Tipping the Scales

By Floralia

SUMMARY: SEQUEL. The brothers deal with a haunting, a series of violent attacks, and learn why it's not a good idea to even half make a promise you didn't really want to keep.

DISCLAIMER: Same as before

Thanks to everyone that shared their thoughts on the story so far. Glad to know it was appreciated. I will admit in advance that my knowledge of medicine is limited to what I've seen on ER, and my knowledge of exercise in any forms is even hazier. I have no idea how long it would take to recover from an injury like Sam's, or what kind of physiotherapy routine he would have been following, so I have shied away from details as far as possible. Dean would know, I'm sure. The important thing is to focus on where he's at now and ignore any discrepancies in how and how long it took to get there. That would be appreciated.

Chapter Two

Why was it that motel curtains never managed to meet in the middle? And were the beds purposefully arranged so the morning light came streaming straight in through the gap to land on the pillow? Was there some secret motel owners manual that decreed this, along with the regulation bible and the fact that at least one lamp would be missing a bulb at all times?

Dean groaned and shifted in an effort to escape the light, then groaned again as the attempt to move his limbs brought up a sharp reminder of the nights exertion. He had not dug a grave in over six months, and his muscles had been more then happy with the way that situation had stood.

His body felt far heavier than he remembered and he tried his hardest to drag his mind back into sleep, but the light was just slightly too bright, the aches a fraction too sharp, and the itch on the back of his knee just the wrong side of annoying and he knew he was never going to get there.

Sam, it seemed, was having no such trouble and was even now sprawled on his stomach, limbs extended in all directions on his queen sized bed. It was as though he was subconsciously aware that he had all this space at his disposal, and he was going to damn well make the most of it. Dean couldn't help but wonder if his sudden perchance for sleeping on his front stemmed from the same place. He could now, whenever he pleased, so he was going to. And he would do it more often than had been his habit to balance out all the times when the fancy might have taken him and his body had objected.

It was strangely comforting to see him at it now, his head turned away from Dean, only a mop of unruly hair visible protruding from the covers. One of the most comforting parts about it was still that he could see the faint rise and fall of the bedspread that marked Sam's breath, although the fact that he could no longer hear his brother breathing was a close second. That had been almost as annoying as it had been alarming, but Dean regretted his brief moment of grumpiness over it. That had done nothing but cause Sam to retreat from their shared room to the spare one across the hall, where he could cough and wheeze to his heart's content without the added guilt of keeping Dean awake all night too.

And when that particularly nasty bout of sniffling was over Sam had not returned. Dean could only assume it was a combination of Sam feeling vaguely sheepish creeping back in to bunk with his big brother again when there was a perfectly adequate spare room free, and Bobby's enquiring whether they'd had some kind of midnight tiff that had caused him to wake up to find Sam in a different room to the one he thought he'd left him in, that had kept him away. And that made Dean feel too awkward to point out that he should feel free to come back in, any time. It had been almost a month since they had slept in the same room, and whether it was healthy or not Dean derived a great deal of comfort from just knowing Sam was there, from being able to see for himself that his brother was safe.

He looked over at the clock. It was gone nine. He'd managed almost five hours of sleep, and even if he wasn't going to get any more that didn't mean he had to get out of this bed any time soon. But everything he could think of to keep himself occupied risked waking Sam, and while that was appealing for its own sake, just to give him something to do, he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. It wasn't Sam's fault that he was ach free and sleeping like a baby.

He sighed, going over the familiar argument with himself in his head. He really should have let Sam share the burden of the night's hunt. It wasn't that he wasn't up to it, he knew that Sam was capable, but it was hard to train his mind to think otherwise after the time and effort it had taken them both to get this far.

Sam had worked his way here unflinchingly, with a fierce determination that had made Dean proud. But as keen as he had been to get the ball rolling on his own recovery, he had stuck religiously to the hospital's guidelines. He had already proved that overdoing it would save no time, was incredibly painful, and almost impossible with Dean and Bobby on hand at almost all times to ensure he attempt nothing they considered beyond him. He had also learnt to adapt to the discrepancy between what they considered beyond bounds and what he did, which was perhaps why the doctor's advice had been so useful, as it provided a middle way.

Despite his own personal misgivings Dean knew they had not left Bobby's too soon. Sam still had room for improvement it was true. He hadn't yet reacquired the same level of strength stamina or agility he'd once had, but he would get there, and his body weight was approaching normal again too. He no longer looked unhealthy, and that in itself had done a lot to lower Dean's level of hovering and interference. In fact unless you were looking for it, and despite himself Dean found that he often was, Sam gave off little indication of what his body had been through. Even the scars on his abdomen had calmed. They were no longer alarming and raw, when Dean thought they had every right to be given the number of times Sam had either pulled them or needed to have them reopened.

As crazy as it was considering everything his body had endured, it was the cold that had taken one of the most lasting tolls. Dean had thought that taking the journey to Bobby's so easy, that keeping him in bed dosed up on medication that first day would have done the trick. But while the aches and sniffles had gone away the cough had lingered. For weeks. Sam just couldn't shake it, and when they least expected it the whole thing would flare back up again as though eager to remind him it was still there, lurking just out of reach.

The final time it reappeared it had been accompanied by dizziness, breathlessness, and an alarmingly loud rattling from his lungs. Dean had finally decided enough was enough and carted his brother back in to see the doctor. Sam had bronchitis. He had changed rooms. And Dean had had to live with the guilt that that should have been obvious alone.

There was no lecture from the doctor this time around but there may as well have been. Dean would perhaps have been more comforted if there had, because he doubted the doctor's recriminations would have been more severe than his own. They had both had their focus fixed so firmly on the physical and mendable aspects of Sam's recovery. On the parts they could deal with themselves through daily training and physiotherapy. Had perhaps become complacent in the knowledge that Sam's strength was returning, so that both had somehow ignored the other major warning that had been issued to them all those months ago, back when Dean had finally been allowed to take his brother home. Sam had had his spleen removed, and his body's resilience and ability to fight off infections and illness would be compromised.

But that was just one more thing on the unending pile of things Dean should have known to look out for, should have known how to protect Sam from better. And one more thing for Sam to have to patiently explain was in no way his brother's fault. Dean had not given Sam bronchitis. Perhaps he should be given just a little bit of credit for his own actions, and the fact he had been getting steadily sicker for the last month and a half and failed to notice was possibly more Sam's fault than Dean's. And if he'd had the sense not to fall asleep in freezing wet clothes he probably wouldn't have caught the cold in the first place.

Dean knew that Sam's training regime and his affinity for mucus had not alarmed Bobby as much as the emotional toll. Dean suspected this was in part because the other man found the idea of an overly emotionally withdrawn or demonstrative Sam a frightening prospect to have to deal with, and partly because he sensed it was Sam's level of stability that dictated Dean's. In all fairness, while Sam had his share of emotional ups and downs, especially in the early weeks, he had done his best not to let them get out of control. And he had always tried to work things through in his own mind before unloading or dissolving on anyone else. But Dean had been there; ready to be leaned on when he was needed because that was what older brothers were for. He had allowed Sam to be honest about his feelings when he'd needed to be, taking no offence at his insecurities, and for once not fleeing from providing the emotional reassurances he knew his brother needed. Even so, for the most part Sam had been strong, possibly because he was astute enough to know that if Dean witnessed him falling apart he would have had an emotional breakdown of his own.

Destroying Kane's device had been cathartic for both of them, but the emotions it had dragged out in Dean had still been close to the surface. While he could rationally filter through them, knew the arguments as to why his fear and guilt and need were either unfounded or reciprocated, Sam didn't have to do much to inadvertently make Dean lose the calm he had so painfully acquired. But it was never for long, Dean would not allow himself the luxury of wallowing, and Bobby despaired because they were still regulating their thoughts and feelings purely for each others benefit rather than considering their own. But even he was forced to admit their system seemed to be working. Their moods were so intricately linked that the fitter Sam grew the calmer Dean became, which in turn quietened Sam's mind was until all the doubts and fears that had plagued him were even more obviously nonsense than they had been originally, and could soon be shouted out completely.

It was gone ten and Sam was still showing no signs of stirring, and as much as Dean was glad that he was able to rest he also found how easy it was these days for Sam to sleep vaguely ominous. It wasn't that he associated a sleeping Sam with a drugged or unconscious Sam any longer; it was a different sense of nagging unease. Through a combination of nightmares, visions and uncertainty over the future Sam had never been a big one for trouble free sleep and mornings spent in bed. Perhaps it was a good thing he was now or perhaps it was a sign his body was still on the mend, but Dean couldn't shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm. A brief and unnatural reprieve before it was business and usual, and they were thrust back into the chaos in earnest.

It was almost six months since Sam's last vision, and the subject had remained closed for that entire time. There had always been the occasional mention or confession of fear in the past, but now Sam would not even speculate, and Dean couldn't bring himself to dwell on them either.

Sam's last vision had left him in a coma for nine days. It was no good. Dean would rather drag his aching self out of bed than lie here and allow that train of thought to continue. Sam had been gracious enough in accepting Dean's constraints last night. If their positions were reversed Dean knew he would be frustrated to have complied with his brother's every order and insane wish, only to find himself observing from the sidelines the first opportunity he was given to prove himself. If he allowed himself to dwell then he risked stumbling into claustrophobic rather than grudgingly tolerable, and he had no doubt tested Sam's patience enough.

As long as he was awake and contemplating moving he may as well channel the energy into something useful.

Dean crawled out from under his warm covers, trying hard not to groan, gathered together some clothes and retreated to the bathroom, giving Sam's still sleeping form a frown as he passed. Dean's feelings were nothing if not contradictory and intense, and he was not keen on the way Sam could continue to sleep peacefully while Dean wandered around him. He didn't want to wake Sam, but was it so wrong that he wanted Sam to have the awareness to wake himself?

But Sam was still dozing when Dean emerged from the bathroom washed and fully dressed, with his mind focused on breakfast.

While he was still less than happy with the idea of leaving Sam anywhere alone for an extended period of time, his paranoia had lessened to the point where he could now have him out of his sight and no longer within popping to check on distance without hyperventilating. Bobby's tactics had been glaringly obvious but appreciated. They had tackled a couple of simple jobs that had cropped up in the area, a way of proving to Sam that he could still be useful by doing the research, and to reassure them all that Dean could leave his concern behind him enough to focus on the job at hand. The last hunt had even included an overnight stay, and the fact Dean could not think of a time when he had willingly spent close to 36 hours away from his brother's side was enough to convince him that it was perhaps okay to take some time away.

Sam was still sleeping when Dean returned, although he had changed positions and was now facing the door as though awaiting his arrival. Sure enough, as soon as the motel door was closed Sam began to stir, and Dean could have sworn he saw his brother's nose twitching before he opened his eyes, blinked blearily, and enquired whether or not he had been brought any coffee.

Coffee acquired and drunk Sam gave no indication that he intended to get out of bed any time soon, and he seemed to have a look about him that suggested he was daring Dean to say anything about it. Which was foolish really, because Dean rarely backed away from a dare.

"Get your ass outta bed. The road's awaiting, and somebody was supposed to be on a run about three hours ago." He complained, glaring at his watch disapprovingly.

Sam gave an impressively expressive whine and retreated back under the covers. Dean was half tempted to give in to the sentiment he was trying to convey; they had had an incredibly late night, and while Dean was more accustomed to their lifestyle now, Sam had not needed to be awake until 4am and expected to function again the next morning for a very long time. He had worked tirelessly and uncomplainingly obeying Dean's every mad training whim for so long now that he wouldn't begrudge him a break.

But then watching Sam squirm was too much like fun, and there was always the nagging doubt that maybe Sam was testing him with his reluctance to see if Dean was willing to indulge or prepared to stay strict. Denying Sam active involvement in the hunt and then letting him shirk off his training was probably not the best message to send out less than a week back on the road. Sam would be more grateful if Dean pushed him than if he gave in to the eyes that were staring out at him sheepishly.

"Come on, get up." Dean ordered, throwing running shoes at his brother's head, cursing how his pre-emptive dodge out of reciprocation's range pulled at the sore muscles of his shoulders.

"We can have this place by the hour so there's no need to hurry back before checkout." Dean pre-empted, "And don't worry about the expense I got it covered. I need you to watch my ass, and you can't put a price on that."

Sam just stared at him with a slightly bemused expression.

"What..?"

"I just… No. I really can't pick just one. I have too many problems with that sentence."

Dean just grinned and collapsed onto his own bed, moaning luxuriantly as he sunk into the mattresses grooves.

"What?" he asked innocently of Sam, who was by now finally standing, trainers in hand, staring at him incredulously.

"You're not coming with me?"

Dean merely looked down at himself sprawled across the bed, then back up at Sam. "Doesn't look like it." He replied, trying hard to repress a grin at his brother's exasperation.

"Fine." Sam threw a scowl at him as he left the room but Dean knew he didn't mean it. He usually did accompany him; in fact they went through most of his training regime together. Dean had sat still for almost the same length of time as Sam; keeping up with his own training had honestly never occurred to him, and it was almost as if he had woken up one morning and realised he wasn't as fit as he would have liked. But he was back on form now despite the lingering aches and pains. He was fairly sure digging a grave out was supposed to hurt. It was one of the incentives not to do it.

Sam left the motel and set off in the direction of the park he had spotted from the car the afternoon before. He would feel less self conscious running there than along unknown streets, and he could no longer blend in with other early morning joggers this close to midday. Besides which, Winchester's didn't jog. They ran. Usually. But they warmed up first or they ended up flat on their backs on their motel bed trying to conceal the fact they couldn't bare the thought of any more exercise for the time being.

But Sam wouldn't complain. Dean had been with him ever step of the way, had put in more hours with Sam than he could repay him for. He had been right to think that Dean would find helping with his rehabilitation soothing. He had taken great comfort in being able to monitor Sam's improvement. In being able to finally have an active role in his life again. It didn't matter what Sam said to the contrary, how much support Dean's mere presence had been; he knew Dean viewed his input until this point as entirely passive. He had watched and he had waited, and it was first the doctors and then Sam himself that had been the only ones in any position to fix him. Dean had never left his side, but he could do nothing to help Sam's body heal. It didn't matter that his inactivity had provided the peace and security that Sam had needed, that it was only when Dean had started to drown under his perceived impotence, let his fear rather than his calm drive him, they had both managed to so badly lose their way.

But now Dean could help in a way he understood and recognise as helping, and it seemed the last of his heightened neuroses had been tunnelled into schedules and work out plans and diet sheets, until it was Sam that had almost felt like the passive spectator in this. All he had to do was show up on time and do as he was instructed, and yes, that had initially been painful and wearying beyond description, but it had been calming too. Dean was getting to participate, but Sam wasn't sure if he realised it was still the simply being there that was the most help, no matter how it chose to manifest itself, because Sam could not have done this alone.

Whenever he tried to think for himself what he needed to do, what steps he should take to get his rehabilitation on track, his mind reacted like a five year old with its fingers in its ears shouting 'bla bla bla bla bla' so loud that nothing else could get through. He didn't know if Dean had sensed this and it was what had prompted him into action, or if he would have buried himself so completely in the task anyway, but not having to think about it himself made the whole thing much more manageable.

It had taken a while, but through Dean's routine, unusual reward system, and the extensive, if slightly invasive, number of notes and statistics he made that allowed him to track clearly Sam's progress, the paralysing sense of defeat that he had left the hospital with had eased. Dean knew the exact tricks needed to motivate him, and somehow the knowledge that he could achieve one more chin up today than he could yesterday had opened up a window into a future where he could perform even better.

It hadn't been easy and the first steps had been a devastating shock, before a routine had developed, before the logic kicked in that this was always going to be a strain, was even supposed to hurt, that there was absolutely no point in focusing backwards on a time when it hadn't. Forward momentum was the key and it helped clear the blinding fog in his mind, the fear that he hated because he knew it was uncalled for, needed to banish because he could see the echoing effect it had on Dean as he tried not to let it drag him down too.

He was still not performing to his usual levels but he understood now that it was an approachable goal. He had been waiting to get there for so long that he almost couldn't remember what it felt like to be at the peak of his fitness, and in a direct contrast to his emotions when this journey had begun, comparing his abilities now with what they had been in the not distant past was liberating.

He may still have a few steps to go but he was more than ready to face whatever challenges were waiting for them, whatever their next job would bring. And he couldn't explain it, but he knew that Dean knew that too. That with this one glitch of worry out of the way, one last reversion to his need to keep Sam still, and they would be ready to proceed as equals.

As much as he enjoyed going through this work out with his brother, he enjoyed the solitude of being here, of letting his thoughts wander and please themselves, of not having to focus on anything other than the rhythm of his feet as they pounded on the footpath beneath him.

He did miss his fury running companion though. He didn't think he would tell Dean that it was the dogs company he regretted the loss of the most. They had found their pace together; when Sam had first started it had been gingerly and slow, and the puppy's bouncing and unsteady run had matched his own. But as Sam had grown fitter the puppy had grown too, and by the time they had been ready to leave little Dean's pace had vastly outstripped his own, and the dog had had to hold back to stay at Sam's side.

He had been right to think the puppy would grow to be huge. It was already approaching Sam's knees and he knew it wasn't done growing yet. Was still in that bizarrely adorable gangly and awkward stage where its legs were far to log for its body and nothing was in proportion any longer. The one Dean claimed his brother was yet to grow out of.

He smiled fondly. He missed his new friend but knew it would be happy at Bobby's, and as well as the enjoyment he got out of winding the other man up ringing to enquire after it, the dog provided an additional excuse for the three of them to keep in touch, and to keep tabs on what they were doing and any news there might be to share.

Dean was still on his bed when Sam returned, but he had the laptop with him now. Sam wasn't sure if he was scanning for jobs or just bored, but he asked anyway.

"Find anything?"

"Not really. Nothing worth staying around here for anyway. I'm gonna head out and grab some supplies. When you've showered we may as well hit the road."

00000000000000000000000000000

Life was good. He had the sun, the open road stretching for years in front of them, the stereo on full blast, and nothing evil chasing him. Dean put his foot down on the accelerator and smiled at the responding rumble of power. Now if only Sam would sit still for more than two minutes things would be near perfect.

"Are you quite finished?" he enquired as Sam came to rest with an exaggerated sigh and a frustrated glare in his direction.

"I think you've got a spring lose or something in here." He complained, turning in his seat giving it a reproachful experimental poke.

"Well if you'd just sit still and not aggravate it."

Sam just sighed again and flopped back round to stare out of the windshield at the miles of nothing before them.

"Where are we?" he enquired, just as Dean had started to relax in the belief he had given up his fidgeting. Sam speak for 'can we stop yet?'

Dean just shook his head and tried to push down his irritation. They had been driving for over four hours and he had been planning to stop at the next place he saw – he was hungry – but somehow he was managing to not make a fuss about that fact.

He flicked his eyes over to take in his brother, who had now finally fallen still, head turned away from him to stare out of the passenger side window, and Dean could see in the reflection of the glass that Sam's eyes were closed. He smiled despite himself, finding Sam's irritability strangely comforting. He wasn't sure exactly when the image of Sam struggling to get comfortable in the seat next to him had moved from worrying and upsetting to just plain annoying. But even Sam no longer expected Dean to stop to accommodate his every whim, and usually managed to settle in silence again with only a half hearted attempt to get Dean to stop. And they were in the middle of nowhere right now. Unless he let Sam out to wander along the side of the road for five minutes there wasn't much he could do about it.

"We should hit town in half an hour." he said, noting as he did so a gas station coming up. "Can you hold out 'til then?"

"Sure." And it was a testament to how far they had come that Sam sounded surprised he'd even been asked.

Forty minutes later and they were ensconced in a booth in possibly the dingiest diner Dean had ever seen, but by now he was too hungry to care. But he couldn't help but think if even he was having his doubts about eating in this place it was a miracle Sam had ordered food at all. But Sam looked too engrossed in the local paper to pay much attention to the decor.

"Find anything?"

It was so much a part of their routine by now that Sam didn't even bother to point out that he would no doubt let Dean know if and when he actually stumbled across something. They had been meandering slowly for almost a week without even the hint of anything interesting coming up, and he wasn't really prepared for a positive response when he got one.

Neither, it seemed, was Sam.

"Maybe." The most doubtful positive Dean had ever heard.

"Oh God, lets hear it."

"A woman was attacked at work a few nights ago. In some kind of nursery school."

"Attacked by what?"

"The police think it was probably 'a gang of local youths'" he informed Dean, quoting the paper with an eye roll at its vagueness, "But the woman, er... Melissa Harper, she initially claimed her attacker was invisible."

"So she's crazy?" Dean suggested, although he didn't really believe it himself. As cruel as it might sound, an invisible attacker would break the monotony of the week. It wasn't that the road trip hadn't been fun, and in a strange way with one more hunt under their belts they would probably have appreciated it, but it was hard for Dean to prove that he believed Sam capable or for Sam to assure him his fears were unfounded, when they rarely left the car. And when the reason they stopped each night instead of ploughing on to pastures new was because Dean was still apposed to Sam sleeping in the Impala. And with the schedule he was still following Dean refused point blank to spend a day cooped up with him in a warm car unless he'd at least showered before getting back in it.

"I don't know. Maybe. That's the common consensus anyway. It seems she was beaten pretty badly, she might just not remember much about it, but her injuries are consistent with more than one attacker being present and she sees no-one. She did hear something though. Whispering. From a disembodied voice."

"What did it say?"

"You're not going to leave me this time."

"Nice and ominous. Okay, so how far out are we?"

"Well that would depend on where we are." Sam replied, pushing the article across the table for Dean's input. He had stopped paying attention to road signs when he wasn't driving but Dean always managed to stay on top of where they were.

"Yeah, we're not to far away. You think it's worth sticking around? Doing some digging?"

Sam knew what Dean was thinking. They could poke around and find out it was nothing or they could keep moving. They could still cover a lot of distance, scan a lot of potential cases before nightfall. He knew Dean's frustration would hit its peak if they looked into this and it came to nothing.

"I'll get the laptop." He offered, holding his had out for the keys, "Do a quick scan on the area, see if there's any similar stories going around. Might make the decision more obvious." Dean nodded, understanding how little hope Sam had had of finding anything in the fact he had not bothered bringing it in with him in the first place.

Food had arrived by the time Sam made it back, and after he had set the computer off whirling he seemed to take in their surroundings for the first time. His eyes flicked between the plate and Dean as though asking if he was seriously expected to eat this, but when Dean only glared and determinedly picked up his own fork, Sam sighed and relented. And to his credit he ignored the computers warmed up beep until he had eaten all he was able to stomach, although he glanced furtively at Dean as he did so as though trying to gauge a potential reaction. His fidgeting in the car was no longer causing worry, and Dean knew it was only a matter of time before the habit of picking distractedly at his food while doing other things would decide to make a comeback.

"Try looking at reports from '99" Dean instructed as Sam pulled the laptop towards him. He had been scanning the rest of the article as he ate – one of the perks of being the older brother – following the directions to 'continue on page 17'. "There's some reference to similar attacks that happened about eight years ago."

Sam grunted in acknowledgement, secretly annoyed that he had not finished the whole article himself and already seen that.

He was silent for a while, scanning headlines.

"Yeah, here we go. October '99. Woman was attacked outside the same school, middle of the day. No witnesses. Another about a week later, other side of the town. It seems they were blamed on a gang of high school kids that had been hanging around the area. Then in November a workman was killed checking the meter outside the general store. Big guy. Was apparently beaten to death. After that nothing." He continued clicking in silence for a while while Dean sipped his coffee and contemplated whether his stomach could cope with pie. It was hard to go wrong with pie. Right?

"No, there were no more attacks until this last one. Well, there's been a mugging a couple of months ago. An old guy fell of a ladder in February. Claims he was given a helping hand down but neighbours think he's just a bit senile. Or trying for an insurance scam."

"What about before that?" Dean asked, finally relenting and signalling the waitress over. If they were going to a town where 'old man falls of ladder' made it into the local paper he was going to be in serious need of some comfort food. Sam greeted the questioning eyes asking if he wanted anything else with a glance that suggested he thought Dean was the crazy one.

"More coffee?" It was normally a safe bet with Sam but he merely shook his head with his eyebrows raised. It might be boiled but Sam wasn't sure he even trusted the water in this place.

For the next few minutes the only sound was the tapping of Sam's fingers on the keyboard and the echoing sound of Dean's fork attacking his plate.

"An old woman was attacked in her home, the middle of May 1992. She died in hospital the next day."

"She have anything to do with the school?"

"Nothing obvious."

"But let me guess, no-one was caught and the attack was blamed on local youths?"

"They're not very trusting of their young people around here." Sam observed wryly. "There were a few other attacks in the months leading up to that. Random places in the town. And a young girl from the school turned up one morning covered in bruises. That one was blamed on the parents though. There was a court case and everything."

"What happened to the kid?"

"I'm not sure. She was placed in foster care while it was all going on. The family moved away. We could look into it." He offered, not liking the slightly pained look that had crossed his brother's face. Not that there was anything they could do about it. Even if it turned out there was something supernatural going on and the parents were innocent the girl would be an adult now. They couldn't give her or her family their lives back.

But it was a very real fear, one that they had both lived with. That faced with a child with injuries the authorities immediately jumped to abuse without considering other, what Dean considered more natural, options.

"I take it we're staying then?" Sam enquired, trying to get Dean's mind back from wherever it had gone.

"I guess so. Does it say where the latest victim lives, or would that be too easy?"

"I think she's still in the hospital, which makes things simpler. It's probably the safest place to spend the afternoon too" he continues, eyeing Dean's empty plate suspiciously.

"Aww come on Sammy, don't tell me you're getting soft. We'll have that cast iron constitution up and running again in no time."

Sam just laughed. He'd spent so long training his body he had not considered the need to retrain his stomach to cope with the number of dodgy diners that Dean somehow always managed to find.

"Okay, let's roll." Dean's exuberance had returned. "If we get going now we can get the ball rolling on this thing this afternoon. It'll be easier if we can get in to see her during visiting hours."

Sam nodded, smiling at Dean's return to form, scooped up the papers and his laptop and followed his brother out of the door.

TBC