Sam had changed and was sitting at the table, laptop booted up when Dean returned with the pizza. He tensed, not bothering to raise his head, just glanced up through his bangs to judge what kind of mood Dean had returned in.

"Whole wheat crust, your half with veggies." he carried a six-pack in one hand, the pizza in the other and he kicked the door shut with his foot. "Room good?"

Sam didn't know how or when Dean had acquired the ability to tell whether or not a motel room offered a kitchenette simply by driving past the motel, but he had and Sam had to admit he was pleased that particular ability provided him with comfort. "Yeah, town have anything to offer?"

"Couple bars, looked quiet." he set the pizza and the beer on the table as Sam pushed the laptop aside to make room. "You ready to tell me what we're going to Aurora for?" he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it on his bed, pulled out a chair and sat down. More like he was ready to listen, but Sam let him get away with it. Huh, okay, that was so not like Sam that Dean gave him a closer look to see if he could detect what was wrong.

Sam got up to look for some paper plates or towels then sat back down. "I, aah, had an idea."

"Why does that scare me?" he plopped two slices of pizza on a plate and shoved it in front of Sam. Time to see if the kid would actually eat; Bobby had pointed out to him that when he ate, so did Sam.

"While you were having an affair with the porcelain throne, I had some time to think. I can't remember everything I did or everywhere I'd been, but I started with the hunt in Bristol. Started looking for news of hunts that would have attracted our attention, both before and after that hunt and backtracked."

"Wasn't an affair." Dean protested hotly, feelings childishly hurt. "You make it sound like we had a thing going or something."

"Dean, you named it." Sam smirked drolly, biting into to the slice of pizza. "Spent more time with it, both on it and with your head..."

"So, you found something that led you to Aurora?" Dean broke in hastily, eager to change the subject.

"Yeah, looks like we did a hunt there." he pushed a print-out of a newspaper article across the table for Dean to read. "Good a place to start as any."

"You think whatever those guys want might tie into a hunt you did? No hunts closer to Bristol than Aurora?"

"Has to be a hunt somewhere, right?" he popped the tab on a beer. "Aurora caught my attention when trying to trace my steps. Hell, I dunno." he raised the can of beer and caught sight of Dean's haggard appearance. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Me?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "What you talking about? Ain't nothing wrong with me."

"Your hands hurt?" he guessed, eyes drifting the scars. Dean to pulled his hands back and hid them under the table. "Dean? You said you were ok."

"I am." he said evasively with a scowl. "Was, um, out in the cold for a bit, hot shower will help."

"You're an ass." Sam commented. "Cudda let me drive, give your hands a rest."

"Right, like you weren't snoring."

"Oh." Sam flushed. "Sorry. You in pain? Is that why we stopped?"

"I'm good." the ache in both wrists was bone deep and he doubted even a shower as hot as he could stand it would ease the pain anytime soon. That meant he'd spend another restless night trying to hide from Sam that pain was keeping him awake.

"Yeah, sure."

"What do you want me to say Sam?" he yawned. Christ, but he tired so easily these days.

Sam stared at him. His lip twitched, making his chin quiver, wanting to say; 'I want you to tell me the truth and stop hiding shit from me because you don't think I can handle it'.

"Nuthing, go take your shower." he finally sighed, unable to voice the words.

Dean didn't pursue the argument. He finished eating, put the unopened beer in the fridge and locked himself in the bathroom. Hopefully by the time he was done with his shower and crawled into bed, Sam would be over his pout and come morning, everything would be set to rights.

Sam was still at the table, back on the laptop when Dean finally emerged from the bathroom. He didn't glance up when Dean padded barefoot over to his bed, tossed his coat and duffel bag to the floor and crawled beneath the blankets. It took a moment for him to see the glass of 7-Up along with three orange pills sitting next to it on the table between the beds. Soon as he sat up and reached for the glass, Sam was on his feet.

"Want the Capsaicin cream?" Sam was digging for the tube in his duffel bag. Dean didn't answer. Maybe it helped, maybe it didn't, wasn't like he was ever going to admit the extent of the pain anyway. Whether it was some dark hidden desire to ease his brother's guilt or wanting relief so badly he was willing to believe it worked, he'd stopped protesting when Sam offered the cream. Yeah, it stung but Sam was happy when he didn't refuse it and more times than not, he was asleep with ten minutes of application.

Until the stitches had come out and there was no broken skin, all Sam had allowed him was ice. Least now, Sam grudgingly agreed to let him have ibuprofen and didn't bitch about the amount of cream he only applied before bed. He could use it as often as he wanted but it stung so badly, he couldn't stop his eyes from watering and the only way to hide that from Sam was to bury his head under the pillow and call it a night.

Sam let Dean believe what he wanted; he knew his brother would never admit his wrists hurt as badly as they did. It was obvious when they were giving him fits. Like Sam didn't recognize the signs: the mouth drawn tight, the swollen lower eye lids, the pronounced lines that creased his face, the furrow between his eyebrows. Dean never asked for the cream nor did he ever seek it out, probably didn't want Sam to go all mushy with guilt and remorse but he never refused it either. Dumb ass would rather suffer than make Sam unhappy or cause him to feel bad. He really was a dumb ass, like Sam didn't swallow bile whenever he caught Dean massaging a wrist or someone made a comment about the scars.

"Check-out's at ten." Sam took the lid off the tube and held it out to Dean. "Don't be an ass, if your hands still hurt, just let me drive."

"We'll eat on the road."

"Whatever." he wasn't in a mood to tolerate Dean any longer. He'd be spending the better part of the following day in the car with him and he preferred it to be on peaceful terms.

He sat back down at the table but was no longer interested in doing further research. Maybe the pizza wasn't sitting well with him or perhaps the beer had been too warm or it could be he was just exhausted, whatever, he didn't feel so good. He pinched at his nose between his eyes, closing the laptop and reaching for the bottle of ibuprofen. Who would care if he crawled into bed and went to sleep before the headache could get worse.