A/N: This chapter beta'd with flair and style by waveobscura. You guys are getting two chapters today, because I am on a lot of opiates. Go Team!

Disclaimer: Don't own. More's the pity.

Chapter 3

America's Sweethearts

The vacancy sign at the motel was the most welcome sign Dean had ever seen, including signs from the douche-tastic angel crew. Although, maybe Castiel was looking out for them by making sure there were empty rooms in town.

"I'll get the room." Sam said in monotone. Muddled up with the anger directed at brother right now was concern, concern he knew he wouldn't be rewarded for showing.

Well, turns out a little righteous indignation is all the medicine I need, Dean thought to himself. Before their little spat, it had crossed Dean's mind that pretending to be fine in any capacity was going to be rendered completely moot if he needed help getting inside, but a little aggression got the old synapses firing, making his vision sharper, and his previously murky sense of balance a bit more on target. As soon as Sam was back with the key to open the door, Dean chipped right in with carrying some of their things inside. There was still the twinge in his chest, but it was much more manageable, dulled down for the moment by the painkillers.

With barely a glance his way, Sam lined up the entire collection of convenience store remedies on one of the bedside tables. "Whether you want to discuss things with me or not, Dean, just take care of yourself."

"Whoa, Sammy." The elder brother eyed the bottles and boxes. "Motion-sickness meds? We getting on a boat or were you trying to clean out the store?" Dean, feeling a bit more like himself, or at least a bit more comfortable slipping into his old façade, gave his brother a wide, teasing grin.

"I dunno. I didn't know what you needed –so I pretty much just got one of everything." Sam sighed heavily. "Dude, I want you to trust me, to let me in, but I can only fight you on it so much." Sam gazed at Dean with a wry grin, but still looked beyond frustrated. "And I can't make you want to be here with me."

The grin immediately dropped from Dean's face. And as much as Dean definitely wanted to snark something back about how it was Sam who was leaving Dean in the dark about quite a few things, it was really the last thing Sam said that he needed to address. "Hey, stop…right now. This is so not about trust. I'm just not going to get you all worked up about something I can get a good snooze and fix. You know me, that's just how I am. And…how can you possibly think…"

Dean's voice choked gruffly on a bit of emotion, though he played it off well by clearing his throat.

"Think…?" Sam prompted.

Dean took as big a breath as he could manage. "Sam, how can you think there is any place but right here with you, on this earth, for me?" Oh good god, his co-star Julia Roberts was going to come around the corner with a box of Kleenex any second now.

Still, Dean pushed forward. "There isn't any other goddamn place. I have my shit to get through, after coming back… but getting through it, that's all about staying too. So, I'm sorry if my joy isn't coming through, but believe me – it's there."

It was a truth that needed to be said, because as completely wrapped up in his transgressions against humanity as Dean was, he had the one thing on earth he wanted more than anything else – to wake up every day and see his brother alive. The thought of Sam being alive and carrying on was the thing that kept Dean from breaking under thirty years of torture, the one thing that kept his own humanity intact. Being back with his brother again, that was his happy place – the place he went to as Alastair played with his intestines and he slipped into shock again and again. After thirty years, the permanence of Hell began to truly set in. Dean began to lose his happy place, that tiny shred of hope – the image of driving in the Impala with his brother. When he lost that image was when they finally broke him.

Dean wasn't a religious man, but it was hard not to think about religion considering he had angels on his ass. People who try to explain what they think Hell is, the people who don't realize there truly is a fiery abyss waiting to claim them, say that Hell is simply the absence from God; that being apart from God's grace, his love, is what makes your soul empty out and fill with despair. And even though Dean knew from firsthand experience that there was a Hell, he thought that maybe the sentiment was true enough. For him, though, it wasn't absence from God that was the problem. It was absence of his brother, absence of the person who gave him purpose, gave him strength, and loved him through all his faults. But – God is love, yadda, yadda, so maybe it boiled down to the same thing.

Dean's emotional outburst had left his breathing a tad bit more shallow, but it passed momentarily as he kept his eyes focused on his brother, who was gazing at him 1) with tears in his eyes and 2) as if Dean had three heads. Both made Dean squirm uncomfortably.

"Okay, now that we've covered this, Sammy, can we watch TV? And something a little less "Steel Magnolias"?"

Sam surreptitiously wiped his eyes, trying to hide his face behind a grubby TV Guide. "Sure, man. Looks like "The Rock" is on in a few minutes."

"Hey, I am all about a good prison break story." Dean's face lit up as he joked.

"I know, dude. I'm going to hit the shower. There's pie on the table."

"Pie, huh?" Dean said to himself. Well, he hardly had any lunch and no breakfast – food was in order. Still, his stomach was not so beyond the memory of nearly losing his lunch. But – it was pie. His eyes scoped out the bedside table laden with medications. He tried to catalogue quickly in his head…pain meds, aspirin on top of that…so what else was safe to take now? Sammy would know this, but he really didn't want to have to ask. Instead, he chose a swig of The Pink Stuff, a couple of the motion sickness tablets (they did say nausea, so why not hedge your bets?), and a hearty swig of some kind of Tussin-cough-crap, which he nearly didn't keep down due to the vile taste. It was enough to put the idea of snarfing the pie down out of his head. Dean blanched and tried to clear the bitter tang of the syrup out with another swig of the ginger ale – which was really just as bad in his opinion, and then settled in to watch some Sean Connery feats of strength.

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Sam came out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair, doing his best Connery impression, quoting Dean's favorite line from "The Rock."

"Losers always whine about their best! Winners go home and fuck the prom queen!"

Figured. The one time Sam was able to quote a movie correctly and Dean was out like a light. Sam sighed, gazing at his brother. If he was honest with himself, he had been expecting it to be lights out fairly soon after they got there, even though it was early afternoon. What he hadn't expected was for so many of the meds to have their wrappers discarded. He went through the table like this was a job and he needed to find the clues.

"Sooo…stomach, chest, probably a fever, and …pain." Sam clicked off, his foot nudging the vial-shaped lump that was in Dean's jeans on the floor. He scooped the jeans off of the floor, his long fingers deftly pulling out the bottle. While he had been in the bathroom he had scoped out the first aid kit and noticed some of their supply had gone missing. It really wasn't that much of a leap to know where it had gone. It was the Vicodin from the last concussion Sam had, a minor one that he felt fine taking Advil for after the first day, saving the rest of the pills for more painful injuries. Sam didn't know if it was necessarily a good thing that Dean had gone for these and not the stronger Percocet they had from Dean's set of severely fractured ribs (taunting a kobold is never a good idea).

Knowing Dean, it was just as possible that he took the lower strength medication so he would seem normal to Sam. Percocet laid them both out pretty good. Standing next to his brother's bedside, Sam weighed feeling Dean's forehead or thrusting the digital thermometer into Dean's mouth, but he knew his brother needed sleep badly. If things were still looking bad when Dean had caught up on some rest, he'd sit him down and talk seriously about going to see a doctor. He knew he was hovering and he knew part of that hovering was a direct guilty reaction to hanging out with Ruby.

Sam grabbed the room key and stepped outside the door of the room, letting his back lean against the dirty exterior of the motel. "Hey, Bobby? Just wanted to fill you in."

"Hey, kid. What's the news on our stubborn friend? You aren't calling for the details on that job, now are ya?"

"No, sir. Dean's asleep right now. After I talked to you he came out of the gas stop bathroom looking like roadkill. I yelled at him just a little." Sam moved the phone further away from his ear as Bobby busted up laughing at the prospect of Sam giving Dean an ass-reaming for his own good. "Anyway, he's medicated and sleeping, so I guess we'll see how much of this is from normal exhaustion, how sick he actually is."

"Well, what's he medicating for, Sam?" Bobby posed the obvious question.

"Laundry list. Could be flu. I know he's in pain, but he won't say where, and I'm not about to go poke the man until he flinches." For now at least. "Feverish looking before, but, I got some aspirin in him and I think he looks a little better. Hey Bobby, call tomorrow - give him the third degree. Just, do me a favor, don't mention any jobs yet."

Bobby was concerned, but not nearly so much now that he knew the boys were off the road, at least for the day. Sam seemed to have things well in hand. "Will do. You need anything, you call me."

"Thanks."

Sam stole in the motel room stealthily and re-checked all the doors and windows. Satisfied they were secure, he lay himself down on the bed opposite Dean and let his own eyes close.

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A/N2: Yes, the chapter title is a reference to a Julia Roberts movie.

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