Sam felt a hand brush over his shoulder and he lifted his head wearily. As he did he ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his hand over his eyes. His eyes were full of grit, and his throat felt as if he had been sucking down sand. Pushing himself erect Sam swallowed, and blearily focused on Dean who stood next to him.

Sam noticed that his brother looked like Sam felt. Although, Dean had made it out of the fight, with the demon, without a scratch he still looked like crap.

"You look like crap, man," Sam said, as he sat back on the plastic chair. He looked down at the hand that was clasped in his own and felt a tug on his heart.

The hand was small though capable; normally the hand soothed away the brother's hurts and disposed of evil in the same efficient way. Now though, there was nothing familiar left to it. Three of the fingers were splinted together and a few fingernails had been ripped away entirely. An IV, ran into the back of it and the skin tone held a slight yellow tinge to it.

Sam gently set it back on the hospital bed and fought back a wave of sadness. Taking a few deep breaths Sam calmed himself before returning his eyes to his brother. Dean was dealing with his own problems he didn't need to be faced with Sam's pain as well.

"Go home Sam," Sam heard Dean's voice but chose to ignore his words. It had only been about ten hours since the brother's world had come crashing down. Only ten hours since they had watched Catherine die and come back to life. No, he wasn't ready to leave her yet, though the doctors claimed she'd made a marked improvement.

"Sammy listen, Bobby's dead on his feet. Take the truck and find a hotel, that way you can spell me later and I can get some sleep." Sam finally settled his gaze on Dean taking, in just how bad his older brother looked. Dean was pale and drawn, dark shadows had settled under his bloodshot eyes. He'd aged years since this had begun. Sam knew that Dean was worried about him, but he thought that maybe Dean should be more worried about himself. Uncomfortable as it had been at least Sam had napped a bit. Dean looked as if he was afraid to ever close his eyes again.

Sam was ready with a reply, when Dean spoke once again, "Please, Sam; I need to be alone with her. Please." Sam nodded and in a moment was gathering his jacket. Sam stood and watched as Dean took the plastic chair. Sam hesitated once more, reluctant to leave the two most important people in his life. Finally, he opened the door and walked into the hall. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Dean plead with him.

As he stretched, trying to loosen the injured muscles that had stiffened during his sleep, he looked around the clinic. His glance fell across a figure spread out in the waiting room, spanning two chairs. Sam stifled a laugh and approached the hunter, careful to call out to him first. Sam knew you didn't simply walk up unannounced on a hunter as experienced as Bobby Singer. The younger man leaned in and touched Bobby's shoulder.

Bobby came awake at once. Swiftly standing, he scanned Sam's face for any sign that something was wrong, instead all he saw was exhaustion. Nodding, Bobby said, "Let's go, Sam, we'll get some sleep and then come back and get Dean out." Clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder Bobby spared a glance at the door, Sam had come from.

Sam returned the gesture, and said, "She's sleeping; the doctor was in about a half-hour ago and said she showed 'marked improvement' whatever that means." Sam followed Bobby out into the parking lot. As the bright sunshine of the afternoon struck Sam's eyes, he found himself wondering for the first time, how long they had been here. Sam put the question to Bobby and then grinned in surprise. Bobby was climbing behind the wheel of Cat's beloved Wagoneer.

Bobby gave Sam a guilty look, "I've been driving it lately. Seemed a waste to leave it at the yard, you know what a store that girl sets by this old thing." Bobby pulled out onto the street and concentrated on finding a nearby motel. "I'll be honest; I'm not sure how long Katie's been out of it. I'm thinking it's been about two days, give or take."

As Sam and Bobby drove, Sam could see why Bobby had chosen to drive the Wagoneer. Every inch screamed out that it belonged to Catherine. A Saint Christopher's medal hung from the rearview and a line of burned C.D's lined the visor. Best of all thought Sam, it still smelled like Catherine a light citrusy smell that came from the coconut-lime soap she used.

Sam felt himself drifting off; he was surprised when Bobby tapped him on the shoulder ordering him out of the car. Sam got out stiffly and headed for the open door that Bobby steered him toward.

Sam didn't even glance at the room he just made his way to the far bed, and lay. Stretching he felt himself hovering on the edge of sleep, when Bobby called him back.

"Sam, come on, Son, you need to a least pull off those boats, you call shoes." Sam could feel a tugging on his feet. He quickly kicked off his shoes and stripped off his coat, and then with a groan he struggled under the covers and was asleep in moments.

Bobby moved about the room, setting the protection charms and salting the windows and doors. He glanced periodically at the young man sleeping like the dead. Bobby, finally content that they were as safe as they could be, pulled the heavy drapes closed and lay down on his own bed. As he waited for sleep to claim him, his thoughts drifted toward all that had happened.

His heart ached with the thought that Sam and Catherine were now both marked by the demon. Oh, he knew deep down that they had always been in the line of fire, but now. Now there was no hiding from it. They were both beacons, drawing the son of a bitch toward them. Bobby had yet to see Catherine's newest power but he'd heard enough from the boys to know that she now posed a serious threat to the demon. In Bobby's eyes that simply meant she would be an even greater target.

Bobby rolled to his side and watched as Sam slept. He'd promised himself long ago, that he would protect Catherine to the best of his ability. She'd come to him as a broken teenager. She'd been untrusting and full of anger, with good reason after the joke that had been her childhood.

She'd turned into a kind and generous woman, that held all others before herself. Bobby found himself hoping desperately that maybe this time it would be different. Maybe he'd taught her enough that she would stand a chance. That she could somehow survive the coming war.

As Bobby sank into sleep his mind began turning ideas, trying over and over again to find a way to keep both Catherine and the Winchesters alive. Himself, he gave no thought to. He'd lived a hard life, had loved once and well and if he was to die tomorrow he only asked that it be worth it.

888

Dean watched his brother stumble slightly out of the room and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had been running on fumes and Dean was worried. He didn't like having to plead with Sam to go, but he knew his brother well enough to know that nothing else would have worked on Sam's stubborn streak.

Dean turned slowly and took in the wasted figure on the bed. He found himself looking at only one aspect of Catherine at a time. To take in all her injuries at once was enough to make him sick. He focused on her bruised and battered face, her eyes practically swollen shut, her nose that was tapped into place. And the worst the black bruise that started at the corner of her jaw and radiated upwards towards her cheek. Her split lip was swollen and kept bleeding at her slightest movement. He leaned forward and brushed her hair back from her face, careful to avoid the stitches that ran along her hairline.

His eyes dropped of their own volition, taking in the bruising around her throat and her arm bound across her chest. She'd broken her collar bone and the footprint left by the boot that had done it was visible at the neck of her gown. Dean swallowed and closed his eyes.

He heard a low squeak as the door to Cat's room was opened. Turning quickly he sent a questioning glare toward the large woman that entered. He'd had a few dust ups with Nurse Post over the last day or so. He braced himself for another, he was sure she was here to throw him out and he had no intention of leaving. Instead the nurse surprised him by opening the door wide and waving in an orderly wheeling a fold up cot. Dean raised a brow in question.

Caroline took in the young man that sat so still by his wife's bed. She felt a tug on her heart as she remembered just how close the young woman had come to dying. It was only by sheer force of will that she'd survived at all. And though Caroline was no expert she knew that it had been this man's will that had called his wife back. She smiled gently, and said, "I've realized that I'm not going to get you out of here, so I figured I'd at least ensure that you don't become a patient yourself." Caroline shuddered theatrically, and said, "I can only imagine what you'd be like then."

Dean smiled wearily, and said, "I've driven many a nurse to early retirement."

Caroline nodded and handed Dean a set of scrubs she'd brought. "Try and get some sleep, one of us will be in and out every half hour to monitor her vitals."

Dean held up the standard green pants and shirt she'd give him. "What no gown, this is a perfect chance for revenge, leaving me with my backside hanging out."

Caroline grinned and Dean saw a twinkle in her eye. "Oh, son if I were to do that, this ward would go to hell in a hand basket. My nurses' are already fighting over who gets to come in here. I don't need the pandemonium you'd cause if they caught you walking bare assed down the hall."

Dan grinned and nodded thanks to the kind nurse. Once she'd left the room he'd quickly stripped off his clothes, wrinkling his nose at the smell and dressed in the clean scrubs. Finally, he turned off all but the night light and lay down on the hard cot inches from Catherine. He lay on his side and studied the woman he'd fallen in love with. Looking past the bruises that covered her he focused on just what she had given him over the past year.

She'd given Dean her unfailing love and loyalty, she'd put herself on the line over and over again, protecting both himself and Sam. And most of all she'd given him and Sam a sense of home again, of family. Dean lay in the darkness and felt fear course through him. He was the only thing standing between Sam and Catherine's fate. And every day he woke, he was scared that he wouldn't be enough. Enough to keep them from the darkness, he'd almost failed with Catherine and she'd nearly paid the price.

Dean vowed that he would never again choose between Sam and Catherine. No, from this point on where one went, they all went, even if it was into hell itself. Dean finally allowed himself to fall asleep, never noticing the tears that leaked from his tired eyes.