The pain meds kept Sam quiet through the night even if he didn't sleep much. Dean slept on the sofa, waking whenever Sam stirred and rolled onto his shoulder or hit his arm and cried out and he only had to get up twice to go over and make sure Sam hadn't sprouted a new injury.

It made for another long night and come morning, Dean was tired and irritable. He finally got up because Sam had yet to stir on his own. Dean gently shook Sam until he pulled away with a soft groan. The bed sheets were damp from sweat and so tangled and twisted around Sam, that Dean couldn't tug them free. Dean pushed at him until he gingerly eased onto his back and blinked up at Dean through wet, tangled bangs. Dean gave him a cheeky grin and pulled the blankets and top sheet from the bed and tossed them towards the door. The pillow cases followed next.

"Morning." Dean greeted cheerfully. "How you doin' Sammy? You look like shit dude."

"Leave me alone." Sam groaned, pulling the pillow over his face.

"Not until you shower." Dean snatched the pillow away. "Get up so I can have those sheets, you need to pee yet?"

"Guess, yeah." he needed Dean's help to gain his feet but once up, he managed the short walk to the bathroom on his own and Dean took the opportunity to change the sheets on the bed, keeping an ear out for the expected thump from the bathroom.

"Sam? How long does it take you to piss these days?" he pushed the door open. Sam stood in front of the toilet, left arm held close to his stomach, right hand braced against the wall behind the toilet. His forehead rested on his arm and he didn't move when Dean entered the bathroom. Dean bit his lip, Sam's arm shook from the strain of supporting his weight; he shivered as if cold, but was glistening in sweat. His arm, neck and face actually looked like he had bathed in baby oil and his shirt was damp and sticking to his shoulders. Dean glanced down at the toilet, expecting to see signs of Sam being sick, not at all prepared to see blood. "Sam?' he questioned. Had Sam vomited blood again, he would be on the floor. "Did you piss blood?" he took the two steps required to reach Sam's side. "Are you…." he pushed Sam's shirt up, revealing his back, sighing when he saw the bruising he knew would be there. "Don't suppose you can explain this either, huh?"

"Explain what?" his voice was a husky whisper. "Jesus."

Dean had nothing to say. He'd been with Sam for the last week and nothing had happened to cause the bruises on his lower back that hadn't been there last night. Dean had seen his back for himself the night before last when he had fallen and Dean had put him to bed with ice. There had been no sign of any injury to his kidneys that would cause him to be pissing blood now

"You mighta mentioned that your lower back hurt." Dean was at a complete loss. "This the first time you pissed blood?"

"My shoulder hurt, not my back." he pushed off the wall and transferred his weight to Dean. "I still don't know how I bruised down my shoulder to my back. I don't Dean, I really don't."

"Should see it now, you're one big bruise from shoulder to your hip."

"Yeah, well, hurts like a motherfu….hurts."

"Bet it does, ok, come on, get off your feet."

Sam spent the morning on the sofa. He'd managed a quick wash up in the sink, too unsteady to attempt a shower; he even managed to brush his teeth but skipped shaving. He let Dean bully him into eating some oatmeal and toast and while he kept it down, it sat heavy in his belly and nausea kept him lying down. He slept soundly enough Dean deemed it safe to go off to the Laundromat.

Sam had to see a doctor. The burn on his arm was reason enough to take him in; possible damage to his kidneys made the trip a must. Sam slept because he was taking pain meds. His hand and shoulder were still swollen, his back was still bruised, his nose could be broken and he couldn't tolerate Dean touching the burn. He was dizzy and light-headed on his feet and nauseous whenever he stood for too long. The two fires Dean kept burning could not possibly be the cause of Sam constantly sweating through his clothes, the sheets and the blankets. No injury was healing; it was as if they had gone untreated. So, soon as the laundry was done, Dean would get Sam up and they would head to the hospital whether Sam liked it or not.

***000***

"Sam? You awake?" Dean sat down on the coffee table and nudged his toe against Sam's hip. He was curled up on the couch, ice on his back and on his nose and Dean was reluctant to make him move, much less get up and get dressed and ride for over an hour in the car. "Hey, wake up."

"I'm awake, stop it."

Dean saw him tense; his shoulders stiffen as he waited to hear what Dean wanted. "How you feeling? Any better?"

"Not really." he didn't move, knowing what Dean was going to say next. "I don't want to go anywhere Dean."

"You have to." he lifted the towel from Sam's face. "Christ."

"No, I don't." he replied tiredly. "Why?"

"Because you won't let me touch your arm and when I made you let me, you passed out. You can't breathe through your nose and oh yeah, you're pukin' blood." Dean kept his tone light; he didn't want to sound like he was scolding. "Oh, and need I mention the blood in the urine bit?"

"Not gonna let me outta this are you?" he sighed in defeat. "Okay, but first, I'm gonna shower."

"Deal, but not here. Shower's too small if you face plant on me, we'll go over to the campground, okay?"

"Whatever." he slowly sat up and tossed the towel of ice. "Just….lemme get a towel."

Dean walked over with Sam, waiting in the room with the lockers while Sam showered. The showers were on the other side of the wall and while loathe to let Sam out of his sight, Dean really didn't think he needed to watch him shower. Besides he could hear well enough, could hear the water running, could hear the occasional grunt when Sam raised an arm or twisted the wrong way, could hear his muttered curse when the shampoo bottle hit the floor and….heard the thud when Sam followed the bottle to the floor.

"Dammit." he rounded the corner. "Sam! Yo Sammy! Sam. What the hell….? he turned the shower off and splashed his way across the floor. "Sam! Oh, come on, not again! Sam!" he squatted down and lifted Sam's head off the floor, slapping at his cheeks. "Sam!"

Sam stirred, coughing on swallowed water and blood. He fought briefly against Dean then relaxed when he realized who held him down. He knew he was wet and chilly and uncomfortable but couldn't discern anything else, not where he was or why.

"Again with a bathroom floor." Dean sighed. "Dude, enough with filthy public floors. Come on, get up." Sam was slippery but Dean managed to get him on his feet, adding only a bruise, maybe two and out of the shower where Sam wrapped a towel around his waist and sat down on a bench near the lockers. "What happened?" he demanded, facing Sam, hands on hips.

"I…dun….dunno." Sam winced, holding his head. "Shit."

"Nuh-uh. Keep your head up, and tilt it back, your nose is bleeding again. Did you slip and fall? Did you faint?" Dean sat down on a bench opposite Sam. "You hurt yourself, again, you can't keep doing this." he laid a hand on Sam's bare shoulder frowning at the heat his fingers encountered. How the hell could his skin be that hot? He'd just gotten out of a shower!

"I'm not…I didn't…" he shook his head in denial and….fell over. Dean caught him by his shoulders and the applied pressure caused him to promptly throw up. Dean let him go to wearily rub his forehead. Sam doubled over, his chest on his knees and Dean saw the blood matted in his hair, trickling down the back of his neck to his back.

"What the hell…" his fingers splayed through Sam's hair, parting it on the back of his head to reveal a swollen lump that was bleeding sluggishly. The cold water from the shower had slowed the bleeding and now that Sam's body was warming up, the bleeding was getting heavier. "Okay, get dressed."

"Gimme…a…minute." Sam gasped, the room was spinning, his skin was crawling, he couldn't breathe and someone was repeatedly driving a stake through the back of his skull. "Mmmmm, ow…damn it."

"Put your clothes on." Dean tossed his jeans at him, luckily they landed on the bench next to him, not the vomit splattered floor. Sam's hand inched toward the denim and he gathered the familiar garment with shaking fingers, pulling the worn, soft denim into his lap. He wanted, no needed, to feel secure and everything around him was foreign. Nothing was familiar; not where he slept, not where he ate, not where he showered. He was used to the layout of a motel room, two beds with Dean within easy reach; a bathroom with a tub and hot water and heat.

He didn't move to dry off or get dressed, not even when his shirt smacked him in the face.

"You're going to the hospital, so suck it up, it's an hour ride." his sneakers hit the floor next to his feet. "Get dressed."

"What? No, no Dean." he jumped, startled. "Can't I just go lay down? Please?"

"Get dressed." he found paper towels in a closet and once again, cleaned up after Sam. "I'm not kidding, you didn't even take that bandage off when you got in the shower. Your head has to hurt and will probably need stitches. I'm out of pain meds, you want me to stitch you up with only ibuprofen?" he waited. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"But Dean, I don't feel….." his vision narrowed, widened, narrowed, the jeans in his hands blurred, and suddenly, the floor was in his face. "Dean?" he felt himself falling, either sideways or forward, hell maybe even backwards, he didn't know, he just knew he was no longer sitting up.

"Okay, ok, I'm right here. Put your head down." Dean held to the back of Sam's neck, thumb mindlessly rubbing circles until the threat of pitching over passed. "Let's get you dressed. What did you do to make your nose bleed again?" he felt Sam shrug. "You'd better not bleed all over the seat in the car."

Sam kept his eyes closed; one minute Dean wants him to keep his head back, the next he's telling him to put it down. Did Dean not realize the room was fluctuated in sickening ways? Bright then dark, loud then quiet, still then spinning, large then small, far away then in his face. His skin was hot but his body was cold and he didn't know what he was expected to do with whatever it was he held in his hands so he sat, wet and shivering.

He heard Dean prattle on, wanted to respond, to answer, to acknowledge but all he could do was press his head against the nearest solid surface and whuffle. Dean wasn't sure what sound Sam was making, a groan, a sigh, a whimper? Whatever it was, his brother's head bumped against his hip making it feel like Sam's entire weight thumped against him from the head butt.

Dean threaded his fingers through Sam's hair, making a part and applying a wet towel directly against the swollen, split skin. Another whuffle sound from Sam followed by a moan of what could only be pain and Dean was murmuring soothing words of nonsense in an attempt to keep him calm.

"Much as you'd like to stay here, you gotta get dressed so we can go." Dean said. "Sorry dude." he pushed Sam away. "Come on, I'll even help you."

***000***

"Yeah, Dean?" Bobby picked up the phone with a sigh. He had no answers to give the impatient elder Winchester and boy, wouldn't he just take that well.

"Hey Bobby." Dean said tiredly. "Thought I'd call and…..."

"And on your cell too." Bobby cooed. "No collect call this time?"

"Yeah, well, I'm in the city, had to bring Sam into the ER." Dean cut in sharply. "We're waiting at a pharmacy for some prescriptions."

"Bring him here." Bobby's whole demeanor changed. "He's ailing then?"

"He's not up to driving in a car for that many hours. It was just over an hour here and he had to lie down in the back seat so, gonna get a motel here."

"So, guessing those blisters burst?"

"No. He pissing blood. Oh, and he fell in the shower cracking the back of his head open. Bled all the way here, has a mild concussion, got stitches. Yesterday, he somehow hit himself in the nose, had one massive nose bleed then puked blood all over the floor. He passed out on me when I touched his arm. Stopped him from falling off the bench and he puked on my feet. Oh, and nothing is healing. The bruise on his back, which I still have no idea how he got, looks as bad today as it did two days ago. The swelling in his shoulder hasn't come down at all, and the burn makes me want to puke just looking at it."

"He hit himself in his nose hard enough to cause a nosebleed? How the hell did he do that?"

"Hell, I dunno. He doesn't even know, says he woke up and it was bleeding. I thought he broke it but it's just swollen. Every bruise or injury can be explained by a fall. Doctor said it doesn't look like he burned his arm on a stove so, guessing he burned it in the shower but I don't see how he could have. I have no idea why he is suddenly falling and knocking himself out or why he's always puking. I can't even come up with a lame explanation for the bruised kidneys. I just don't see how he could have done that to himself."

"What was the last hunt you were on? Fill me in." Bobby no longer thought Dean was over-reacting or exaggerating. If something had happened to hurt Sam then they needed to act quickly and figure out what. In their lives, every second mattered.

"About a week ago…." Dean gave him a shortened version of the hunt he'd been on with his brother. "That's it."

"You doin' ok? And by that, I mean, you clear-headed?" Bobby brusquely asked.

"Yeah, guess so." Dean sighed. "Um, you got anything going?"

"You askin' me to drive to the middle of nowhere North Dakota?"

"I gotta go back to the cabin and get our stuff, check out and settle the bill. I can't make him go with me and I'm scared to leave him. I don't trust him to stay alone." Dean paused, clearing his throat. "And I don't want to Bobby. Leave him alone.""

"Give me directions, the cabin number and tell me how much you owe." Bobby said. "Then tell me how to get to where you are now."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Dean, just…well, have you thought about calling Cas?"

"Life or death situations Bobby, and this ain't one." Dean glanced over to where Sam sat on a bench near the pharmacy, slumped against the wall. "Yet."

"Okay, text me when you have a motel room." yet meant Dean would call for Cas if Sam got worse. Bobby supposed that should make him feel better but it didn't. "Should be there before midnight."

Dean ended the call and walked over to Sam. "You ok here for a minute?"

"Yeah." he didn't move, didn't even open his eyes.

"Hitting the men's room. You want anything? Some water, maybe?"

"No." he was ready to leave and go find the motel. Dean could come back later for the prescriptions but before he could suggest it, Dean continued.

"If they ain't ready by the time I get back, you can go out and lay down in the car."

"Can't I do that now?"

"I, aah, don't trust you outta my sight. Least here, the aide at the pharmacy counter can keep an eye on you."

Sam sighed, struggling not to let his face betray his emotions, with his eyes closed, it wasn't hard to do. If Dean wouldn't let him go out to the car, there'd be no way he'd agree to take Sam to the motel and leave him there by himself. Yesterday he hadn't wanted to be alone, the cabin and the surrounding noises of nature foreign to him and now that he was content to crawl into bed and be by himself, Dean wasn't letting him outta his sight. Well...

"And she can do what for me?"

"Stay there, do not move. I don't care if the building catches fire, keep your ass on that bench until I get back, you got me? You feel sick, use the trash can, ok?" he waited. "Sam? Ok?" he pushed.

"Yes." he bit out. "Go." so we can leave, he added silently. The exam by the doctor had been uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what conclusions had been reached but the doctor had had a lengthy conversation with Dean and the outcome had prompted Dean to decide not to return to the cabin, get a motel room and call Bobby.

"Okay, be right back….stay."

Dean wasn't gone long, returning within ten minutes. He rounded the corner to a crowd of people surrounding the pharmacy counter and on the floor, in the middle of it all, sat Sam.

"That is so not keeping your ass on the bench." Dean shook his head. Sam was conscious and sitting up. Oh, he was pale and shaking, holding his head and sweating, but at least there were no apparent new injuries and he didn't appear to be bleeding anywhere. "What happened?"

"He…had…questions." Sam mumbled thickly, barely coherent. "God, my…freakin' head." he'd fought to remain conscious, not wanting to pass out while alone with strangers but now that Dean was back, he had no reason to stay awake. He started to lay down but was held back by a restraining hand.

"You with him?" someone asked. "One minute he's standing at the counter and the next, boom."

"Yeah, we just left the ER, head injury so he's a little confused. Sorry Sammy." Dean vowed there and then that he wouldn't let Sam out of his sight for any length of time, for any reason. The last thing either of them needed was someone calling 911. He thought about getting Sam on his feet and back over to the bench then decided to leave him where he was. By now the prescriptions should be ready, all Dean had to do was pay for them and they could leave. "Sam, hurt anything?" he squatted down, balancing on his toes.

"I wanna lay down." he rubbed his forehead against Dean's shoulder, his left temple itched, the wound had started to scab over and he hadn't put a bandage on it that morning. "Please?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean pushed at him. "Stop it. I just need to go pay and we can go."

"Itches. Wait….we're going." Sam blinked, reluctant to let Dean go. Afraid he'd leave and Sam would be alone again in a strange place with a crowd of people staring down at him. He slowly released his hold on the hem of Dean's coat, glancing around for something solid to grab hold of to pull himself to his feet. He didn't know what hurt most, his head, his nose, his arm, or his ass. The floor was hard and he'd fallen on his tailbone, sending jarring stabs of pain up his back and down his thighs. "Okay…."

"I'm right here." Dean rose to his feet, pulling Sam up with him. "No, stay here with me." he held onto Sam by his right elbow. "Gimme two minutes." he fished with his free hand for a credit card and laid it on the counter. "Sam? You ok?"

"No." he was breathing hard, nearly panting. Unable to breath at all through his nose, he was wheezing, fighting for each breath. Standing upright was an obvious effort and whether it was from the medication he'd received at the hospital, not sleeping well, being weak from not eating or from the constant pain he'd been in for two days, he was losing the fight to remain on his feet.

"Ok, ok, just….." Dean gave his elbow a squeeze, his way of offering comfort. Sam leaned forwared then jerked back. Dean let go of his arm and put his hand on the back of his shoulder, arm a heavy, yet comforting weight on Sam's back. "We'll go in just a minute." Dean said quietly. Sam was wiped; he was swaying on his feet, unable to keep his eyes open. Credit card receipt signed and the prescriptions pocketed, Dean steered Sam towards the door. "Okay….we're good. Let's go."

***000***

Sam woke in a dimly lit room and the sound of the TV. He rolled over and took a moment to decide how he felt. He remembered the ER experience and the incident at the pharmacy and was surprised he felt so much better after a bit of sleep. He sat up, rested a moment then swung his legs off the bed, remembering stumbling into the room and crawling into bed still dressed.

"Sam? You up?" Dean muttered sleepily, sprawled comfortably on his belly in the other bed.

"Yeah, gotta piss. Vending machines close?"

"What'cha want?"

"Soda." he stood up. "I'll go get it."

"Yeah, aah...see, I don't think so." the doctor had said once the pain meds he'd given Sam for his arm had a chance to kick in, Sam would be feeling better. Looks like he'd been right. "You feeling better, then?"

"Um, yeah, actually. I know I hurt, just can't feel any pain."

"He gave you some strong shit." god knows the three prescriptions had cost enough. Dean got up to find his wallet and searched for some singles. "Go piss, I'll walk with you, see how you feel once you've been up for a bit."

The vending machines weren't far, within sight of their room and Dean nearly let Sam take the short walk by himself. He pulled his boots on but didn't bother to tie them. "Sam? You hungry? Can have it delivered? I doubt you feel up to going out to eat. Or I can call Bobby, see how close he is."

"Bobby's coming? Why?" he came out of the bathroom and rooted around on the table for change.

"Help me figure how what the hell's going on."

"Oh." Sam lowered his head. "Sorry. You didn't need to make him come up here."

"Come on." Dean opened the door and followed Sam out. It was dark out and Dean mentally counted the hours that had passed since he had spoken with Bobby. He'd be further out than Dean had thought, delivery it would be. Pizza? Chinese didn't sound at all appetizing, maybe a deli…..

"Dean?" Sam's whispered breath caught his attention and he brought his head up to see what his brother wanted.

"Yeah Sam?'' he kicked at a rock, stopping to turn around because for whatever reason, Sam was now behind him. When the hell had that happened?

"Dean?" Sam weaved, then stumbled. "I…think…I've….been…."

Dean's jaw dropped in shock, Sam was on his knees.

"Shot."

Dean couldn't move. Shot? How in the hell could Sam have been shot? He'd been either behind or in front of Sam and he'd heard no gun shot, seen nothing, sensed nothing, no one had been anywhere near them. No car had driven by; there were no trees or buildings where someone could have hidden.

"Sammy?" Dean rushed forward to catch his brother in his arms, taking his weight as Sam slumped. "Easy, I've got you, Sam? You still with me?" they were both on their knees, Sam slumped against Dean.

"Dean." his chin fell to his chest, then his head snapped back, eyes rolling. "Did….someone…shoo-shoo, shoot…me?" his voice wavered.

"Where?" Dean demanded. How the hell could this be happening? A gun shot? Sam had lost blood between pissing it, which he would continue to do for several days yet, two head wounds and a severe nose bleed and now he was going to lose more from a gunshot wound. Dean couldn't very well take him back to the hospital. All gunshot wounds were reported to the police. No artfully spun tale would keep the authorities from being called this time. "SAM!" Dean gave him a gentle shake. Maybe Sam was mistaken; Dean didn't see how anyone could have shot his brother right next to him without him knowing it. "Sammy! Hey, talk to me, where? Huh? Where?" he kept his voice even and calm.

"Shoul…d..er."

Dean put a hand on each of Sam's shoulders and his fingers came away from Sam's left shoulder, sticky with fresh blood. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Dean let his eyes close, feeling the depth of his despair clear down to his toes. The first aid kit was back at the cabin. He had nothing with him and Bobby was still a good two to three hours out. He eased his hand underneath Sam's armpit, probing gently for an exit wound, moving to his back, cursing when he found nothing. They would have to wait for Bobby to arrive to extract the bullet. On one hand, he was ok with that, on the other, he didn't know if he could/should wait the length of time it would take for Bobby to arrive. "Stay with me Sam, come on, you've gotta get up."

Sam responded to the commanding voice he had responded to his entire life. He couldn't understand Dean's exact words, but he was so accustomed to Dean's movements that he knew what Dean wanted without having to hear him. Gathering his strength, he forced his legs to obey and rose to his feet with Dean's help. His knees locked on their own and he slung his right arm across Dean's shoulders and stumbled along, letting Dean guide him.

He'd yet to open his eyes, afraid if he did so, the world would spin and tilt and he wouldn't be able to fight passing out. He didn't need to see, whatever medication the doctor had given him seemed to have reduced the swelling in his nose and he was able to smell and the scent he inhaled was all Dean. The generic motel issued soap and shampoo, the mint flavored mouthwash, the Old Spice aftershave, smells that had always been in his life. Smells that meant care, companionship, comfort, security, love. That was enough.

"Ok, tough guy." Dean kicked the motel room door open. "Down, no, no….the bed, not the floor, ok, now….down."

Sam hit the bed with his knees and let himself fall. Dean guided him down and over onto his back. Neither of them had worn a coat for the short walk, and Dean found something to be grateful for. The bullet wouldn't have dragged any dirt or fabric in with it from a dirty coat, Sam's t-shirt was relatively clean. Dean used his teeth to start a rend in the hem of the shirt and easily ripped it up the front. Sam didn't move, letting Dean run his hand over his shoulder and arm, down his chest and up to his neck, seeking the extent of the damage caused by the bullet.

Dean was relieved that it was Sam's shoulder, not his chest or stomach but pissed it hadn't exited. The worst case scenario he could think of was having some difficulty retrieving the bullet. Had it hit a bone, it could have ricocheted and digging for it with hemostats would be painful. The wound bled freely so Dean held a folded towel against it and slightly applied pressure.

Sam stirred at the discomfort it caused but he didn't try to pull away nor did he push Dean's hand away. His eyes sought Dean's, holding his gaze until weariness gave way to pain he could no longer fight. Dean gave him more pain meds and let him pass out. He wasn't surprised when Sam willingly took them, the kid was done in. He probed the bullet wound, searching for the bullet with his finger praying it wasn't too deep and he'd be able to feel it. Sam moved restlessly, murmuring in protest, but he didn't wake up and Dean didn't find what he was poking around for.

***000***

"Dean?" Bobby said quizzically, answering his cellphone. "Everything alright? Didn't expect to hear from you?"

"Where you at?" Dean asked. He'd taken a moment and stepped outside. "When will you be here?"

"I'm a couple hours out yet, haven't even made it to the cabin. Is he worse?"

"He's been shot." he cleared his throat. "Bobby, I …"

"HE WHAT? Where? Jesus Dean, why were you cleaning it with him around?"

"I didn't shoot him!" Dean exclaimed incredulously. "How could you even think that?!"

"Then what happened?"

Dean filled him in, explaining that the first aid kit was at the cabin and he had nothing other than what he could pick up at the drug store. Bobby understood the dilemma over the ER and wanted to reassure Dean but didn't want to offer false assurances either.

"Can he wait until I get there?"

"Dunno. I got the bleeding stopped but if he starts thrashing around, it'll start again but he's not feeling much pain 'cause of the meds they gave him at the ER. Bobby, I don't understand any of this, at first I thought it was just him, you know? Maybe getting sick and being dizzy caused him to fall, but he didn't shoot himself, I was right there with him."

"Do what you need to for him, you know what to look for and you know what to do. You know him better than anyone. So, if he's dealing great, if he's struggling, you know where the hospital is. We'll deal with the police later."

"Yeah, yeah….Yeah, ok, guess. I'll see you when you get here."

Sam was sitting up in bed, resting back against the head-board when Dean entered the room. He rolled his head along the wall as the door opened, feeling the cold air. He'd taken off the torn t-shirt and didn't have any other clothes to put on. Dean frowned, wondering how he'd found both the strength and coordination to sit up on his own and remove the shirt.

"Sorry." Dean said. "You cold? I can run out to Wally World and …" the look Sam gave him ended that thought before he completed speaking it. "Bleeding again?"

"No." he slowly inched his ass across the bed to the edge and swung his legs to the floor. "Help me up." he'd sat up with the intention of getting out of bed on his own but his body's reaction had made him decide it was best to wait for Dean.

"Bobby's hours out yet, how you doing?"

"Ugh. Guess ok." he didn't sound convincing and shrugged at the look Dean gave him. "Been better."

"You sure about that?" Dean questioned.

"What do you want me to say Dean? That I feel like shit? Fine, my head hurts, my nose hurts, my back hurts, my shoulder hurts, I fell on my ass and now it's numb and my arm…..well….." he just waved his right hand over the bandage. "So yeah, feel like shit. I'm dizzy and nauseous and my vision is blurry and I can't judge distance and I'm still thirsty and I can smell but not breathe and pissing requires me to hold onto the wall and….."

"Ok, ok, I get you, I'm stupid. Once you're in the bathroom, I'll go get that soda, ok?" Dean was surprised Sam had been awake, he'd expected him to be out for a while longer. "Stay in there until I get back."

"Yeah, sure."

The vending machine had Sprite, not Sam's favorite or even his first choice, but it would do. Dean doubted he'd drink much, if any so it didn't really matter what he selected to take back. He took a moment to breath in the crisp cool air. It helped clear his head but he still felt overwhelmed. All he'd wanted was a couple days to step away from his responsibilities and have some time for himself.

He felt like punching the concrete wall of the motel, wanted to kick the tree until he shredded the bark from it; something, anything to relieve his frustrations but he didn't. He returned to the motel room to find Sam sitting on the side of the tub, face buried in a towel and Dean felt his stomach knot as he tried to determine what had happened this time.

"Sam?" Dean stood in the bathroom doorway. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." he tossed the towel. "Just…this sucks."

Dean gave him a hand gaining his feet. "Yeah, I know. You feeling much pain?"

"Not from my head or shoulder, barely feel the gunshot but….my arm…man." the pain was steady, sharp, throbbing and relentless. And whether he laid his arm flat on the mattress by his side, on his stomach, elevated on a pillow, hanging off the mattress or flung up over his head, it didn't stop, it didn't ease and no one position was better than another. There was no relief. He didn't even want to think about how it would feel if he wasn't hopped up on pain meds. He struggled to keep his breathing even, to not pant, to not cry. He wanted to curl up on his side and scream into a pillow. Wanted to kick his feet and pound his fist against the mattress, wanted to pass out and wake up in the morning and find this had all been a nightmare.

"Don't suppose you'll let me have…?" he wasn't going to beg. He knew he had a head injury and a concussion, knew he had lost blood but….. his eyes stung from trying to hold back the tears and his lip bled from biting it and the taste of blood caused his stomach to roll and his hands shook from the effort to not collapse against the warm body next to him and he couldn't do this anymore….

Dean's gaze went from Sam's begging eyes to his watch and back to Sam. It'd only been two hours since he'd last given Sam pain meds. Recommended was every six and had Sam not just been shot, Dean would have told him no but he couldn't refuse, not now. Sam wouldn't just ask for more meds.

"Okay." maybe the second dose so close to the first would knock him out and keep him under. "Soda or water?

"Soda." he sat down on the bed, shaking from the effort the ten steps from the bathroom had required. "Cold."

"It's Sprite, I'll go to the store tomorrow." he didn't miss the way Sam looked away, biting on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering; saw the way his shoulders tensed and how his chin ducked towards his chest. "Or Bobby will go." Dean said easily. Sam took the glass and though his hand shook he swallowed the pills without spilling any.

"Um, can I have more?" he couldn't hold the glass out, his arm refused to move that far away from his body. He tried a second time and fell forward, Dean being the reason he didn't fall off the bed. Dean had learned not to grab Sam by his left shoulder from the morning episode at the campground bathrooms; he didn't make that mistake this time. He stopped Sam's pitch to the floor by his right shoulder and elbow and gently forced him to lie down on his back. Sam protested, squirming uneasily as he tried to sit back up.

"Nooooo." he pointed towards the glass that had fallen to the mattress. "I can't…drink lying down."

"Sssh." Dean poured more soda into the glass. "Come up on your elbow." he ordered. Sam blinked in confusion and lifted his head. Dean sighed, not wanting to wedge his hand between Sam's head and the pillow, scared of poking or pulling on the stitches. "Right. No, rest your weight…..that's it." Sam took the glass but Dean kept a hold on the bottom. "Okay now?"

"Thanks." his eyes closed and the lines of exhaustion and pain around his eyes and mouth eased.

"Don't fight it Sam." Dean warned his brother tiredly. "We gotta wait for Bobby, so…..go ahead and sleep."

***000***

"Did you bring the beer?" Dean asked, digging through the trunk, then the back seat when Bobby finally arrived around 11:30. All he found was bottles of whiskey. "Bobby, there was a whole case at the cabin."

"Relax, floor in the front. Guess I don't gotta ask how he's doing." Bobby said dryly. Dean flipped him off, tossing bags onto the ground from the trunk. "He asleep?"

"Yeah, pain meds." Dean unloaded the backseat. "Room has a sofa. You can bunk with us, though doubt either of us will be getting much sleep."

"He doin ok? Running a fever? Anything like that?"

"He's quiet."

Bobby followed Dean into the room and went immediately to the bed where a fitful Sam slept on his right side. He sat down on Dean's bed, facing Sam and turned the light on. He reached out to palm Sam's forehead, pausing when Sam lifted his face towards him, rolling his head on the pillow.

"God damn!" Bobby whistled. "He looks like you beat the crap outta him! Lookit that nose! Is that what caused his eyes to swell? Sockets are bruised. What happened to his forehead?"

"Told you he fell the other night."

"You didn't say anything about all the bruising." Bobby accused. "His eyebrows are black and blue and why is his entire forehead bruised?"

"I told you, HE FELL!"

"I'm talking about his face! Christ Dean." Bobby got up and stood over Sam, leaning forward to peer closely at him. He wanted to feel out every bruise, bump, lump and stitch but Sam was having none of it. "And you didn't do any of this to him?" Bobby asked gruffly. "No, brotherly fist-fight?" Sam looked like he had gone several rounds in a boxing ring and hadn't come out the winner.

Dean chose not to answer, busy putting as many beers as he could in the small fridge. It wouldn't hurt to let Bobby fuss for a bit. Bobby was reluctant to even disturb the Sam, but he needed to get a good look at the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"Okay." Bobby turned his attention to Dean. "Did you get any sleep while you were waiting for me?"

"Off and on, yeah, ready?"

"He sleeping on his own?"

"Hell no, doc at the ER gave him some strong shit for that arm."

"Gonna need hot water."

"No way to boil any, wait, no, got a microwave." he rubbed at his eyes. "Guess that'll do."

Bobby knew Dean was tired and if he could, he would wait until morning so both he and Dean could get some rest. The drive had been long and tense and stressful, but Sam couldn't wait that long. He'd been left unattended for too long and Bobby would need Dean's help. No one would be getting any sleep before dawn.

"Okay, from the beginning, when did this start?" he started to go through the bags and boxes Dean had carried in.

"We went to the movies on Tuesday; he got sick in the diner on our way back to the cabin, passed out in the parking lot, hit his head and fell on his shoulder. This cut here….." he turned Sam's head to show Bobby his left temple. "Bled some, but didn't need stitches. When we got back to the cabin, I saw his back and the bruise. He claims it wasn't there that morning and said it must have been a result of the fall. Wednesday morning, I went to get a shower, came back, and he was sitting on the bathroom floor with nasty-ass burn on his arm. I left him to go to the store and call you and when I got back, he had a swollen bloody nose. Later that day he puked blood. I tried to tend his arm and he passed out."

"That all?"

"This morning, he pissed blood. The entire left side of his back from his neck to his ass is one big bruise. I swear to god it wasn't like that yesterday. I made him go over to the campground to get a shower and he passed out and split the back of his head open. He nearly passed out when he was sitting down and when I touched him, he couldn't handle the pressure on his shoulder and threw up on my feet. He passed out in the pharmacy and when we got here, we walked out to the vending machines, he'd been shot and went down."

"That's a lot to happen in what, two days?"

"Yeah, and he willingly took pain meds for me yesterday and today he asked for more."

"He asked?" Bobby said dubiously. "Dean, he will barely take ibuprofen and you know what naproxen does to him, you're telling me he asked you for prescription pain meds?"

"Yes."

"Well, damn me." Bobby muttered. "I dunno Dean, something about this ain't ringing right. We'll dig for that bullet and we'll get it out, but since it's been several hours he's likely to develop an infection."

"Doc said he probably would from his arm anyway. I have a prescription for antibiotics; hopefully they work on any infection."

"Alright then." Bobby began making preparations for the process of removing the bullet. He hoped the bullet wasn't too deep, hadn't hit a bone, and hadn't ricocheted to where they would need to cut Sam open to get it out. He wanted a quick three-step procedure; insert hemostats, remove bullet, stitch up, easy as that.

"You think he's gonna lose a lot of blood? I poked around a bit with my finger but couldn't feel the bullet."

"How low was his blood pressure at the ER?" Bobby paused. "You poked with your finger?"

"Not so low the doctor had a fit but low enough that any more significant blood loss could be a problem." Dean sat down on Sam's bed, nudging him along his hip. "And I said I poked around, I didn't go sticking my finger in. I wanted to see if I could feel it. Geesch."

Bobby came to stand behind Dean as Sam woke up. He'd thought Sam had looked miserable while asleep, but one look into Sam's pain-filled murky eyes and Bobby was thinking maybe he needed to redefine the definition of the word miserable. Sam blinked blearily up at Bobby, his eyes searching the room before settling back on Bobby.

"Hey Bobby." he licked his lip, voice husky. The medicated fog had yet to clear and the pull of the medication was strong, and he was willing to let himself go with it.

"Stay with me here Sam." Dean gave him a gentle shake. "Hey."

"When did you last give him any meds?"

"Two hours ago maybe and that was two hours after the last time. I haven't given him anything but the prescription."

Sam yawned, easing onto this back with a wince. "We going somewhere? I gotta get up?"

"No, no, just, we wanna look at your shoulder." Dean crawled onto the bed. Bobby was armed with microwaved boiled water, gauze, tweezers, hemostats and towels. "He's pretty strung out." he told Bobby. "Maybe he won't feel much when you go digging around in there."

"It doesn't even look that bad; he wasn't wearing a coat was he? It doesn't look like he was shot at close range, bullet didn't go deep."

"It's why I thought I'd be able to feel it." Dean settled himself so that he could bodily hold Sam down if he had to. As it was, he knelt on his knees at the top of the bed and laid a hand on Sam's right shoulder. Sam tilted his head back so he could look up to see what Dean was doing, eye's questioning. "Just hold still." Dean nodded to Bobby. "Go ahead."

At first, Sam laid still, ignoring Bobby, eyes on Dean, trying to figure out why Dean was in bed with him. He didn't start paying attention to what Bobby was doing until Bobby started digging with both tweezers and hemostats. He lifted his head from the mattress with a murmur of protest to peer down and see if his shoulder was on fire.

"Mmmmm." Sam couldn't move his left arm, he tried but stopped with such a hiss that Bobby jerked clumsily. Sam let out a yelp and pulled his knees up. "Ugh." he raised his right hand to push at Bobby but it was caught and held. His movements restricted, he raised his head to give Dean a look. "Don't." he tugged his hand but Dean didn't let go. "Lemme go." he slurred, tongue thick.

"You need to lay still." Dean squeezed his hand. "Bobby's almost done."

"But….it….hurts." he started to sit up but was held back. "Stop."

"Stay down." Dean watched Bobby toss the tweezers and use gauze to control the bleeding. "Bobby?" Sam tugged his hand free and reached up to grab hold of Dean's bicep. Dean let him, long as Sam didn't try to stop Bobby, he could bloody well hold on to whatever the hell he wanted to. His grip was tight and Dean glanced down with a wince. Sam was doing fairly well, all considering.

"Dean, I ain't finding no bullet." Bobby said tersely. "I've searched as deep as I can go without cutting him open around that wound. He's losing blood and it's too much, too fast, I gotta stop."

"He was shot Bobby! I know a bullet wound when I see one." Dean argued.

"I ain't saying he wasn't!" Bobby snapped right back. "I'm saying, there ain't no bullet in him."

"It didn't just fall out!" Dean rubbed his hand through his hair. "Are you sure?"

"See for yourself."

"How can there be no bullet? Bobby…."

"Dean, forget about the damn bullet, he's bleeding and we don't stop it soon, you'll be taking him back to the ER." Bobby was stunned over the amount of blood Sam was suddenly losing. He had both hands pressing a towel as firmly against the wound as he could manage. He stood up to get better leverage, leaning over Sam and causing him to stir uneasily.

"Dammit Sam, lay still. Dean, little help here."

But Sam felt crowded and needed space. He became aggressive, trying to either move away from Bobby or push Bobby away. Dean crawled down the bed and straddled Sam, sitting lightly on his brother's thighs and taking over for Bobby.

"Another towel?" Bobby had one folded. Sam was more content that it was Dean who he saw when he looked up and laid still. "It letting up any?"

"I dunno." he took the new towel with one hand, pressed it on top the first one and reapplied both hands to keep the pressure steady. "Guess not. What the hell? He didn't bleed like this when he was shot." Dean's arms were shaking with effort. "Bobby….he's just staring at me, think he's going into shock?"

"Might be…" Bobby tucked a blanket as best he could around Sam's right shoulder. "Should get his feet up, I'll get some ice, cold compresses might….."

"Screw it." Dean muttered a curse. Blood was seeping out from all sides of the towel. "Cas? Castiel? CAS!"

"No." Sam's right hand grabbed at Dean, catching his shirt and pulling tight. "Dean, no." he blinked. "I'm o…I'll be ok." he swallowed hard but his voice didn't clear. "Do whatever you have to; take me back to the hospital….."

"Sam, how the hell do I explain a gunshot? The police will be called, and then what? Huh?"

"Then stitch me yourself, or let Bobby do it." he was panting, fingers so slick with sweat he lost his grip.

"I can't give you blood." he knocked the fist Sam swung in frustration aside with his elbow. "Sam, you can't keep doing this. Hell, I can't keep doing this."

Sam opened his mouth to argue but the room was wavering, making him dizzy and his eyes rolled. He heard Dean calling to him but he couldn't find his way back to him. He was hot, oh so hot, and then he no longer heard his brother's voice.

"Fuck!" Dean held to the towel with one hand and held Sam's chin with the other. "Sammy, come on! Hey! Stay with me."

"Dean, he passed out." Bobby said quietly. "How's the bleeding?"

"Passed out from what? Loss of blood? Pain?"

"I can call 911." Bobby said calmly. "How far is the hospital?"

"Fifteen minutes. I dunno Bobby, maybe we should….." Dean bit his lip. " Bullet or no, it's still a gunshot wound, they will call the police."

" Cas?"

"I dunno if we dare wait, I mean, I waited for you to get here…"

"He wasn't bleeding then, we get it stopped, I think we'll be ok until Cas gets here. I'll try and control the bleeding, you stitch him up. Don't worry about trying to be neat; he can fuss about the scar later."

"That will hurt like a bitch." Dean reasoned in disgust.

"Stitch him up and give him a couple hours. If he's worse, then we take him in. Cas can get him out and we'll worry about the Feds being on your ass later."

"Yeah, ok." good thing they had strong pain meds. "Get what we need."

Three stitches later, Dean looked up to find Sam's eyes open and focused. He paused, thread drawn tight, reading the emotions he saw reflected in their hazel depths. Pain, weariness, resignation, but there was also, acceptance and determination. The unwavering gaze spoke of absolute trust, trust that Sam would lie quietly and accept whatever Dean did as being what needed to be done.

"Sorry Sammy." Dean said softly. "Just hang on a bit longer, ok?" he needed Sam to lay still on his own. Bobby was doing his best to keep the bleeding under control so Dean could see well enough to stitch. The bleeding had slowed but had yet to stop. Luckily, Sam was no stranger to the pain of stitches and was content to remain still. Only the occasional escaped hitch in breath or involuntary flinch told Dean when he hit a nerve or poked to deep or stabbed wrong with the needle.

"You done?" Bobby asked.

Dean cut the thread and eased off his knees. Stitched or not, that wound was going to give Sam pain. All they could do was pack the shoulder in ice, keep Sam warm, quiet and medicated. Dean would wait four hours, if Castiel hadn't responded by then; he would take Sam to the hospital. If Sam developed a fever before then, they would wait no longer