd seen the look on Sam's face when he'd pushed him out of the way, and it had taken him all of two seconds to figure it out. Sam was remembering the last time they hunted a wendigo shortly after Dean had saved him from a fiery death at Stanford, and he was clearly not going to stand by and let his big brother be taken from under his nose a second time.

"You're a…stubborn ass…Sammy." Dean growled and adjusted the strap of the travois over his shoulder as they went up a rise. He thought he'd been dragging Sam through the forest for close to two hours and knew he was right when he saw the sleek lines of the Impala gleam for just a moment in the fading sun. "Almost there," he groaned wearily and picked up his pace. Two hours without a single sound from his little brother had done nothing for his nerves. Oh, Sam was alive. Dean stopped every five minutes or so to check and be sure - each time terrified that he would find his brother had quietly slipped away during the trek through the woods - but he was so deeply unconscious that even Dean shaking him and yelling had gotten him nothing.

Dean debated sliding his brother into the backseat and then realized he'd never be able to make the thirty minute drive to the nearest hospital without having a hand on him, making sure Sam didn't slip away while he was watching the damn road. It took him fumbling and some effort to get Sam's lanky frame into the passenger seat, and then he was running around to the driver's side and speeding along the hard-packed dirt road for towards civilization. He eased Sam's head down to his leg and kept one hand on his chest to feel the rise and fall of it with his breathing and the comforting, if rapid, thump of his heart under his palm.

"Don't you quit on me, Sam. You hear me?" Dean ordered him sternly, looking down at the pale face with fear on his own as he pushed harder on the gas the moment they reached paved road again.

Dean snarled twenty minutes later when a siren blared to life behind him complete with flashing lights. "Dammit!" They were only ten minutes from the hospital and he almost said 'screw it' and floored it but common sense won out, unwilling to risk injuring his brother further if the idiot cop behind him decided to force him off the road. Dean pulled to the side and rolled his window down. "Come on, asshole. Move it!" He growled as the officer took his sweet damn time getting out of the cruiser and sauntering over to the Impala.

"License and…"

Dean cut him off and glared up at him. "Look in here! This? This is my little brother." Dean held up a blood-covered hand while the officer bent to look in and his eyes widened. "He fell off a damn cliff and he hasn't so much as twitched for almost three hours now. I'm going to the hospital. You can follow or you can get out front and put that damn siren to use, but I'm going NOW."

"Holy shit! Uh…yeah, ok. Ok. Follow me." The officer didn't ask any more questions; the fear on the young man's face and the blood on his hand were all he needed. He ran back to his cruiser and hastily pulled out in front of the black Impala.

Dean rolled his eyes in relief and fell in behind the cruiser, pleased when the cop showed no fear of hitting ninety. "Have you taken care of in no time, Sammy." He put his hand back on his brother's chest and tried not to panic, feeling how the rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to be losing a beat here and there.

By the time Dean parked in front of the open door to the ER, there was already a gurney and several people in green scrubs waiting, and he sent a hasty wave of thanks to the officer for calling ahead as he got out. "Hurry up!" Dean shouted and ran around the car to pull the passenger door open.

"How long has he been unresponsive?"

Dean shook his head at the doctor as they pulled his brother out and laid him on the gurney. "Three hours. We were hiking and he fell." He followed along while the doctor and nurses called meaningless abbreviations and numbers to each other. His eyes were on Sam as they rolled him inside, and the fluorescent lights showed Dean just how pale he'd become.

"You'll have to wait here, sir."

Dean snarled at the hand on his chest. "I'm not leaving him!"

"We need you to stay out of the way while we take care of him." The blonde-haired nurse looked up at him with understanding in her eyes. "You can't do anything for him now. You got him here. Now let us help him."

"Hey, come on." The officer took a firm hold of the man's arm and pulled, coaxing Dean gently but firmly to back off, then looked at the nurse. "It's his brother."

"Sam." Dean said and started to feel a little numb as his brother was rolled out of his sight. "His name's Sam."

"We'll take care of him."

Dean watched the nurse jog after the gurney and didn't argue when the officer pulled him toward a bank of chairs and shoved him down into one.

"What's your name, son?" The officer asked as he knelt in front of the stricken man and knew somehow that he was the older of the two.

"Uh…Dean." Dean blew out a breath and dropped his head into his hands.

"I'm sure your brother'll be alright." The officer grimaced while Dean couldn't see him because three hours of being unconscious after a fall was rarely a good thing. "They're really good here." He tapped Dean's knee and eased into the chair beside him. "I got shot in the chest a few years back. No one thought I was gonna come out of that."

Dean turned his head to look at the cop, appreciating the attempt to console him. "That bad?"

The officer nodded. "Bullet lodged against my heart, but they pulled me through." He smiled at Dean. "The doctor with your brother right now? The one who met us outside? That was him."

Dean swallowed and straightened because, even in the depth of his guilt, that helped. "That's…that's good to know. Thanks."

The officer patted his leg and stood. "Sam's not gonna die, Dean. He's still got plenty of things to do in this world. Gotta get back on patrol."

"Thanks, man. Really." Dean managed a small smile.

"Don't mention it." The officer smiled again and walked away as his eyes shifted to black, hoping his master would be pleased with him for saving a favored pet.

Dean watched the clock across the lobby tick the hours away as he sat or paced and slowly drained the coffee vending machine of its supply. Every worst case scenario he could imagine ran through his head and made his blood run cold with fear. He stopped every nurse or doctor that came through the door for information, never receiving any, and the nurse on desk duty had gotten to the point where she'd simply shake her head at him when he neared to let him know she didn't know anything new.

"Dean."

He spun hearing his name and finally saw the doctor that had rushed off with his brother. "Where is he? Is he alright? I need to see him." Dean advanced on him and stopped when the man held up a hand.

"My name's Dr. Wright." He smiled at the young man and pulled a surgical cap off his salt and pepper hair. "Sam's going to be fine. Come with me."

Dean swallowed his questions; they could wait until he got a look at his brother. He followed Dr. Wright through to a room marked recovery and went in a rush to the bed holding Sam. He lay quietly with a bandage wrapped around his head. There were dark shadows under his eyes, a tube under his nose and more wires and tubes than he wanted to think about attached to him. "Doc?"

"Sam has a compound skull fracture." Dr. Wright raised a hand again. "It's really not as bad as it sounds, not this time. We cleaned and stitched the gash in the back of his head and only had to remove a small sliver of bone fragment. Intracranial pressure is minimal, but I want to keep him for a couple days to be sure there are no lasting effects or neurological trauma."

Dean sat heavily in the chair next to the bed. "Brain damage?"

"I don't think there will be, and I wouldn't tell you that if I wasn't pretty darned sure." The doctor smiled again and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. "He has significant bruising on his back and upper shoulders but nothing broken. Really, your brother is incredibly lucky given that fall. He must have landed just exactly in the right spot."

"Lucky." Dean blew out a breath and leaned forward to put his hand to Sam's neck. "He gonna wake up soon?"

"Oh, probably. I'm going to get a few things for you, lists of symptoms to watch for, that sort of thing." He chuckled and smiled. "Some real coffee from the nurse's lounge. Trust me. It's better than that crap in the vending machine. Stay with him. Talk to him. He'll come back."

Dean watched him leave and leaned in to squeeze Sam's scrub covered shoulder. "Hey, little brother." He looked at the wisps of dark hair curling out from under the wide bandage and wondered with a small smile if they'd shaved him a bald spot. That would probably freak Sam out more than learning he had compound scull fracture. "Really need you to wake up for me now. Kinda scared the crap out me today…yesterday." He scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair wearily, realizing he'd been awake for nearly two days and on edge for the last nine hours.

"You gotta wake up and tell me how falling off a cliff is a good idea." Dean took Sam's hand in a rare show of open affection and closed his eyes. "Longest minutes of my life, dude, watchin' you go over the side and then trying to find a way down to you. Shit." He jumped when he felt Sam's hand twitch in his and jerked his head up. "Sammy?" A smile split his face as Sam's head moved on the pillow. "That's it, buddy. Wake up. Come on."

Sam followed the sound of his brother's voice. He let it lead him out of the dark place where he'd been floating. Dean's voice was insistent, and slowly he became aware of sensations like the comforting weight of his brother's hand on his neck and his hand being held. He tried to think where he was but could come up with nothing and felt his brows draw together with a dull pain in his head that became sharper the closer he came to opening his eyes.

"Come on, Sammy. Open your eyes," Dean was close to begging and worked to keep his voice down. He didn't want to cause him more pain with the head injury. "Sam." He squeezed his hand again and steadied Sam's head as it rolled slightly toward him, and his brother frowned. "You can do this. Open your eyes. Please." He smiled again as Sam's blue-green eyes fluttered slowly open and met his. "Think you've had enough beauty sleep, dude."

"Look tired," Sam said softy and ran his tongue around his dry mouth.

"Me?" Dean asked, surprised and chuckled when Sam nodded once. He looked behind him and found a cup and straw and grabbed it. "Here." Dean held the straw to his brother's lips and let him have a few, slow swallows before he pulled it away.

Sam's brows drew together again and he looked at Dean. "Holdin' my hand?"

"What? Dude, you're brain damaged." Dean scoffed and grinned. Inside, he was fighting tears of relief to have his brother not only awake but speaking and responsive. "How do you feel?"

"Wha'happened?" Try as he might, Sam couldn't remember anything after leaving the motel room to go out to the forest and hunt the wendigo.

"What do you remember?" Dean asked softly as his worry cranked right back up again. "Sammy?"

Sam frowned again. "Gon' go…wendigo. D'we get it?"

"Yeah, Sam. We got it." Dean sighed and put a hand back to his neck. "You kinda fell off a cliff. You're gonna be fine though. Ok?" He said it quickly when he felt Sam startle. "Cracked that hard head of yours…literally, this time."

"'zat why m'head hurts?"

"Yeah, genius." Dean smiled and looked up as Dr. Wright came back in the room. "He's awake and talking, more or less."

Dr. Wright smiled and came over to the bed, setting a manila folder on the foot of the bed before he leaned over Sam. "Slurred speech?" he asked and smiled again when Dean nodded. "That's ok. Probably just the leftover from the anesthesia. Hello, Sam. I'm Dr. Wright." He took a penlight from his pocket and clicked it on. "Can you look up for me?"

Dean sat back and let the doctor do his tests, paying close attention to the man's face for any sign that Sam was anything less than alright. Relief swam through him again when the doctor leaned back finally and smiled broadly. "He good?"

"He's good." Dr. Wright picked the folder back up and handed it to Dean. "There are some things you'll need to watch for over the next couple weeks." He looked down, nodding when he saw Sam was paying attention to him, pleased with how responsive the young man was already. "Confusion, obviously, but that will pass. Headaches, loss of consciousness, nausea, vomiting, slurred speech, and any change in behavior." He smiled reassuringly as both men paled. "I'd imagine the only symptoms you'll really have to deal with are the headaches and vomiting, maybe some light and sound sensitivity." He hitched a hip onto the side of the bed and patted Sam's leg. "Now, if at any point you experience convulsions or, Dean, if you can't wake him up or, worst case, you notice bleeding from his eyes and ears, he'll need come to straight back to the hospital."

"Can w'go now?" Sam asked hopefully and frowned when the doctor laughed.

"Not just yet. Tomorrow maybe." Dr. Wright patted his leg again. "If you've stopped slurring and are more alert and your tests come back in a range I like."

"Get comfy, Sammy." Dean smiled and watched Sam's eyes flutter closed. "Sam?"

"He'll be tired for a while yet. It's alright to let him sleep." Dr. Wright stood. "The nurse will be waking him up every half hour anyway to check his vitals. I'll be back in the morning."

"Thanks, doc," Dean said softly and meant it.

"Just doing my job, Dean." He went to the door and turned back with a smirk. "If a very scary looking head nurse comes in here and assaults you with a clipboard, just back away quietly and fill out the paperwork." He chuckled. "Nurse Lewis gets very upset when she doesn't have all her paperwork in order."

Dean laughed. "Promise. Thanks." He watched him leave and put a hand back to Sam's neck, needing the contact to reassure himself. "Think we're gonna take a couple weeks off, buddy."

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Two days after Sam's fall, he was finally cleared to go home and Dean rolled his eyes when he walked into the hospital room and found his brother already sitting on the side of the bed and looking around in confusion. "What part of 'wait for me to get back' didn't translate for you, genius?" Dean glared at him when Sam looked up. He tossed a bag on the end of his brother's bed and snorted. It was a relief to see him without the bandage around his head even if his hair looked ridiculous, sticking up in every direction. "Tryin' to figure out where your clothes are?"

Sam nodded and picked at his scrub top. "I had clothes when I came in, right?"

Dean nodded. "They cut them off you in the E.R."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Here." Dean pulled out the clothes he'd brought and set them next to him. "How's your balance today?"

Sam scowled up at him and grabbed his jeans from the pile. "It's fine."

"So stand up and bust-a-move for me then," Dean challenged. As he expected, Sam didn't stand. "Uh huh. Gimme." He took the jeans from Sam's hands and knelt, not wanting him to bend over that far.

"Dude, no way." Sam moved his legs away irritably and made a grab for the pants, snarling when Dean kept them out of reach.

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean said cheerfully, grabbed a leg and eased the denim up to his knees. "You can finish that. Gimme your socks."

"No."

"Yes."

"Bite me."

"Boys." Dr. Wright chuckled as he walked in on the impending argument and smiled at both dark looks. "Sam, let your brother help. Bending down to your feet is not something I'd recommend just yet.

"You heard him, bitch." Dean snorted at the look of disgust on Sam's face and reached up for his socks. He got them both on with only one kick to the chest and slid his sneakers on while Sam was distracted with the doctor shining a light in his eyes. (Dean felt a sudden lump form in his throat as memories of the countless times he had done this very thing for his baby brother when they were kids washed over him. In one respect, it felt like it was just yesterday, but in another way it was lifetime ago. Remembering the terrifying trek out of the woods and frantic race to the hospital two days earlier, he was just grateful that he had the opportunity to do this for his little brother one more time…even if the sneakers were now the size of small boats.

"I feel fine," Sam insisted and worked not to jerk his head away from the fingers gripping his chin. He groaned as the penlight flashed brightly in his eyes and closed them quickly when the doctor let him go.

"Still hurts?" Dr. Wright asked and sighed when Sam nodded. "It's perfectly normal, Sam. The light and sound sensitivity will go away soon. If it doesn't, I want you to come back." He went around the other side of the bed and popped open the snaps on the scrub gown. "I want one more look at this bruising before you go."

Sam groaned and hunched forward with a shiver while the top was pushed off his shoulders into his lap. He looked up in surprise when Dean's hands took his shoulders and then let his head drop forward to his brother's chest. "Ok…kinda feel like crap."

"I know, buddy." Dean sighed and held him upright while Dr. Wright poked and prodded Sam's back, making him flinch. Sam gasped into his chest and Dean turned a scowl to the doctor. "Easy, Sam."

"Sorry." Dr. Wright stepped back quickly. He had a healthy respect for the contained violence he'd seen several times in Dean's eyes when anyone caused his brother pain, even to help him. "Tender spot on the left side over his kidney. Make sure he stays off his feet as much as possible and on his right side so those muscles can heal. Hot water bottle or three wouldn't go amiss."

"I'll take care of it," Dean assured him and eased his brother back so he was sitting up again. "Ok, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and swallowed. "Yeah. Sorry."

Dean pulled his shirt over and knew his brother wasn't feeling well as he let Dean slide it up his arms and over his head.

"Is home anywhere near here?" Dr. Wright asked, watching while Dean helped dress his brother and smiled. "I never did look at your paperwork after Nurse Lewis made you fill it out."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. "No. We'll be in South Dakota. Don't worry." He tugged his brother's shirt down and patted his shoulder. "There's a hospital nearby."

Dr. Wright frowned. "That's at least a twelve hour drive. No more than four at a time in the car." He raised a hand when both men looked like they were going to argue. "Sam, the motion of the car is likely going to exacerbate the nausea, not to mention the bruising on your back. You'll need to get out periodically and rest."

Dean sighed and stepped back. "I'll make sure we stop."

Dr. Wright nodded. "In that case, sign this and you're both out of here." He smiled and held out a clipboard to Sam. "Release papers. You have all the information I gave you, Dean?"

"Yes, sir." Dean nodded. "Out in the car." He pulled over the wheelchair by the door and held it steady. He kept a hand hovering in case Sam needed it as he got off the bed, but he made it into the chair on his own, scowling as he put his feet up on the risers.

"Take care of yourself, Sam." Dr. Wright shook his hand and then Dean's. "I know you're in good hands."

"Nobody's better," Dean said firmly. He grabbed the bag off the bed and put it in his brother's lap, then wheeled him out of the room.

Sam sucked in a lungful of air as they emerged outside and smiled. "Man, I was tired of being in there." He smirked while Dean chuckled and looked happily at the Impala gleaming in the sunlight as Dean pushed him to her.

"I saw that," Dean said with a laugh as he pulled the passenger door open. "You missed mah baby."

"Did not." Sam said quickly and yet he smiled more widely as he settled into his seat. "Ok, maybe a little."

Dean snorted and closed the door. He went around to the driver's side with a lighter heart and climbed behind the wheel with a chest tight from relief as Sam turned and smiled at him, so different from the last time they'd been in the car together.

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Bobby stood anxiously on his porch, waiting. He'd been damn close a few times over the last couple days to just picking up and driving out to that damn hospital in the middle of nowhere. The sound of Dean's voice the first time he'd called…Bobby ran a hand through his hair under his hat and blew out a breath. He'd never heard the kid sound so lost, not even after their Dad died, and that had been rough…was rough still, but at least Dean had Sam to hold onto and almost losing him sounded like it had nearly broken him.

He smiled when he saw the Impala turn into his junkyard and came down the steps as Dean parked and got out. "About time you idjits got here."

Dean grinned and clapped a hand on the older Hunter's back. "Had to keep giving the princess rest breaks."

"Bite me, Dean," Sam called as he opened his door and got out. He managed a smile for Bobby even as he held on to the open door, worried that if he let go he would end up on the ground. His legs felt like rubber and his head was swimming.

Bobby chuckled and went around the car. He wasn't blind, and it was easy to see that whatever get-up-and-go Sam had was well gone. He pulled the taller man into a perfunctory hug as an excuse to keep an arm around him. "Got a pot of my chili goin' inside. Come on, Sam. Ignore the idiot."

"Hey! The idiot's right here!" Dean threw his arms up and scowled when they both laughed at him. "That didn't come out right. Shut up."

Sam smiled and didn't argue when Bobby kept an arm around him and helped get him up the stairs and into the house. Sam sank down on the aging sofa with a happy groan. He hadn't realized until that moment, as he sank back into the couch, just how much being in a moving car was affecting him, not counting the three times he'd spewed his guts out on the side of the road. "Never moving again," he said tiredly as he let his head drop back.

Bobby chuckled and leaned down to brush a hand gently over the back of his head. "Turn your head, Sam. I wanna look at it."

Sam groaned but did as he was told, wincing when Bobby's fingers found the stitches on the tender wound. "Not as bad as it looks."

Bobby scowled, pulling Sam's dark hair away to reveal the small bald patch shaved in the back of his head that was fairly well hidden under the longer locks above it and looked at the neat row of stitches. "Looks like it was pretty damn bad to me, Sam."

"He'll live," Dean said as he came inside and dropped their bags inside the door. He took in Sam's pale face and tightly closed eyes and nodded. "Lay down and get some sleep, dude."

Sam wanted to argue, but he couldn't. He eased over onto his right side and wrapped his arms around the worn pillow. "Thanks, Bobby," he mumbled when he felt a blanket settle over him.

Bobby straightened and waved Dean into the kitchen before he spoke again. "So, tell me all of it." He took two beers from the fridge and gave one to Dean. "How bad is it really?"

Dean dropped into a chair at the table and groaned tiredly. "He's ok." He went over quickly what Dr. Wright had told them to watch out for and slumped down in his chair as he drank down half the beer. "Friggin' beat, Bobby."

"Go get some sleep, son." Bobby walked past him and clapped a hand to his shoulder. "I'll watch Sam. Got some cleanin' up to do down here anyway."

Dean got up grudgingly and walked back into the living room, only then noticing the books scattered on the floor and what looked like rock salt chunks on the floor. "You throw a party while we were gone?" he asked quietly.

Bobby snorted and spoke just as softly so as not to disturb Sam. "Couple Hunters came through here lookin' for help with a shifter and led the damn thing back here." He rolled his eyes. "Morons, both of 'em."

Dean tensed with that news. "Is it safe?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "That rock salt ain't from me. It's from those two idiots. I put two silver rounds in its heart." He smiled grimly. "Still burnin' out back if you wanna go take a look."

Dean relaxed and put up his hands with a smile. "Nope. I'm good." He grabbed the bags and headed up the stairs.

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Sam woke slowly and blinked, taking a moment to remember that they were at Bobby's. He shifted his head carefully, not wanting to drive the ache into a full-blown headache and groaned softly. "Crap."

"Sam?" Bobby heard the soft noise and was up around his desk before Sam's head managed to turn and find him. "You alright, son?"

Sam nodded and flushed. "I, uh…gotta use the can."

Bobby smirked. "Ok; we can do that." He took Sam's arm and tugged him up slowly, watching his face as it paled and tightened and held on to him while Sam got his bearings. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Sam let Bobby help him to his feet, irritated that his body seemed to have stiffened up while he slept. "Time's it?"

"After nine or so." Bobby smiled and shadowed him down the hall to the bathroom. "Boys pretty much slept the day away."

"Dean's asleep?" Sam asked and pushed the bathroom door open.

Bobby grinned. "Gave him a beer and sent him to bed. Figured that'd do it."

Sam chuckled. "Thanks, Bobby. I can handle it from here." He pushed the door shut on Bobby's laugh and leaned against the door for a moment. It bothered him deeply to feel this useless and weak. At least his brother was finally getting some real sleep. He wished he could simply bounce back from this. Dean never reacted well to long periods of down time, even less so now that their father was gone. Sam didn't want to be responsible for two weeks of Dean with nothing to do but sink into his misplaced guilt again.

He puttered in the shower longer than he meant to, just wanting the time alone after two days in a hospital with little to no privacy. Sam finally opened the door an emerged only when his head told him it was time to lay down again. The now familiar headache was making his eyes water as he navigated the hall on his own, using the wall to keep him standing. Sam looked at the stairs and shook his head carefully, knowing he didn't have the energy to get up there on his own to his bed.

"Bobby?" Sam called. He really wanted the bed rather than usurping Bobby's couch and living room. He frowned when he didn't get an answer and stumbled into the living room. "Bobby?" He teetered in the doorway and then smiled when Bobby came in the front door. "Hey. Uh…I thought maybe you could help me upstairs so I'm not stealing your couch anymore."

Bobby broke into a smile and pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulders. "I don't mind. Come on. Here we go."

Sam let Bobby lead him back to the couch and groaned as he sat down heavily. He didn't argue when Bobby pushed him slowly over to his side. "Thanks, Bobby. Just…gimme a few and I can get upstairs on my own."

"Don't worry about it." Bobby patted his shoulder and sat next to his hip. "No problem…Sam."

Sam's eyes slipped closed while his head pounded and then he frowned. Something didn't feel right and he wasn't sure if it was him or something else. "Bobby?"

"Just lay still."

"No…no. Something's…" Sam opened his eyes again, pushing back the pain to look up at him. "You should get Dean." He watched Bobby's eyes widen and then turn to look toward the stairs before coming back to him. Bobby's hand was still on his shoulder and his grip tightened while the feeling of something 'off' strengthened. "Dean?" Sam called, even while the sound of his own loud voice drove fresh pain through his head, and he gasped when Bobby's other hand slapped over his mouth.

"Uh uh. No yelling, Sam. It's not good for you." Bobby quickly took his hand from Sam's shoulder and slapped it to the back of his head, pressing fiercely into the stitched wound there. "Might make you hurt more." He smiled.

Sam's eyes shot wide with the sudden, certain knowledge that the man hurting him was not Bobby. Somehow it wasn't. He struggled to shove Bobby, or whatever it was wearing his face, away. He choked on a cry as Bobby's fingers dug harder into the back of his head and Sam used the fear. He slammed his fist into the man's throat, rocking him back and got a leg up to kick him solidly in the chest.

Sam rolled off the couch to the floor with a thump as Bobby crashed into the wall behind him. "Dean!" He yelled as loudly as he could and dove up for Bobby's desk. Part of him was terrified that he was too late to save Bobby, the real Bobby. Sam ruthlessly shoved it down and stretched over top of the desk for the drawer and the knife he knew Bobby kept there.

"No you don't!"

Sam kicked backwards when hands grasped into the back of his shirt to pull him off. "Go to hell!" He yelled, curled his fingers around the hilt of the small, silver knife and then let Bobby yank him back. Sam spun and drove the blade into his shoulder. He gave a sharp cry as Bobby howled and a hand struck the side of his head, knocking him to the floor. Sam's head exploded in white-hot pain with the blow as he crumpled. He swallowed hard, resisting the sudden need to throw up and rolled to his back. He blinked furiously as Bobby rose up over him, pulling the silver knife from his shoulder with a snarl. A fresh wave of dizziness rolled through Sam, and then he had to blink again to make sense of what he was seeing as Dean suddenly appeared and tackled Bobby away.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean slammed into Bobby and rolled over the floor and into the desk with him. He grunted as an elbow banged into his bare stomach and scrambled for the silver knife. He knew what this was. The moment he'd heard Sam's voice and seen Bobby standing over him like that, he knew; shifter. He caught the knife up in his hand, punched the shifter in the side of the head to put him on his back, nd then Dean drove the silver blade into his chest. He swallowed hard as he stood, watching Bobby's likeness die and tried not to let it gut him.

"Sam." Dean turned and dropped beside his brother. "Ah,hell," he groaned, seeing a trickle of blood from his left ear,and Dr. Wright's warnings came back to him while Sam's groggy eyes rolled to meet his.

"Dean." Sam breathed it gratefully and clasped a hand around his arm. "Where's…where's Bobby?"

There was a bang at the front door and Dean spun, putting himself between it and his brother. He eased up slightly when the older Hunter staggered into the room. "Bobby? That really you?" He felt sure it was as Bobby slapped one hand out to the wall and grabbed his head with the other, but he needed to be sure.

"Bastard clocked me in the back of the head," Bobby groaned and eased down to sit on the couch, looking over at…himself. "Well, that's unsettling as hell." He looked back over and his eyes widened. "Shit! Sam?"

"M'alright, Bobby," Sam said softly and let his head rest on the floor. "S'good to see you…real you."

"When I get my hands on Walt and that fool partner of his, I'm gonna skin 'em." Bobby promised darkly and got back to his feet a little unsteadily. "Leading not one but two shifters back to my damn house."

Dean knelt by his brother again as his gut told him there was nothing to worry about and it really was Bobby. He was far more concerned now with the blood coming from his brother's ear. "Sam, how's your head?" He put his fingers to Sam's ear, swiping through the blood and showed it to him. "'cause this ain't a good sign."

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head once. "It's not…he hit me. Shifter." He managed a small smile. "Right in the ear. Friggin' hurt."

Dean dropped his head for a moment and smiled in relief. He hitched his sweatpants up on his hips and took his brother's arm. "Back to the couch. Bobby? You ok?"

"I'll live." Bobby said ruefully and knelt to take Sam's other arm and helped pull him to his feet. "Guess I got a harder head than you, Sam."

Sam chuckled weakly and then had to swallow hard as the shift in position made his stomach roll. "Uh…Dean…I think…"

"Shit!" Dean knew that tone. "Sit him down quick." He let Bobby ease Sam to the couch while he dashed to the other side of the desk for the little trash can. He upended it on the floor and got it under Sam's head just as the first heave struck. "Easy, Sammy." Dean sat next to him and put an arm across his chest to keep him from toppling to the floor.

"You got this?" Bobby asked him. "I wanna take out the trash." He waved an arm toward the dead shifter.

"Yeah, go ahead." Dean smiled, put a hand up to the back of his brother's head and cussed. "Dammit! That son of a bitch popped some stitches I think. He's bleeding."

Bobby bent over Sam, feeling sorry for the kid as he continued to heave into the can and took a look at the back of his head. He had to pull hair freshly sticky with blood out of the way and hissed out a breath. "Yeah; there's a couple torn stitches. Lemme get that handsome bastard outta here, and we'll fix him up."

Dean was surprised into a laugh at that and held on to his brother while Bobby dragged the mirror image of himself out of the house. He shivered and wished he'd worn a shirt to bed and knew he wasn't going to bother getting one until he was sure Sam wasn't on his way back to the E.R. "Whoa, ok. Take it easy." Dean caught his brother as the heaving stopped and Sam slumped suddenly into him. "I gotcha." He took the trashcan and set it aside, then rolled his eyes with his arms full of little brother. "Dude, you are such a girl."

"Sorry," Sam said softly and worked to not slur his words and needlessly worry Dean. "Move…in a minute."

Dean snorted and held on to him. "Whatever, man. At least you're warm."

Sam chuckled wearily into his brother's bare chest, trying to decide if he had the energy to even be embarrassed at that point and deciding he didn't. He hurt too much to consider moving. "Think I want…that hot water bottle…now."

"What am I, your nurse?"

"Yep."

"If you didn't have a broken head right now, I'd kick your ass."

Sam snorted. "Nurse Dean."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" Bobby said as he came back in and laughed. "This is gonna be a long damn two weeks." He groaned, ignoring the two fingers flipped his way and cuffed the back of Dean's head. "Idjits."

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The End.