Sam reached over and put a steadying hand on the steering wheel.

"Dean, we gotta stop."

Dean startled, blinking at the road and correcting his course.

"What?"

"I'm keeping an eye out for the next exit," Sam said quietly.

Dean looked over at his brother, felt the fire in his shoulder throb, knew that if he didn't stop, he'd drive them off the road.

"Yeah," he agreed. "OK."

They found a surprisingly clean looking motel within the next 10 miles, and after Sam checked them in, Dean let his brother grab the bags, while he made his way slowly toward the door. Sitting had stiffened him, and he leaned heavily against the jamb, waiting for Sam with the key. When Sam got the door open, Dean headed for the closest bed, sinking down on it as his brother trailed behind, dropping their duffels on the table by the window.

Dean winced as he tried to shrug off his jacket and didn't protest when Sam materialized next to him, tugging gently at the sleeves, easing the leather off his brother's arm.

"Let me look at your shoulder."

Dean nodded sluggishly, rolling it uneasily. He swallowed a gasp at the pull on the wound. Sam had already grabbed their first-aid kit, setting it on the bed next to Dean.

"Have you taken anything for the pain?"

Dean shook his head.

"I've got a bottle of something. It's in my pocket."

Sam reached for the coat.

"Did you take one?" he asked, eyeing the label on the bottle and shaking it experimentally.

"Didn't want to be groggy, you know, when I found …"

Sam nodded, eyes not meeting his brother's.

"Right," he whispered.

"Sam…"

"Take one now, OK, before I clean it," Sam interrupted him. He twisted the cap off, spilling a couple of capsules into his palm. He put one to the side, extending the other to Dean.

Dean popped it in his mouth, dry-swallowing the pill.

Together, they managed to get Dean's shirts off with as little additional trauma to the shoulder as they could.

Sam blanched at the sight of the raw hole gaping and angry, flesh around it torn, ragged. He swallowed hard.

"OK," he said shakily.

"Sammy…" Dean tried to start again.

"I'll get some water."

Sam rose and went into the bathroom. When he returned, he was steady, if pale. Dean watched him carefully.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded and was thankful for the fuzziness he could feel starting to steal into his consciousness.

"As I'll ever be," he answered.

The combination of the medication and the pain knocked Dean out not long after Sam started the process of cleaning and stitching the injury. When he woke, Dean found himself stretched out on the bed, shoes and jeans pulled off, scratchy blanket pulled up to his chest. He turned his head toward the other bed.

Sam was on his side, facing his brother, eyes closed. Dean braced himself and sat up, one hand coming up to cover the bandage over his shoulder. Sam's eyes came open.

"Where are you going?" he asked, sitting up abruptly.

"The can," Dean said gruffly.

Sam nodded, one hand extended.

"Need any help?" he offered.

Dean just looked at him, and Sam subsided, still keeping a concerned eye on his brother as Dean hobbled into the bathroom.

When he came out, Dean made his way slowly back to the bed.

"How long was I out?" Dean asked, voice husky.

"Couple of hours." Sam stood, taking Dean's elbow, gently.

Dean just kept himself from pulling the arm out of his brother's grasp, easing down onto the mattress. He leaned back on the pillows.

"A doctor should look at it, though."

Dean grunted.

"I'll be fine."

Sam was silent.

Dean closed his eyes, shutting out the weight of his brother's gaze.

"Where are we headed next?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean kept his eyes closed, raised his right shoulder in a carefully careless shrug.

"I … Could we… go to Jo and Luke's?" Sam's voice was drained, broken and almost wandering. "If… If there's nowhere else…?"

Sam trailed away, and Dean turned his head to look at his brother. Sam was sitting on his own bed, body oddly slack, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly. His eyes, when he raised them to his brother, were dark, hollowed out.

"Yeah," Dean said, gently "We can."

xxxx

Jo's first surprise had been the rumble of the Winchesters' Impala growing clearer in the crisp, gray dawn. She was standing on the porch, enjoying the morning with her first cup of coffee when she saw the sleek black muscle car easing around the side of the motel.

The second surprise had been Sam instead of Dean climbing out of the driver's side. Jo hurried down the stairs toward the car.

"Well, hey!"

Thrilled to see them, she smiled at Sam across the roof of the car.

"Hey," he returned with a tired smile. The line of his jaw was marred by a mottled bruise, and Jo wasn't sure if the dark circles under his eyes were bruises or weariness.

Jo frowned in concern as she reached for the door next to her, glancing at Dean as he stood. She bit back a gasp at the redness and swelling of his nose, the angry looking marks on his cheekbone.

"Hey," Dean said as she took a step back out of his way, giving his room to exit the car fully. "Can we crash with you guys for awhile?" He smiled crookedly at her, his eyes as somber as Sam's.

"Of course, you can. Of course." She put out a gentle hand to touch his face. "Are y'all alright?" Her eyes cut to Sam.

"Yeah, we're fine," Dean said even as Sam ducked his head, moving toward the trunk of the car.

Confused and increasingly worried, Jo glanced again at Dean. He'd closed the door to the Impala and was leaning back against the car, right hand cradling his left shoulder, face gray with exhaustion and pain.

"What happened?" she asked sharply. "You're hurt."

"I'm OK," he started.

"He's been shot." This from Sam, quiet, but clear.

"Shot?! What? How?"

From the half-hearted smirk on Dean's face, Jo suspected that she was about to get a smart-ass response as to how he'd gotten shot—well, there's this thing called a gun—but the expression on her own face seemed to stop him.

He glanced at Sam, who watched, eyes intently on his brother.

"I'm OK."

Dean looked at Jo and then back at Sam with a look that was both weary and oddly patient.

Sam dropped his eyes with a shrug, attention back on the duffels he was pulling out of the trunk.

Jo took Dean by the right elbow and began to guide him toward the house.

"I'll call Rob, he can…"

"Jo, it's fine." He tried to ease his arm out of her grip. She held on tighter. Huh-uh, buddy.

"What do you mean, 'it's fine'?" she demanded. "Have you had a doctor look at it?"

She heard a chuff of air from behind her.

Dean sighed.

"No, but…"

"No," she muttered, tugging him up the stairs. "Of course, you haven't." She got him onto the porch and turned the knob on the door. Sam's heavy tread on the wooden stairs told her he was following them into the house.

"A friend looked at it – she got the bullet out and patched me up," Dean said.

He seemed to have given up on the idea of escaping and trailed along after.

"It got messed up after that," Sam said. Quietly again. Not looking at either of them as he dropped their gear in the corner of the room.

She could feel the tension in the air between them, in the tightening of the muscles in Dean's forearm where she was holding it while she steered him toward one of the beds.

"You took care of it," Dean said softly, sitting.

Sam was silent for a moment.

"I'd feel better if Dr. Jones looked at it," he finally said. Still not looking at his brother.

Not knowing why, Jo held her breath watching Dean watch Sam. She knew he was waiting for his brother to look at him. But Sam didn't turn.

Dean looked away, nodded in resignation.

"Yeah. OK."

"Thanks," said Sam just before he walked out of the room.

xxxx

Sam was seated at the kitchen table when she walked into the room. Jo had taken some time getting Dean settled. He'd declined the offer of breakfast, closing his eyes as he'd mumbled that he was tired, rolling onto his side away from her.

Jo had taken the hint and left.

"You want some breakfast, sweetheart?" she asked Sam as she came in.

She stopped next to him and ran a questioning hand over his hair. She was close enough to register the brush of his shoulder against her side, but wasn't prepared for the weight of his body as Sam leaned heavily into her. Jo felt her heart stutter at the unexpected movement.

"Baby?" she whispered. Sam shook his head mutely, turning his face to press into her side.

Stunned, Jo was quiet, keeping up the steady soothing motion of her hand through his hair.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there before Sam pulled away.

"Scrambled eggs?" he asked, voice rough, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes before he put his head in his hands. Jo felt her heart ache in response to the pain that almost radiated off the slumped body sitting at her kitchen table.

"You bet," she said, one last skim of her hand over his head, moving toward the fridge.

She pulled out a carton of eggs and started cracking them into a bowl.

"Tell me what happened, Sam," she said.

He didn't respond for a moment.

"Did Dean tell you anything?" he asked.

She turned from the counter briefly and caught Sam's eyes.

"He said he was shot by a demon. That it was what beat him up."

Sam nodded absently, looking down to pick at something on his jeans.

"Yeah," he agreed softly.

He cleared his throat.

She waited.

"The demon…" He paused. "It was in me," he finally whispered, the grief raw in his voice.

Jo blinked.

"Oh, Sam…"

"SAM!"

Tommy's entrance into the kitchen ended the conversation as he threw himself into Sam's startled, but willing arms.

"Hey, buddy," Sam said, returning the hug with interest.

"Where's Dean?" Tommy asked excitedly, untangling himself from Sam.

"Hey, Sam!"

Tommy's shout had hurried the rest of the family into the kitchen, and there was a brief traffic jam at the door as Tommy tried to get out of the room on his way to find Dean while Jake and Michael and Luke were all trying to get in.

"Tommy, wait," Jo called helplessly. "Luke, catch him before…"

There was a squeak of protest from Tommy as he was collared – literally – by his uncle. Luke spun him around back into the kitchen.

"Hey," the youngest boy protested with disgruntled looks for both his aunt and uncle.

"Dean's asleep," Jo tried to explain, smiling her gratitude at Luke and touching Tommy's cheek.

"Are you making breakfast for Sam?"

This from Jake.

"Will you make me some, too?" He sidled up close to Jo, slipping an arm around her waist. "Please?" He batted his lashes at her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Who all wants eggs?"

"Me!" "I do!" "Yes, please." "Yea!"

Michael shoved a box of cereal back into the cabinet.

Three young male bodies plopped into chairs around the table.

"Huh-uh," Jo said, not turning from her task of breaking more eggs into the bowl. "If I'm making breakfast, y'all are setting the table."

There was some good-natured grumbling as the boys heaved themselves up again.

"Can we have bacon, too?" Luke waggled his eyebrows at her as he opened the fridge.

"Why not?"

Luke tossed the package on the counter. "I'll make it after I get coffee." He kissed her. "Good morning, by the way." Under the chaos of banging plates and excited chatter, he asked softly, "Is everything OK with them?"

Jo shook her head, biting her lip when she looked at him. Luke nodded, rubbing a hand up and down her back. "OK."

"Sam." Luke turned toward the table. "You want coffee, bud?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She felt her husband's fingers brush over her hip before he reached for the coffee pot.

Jo kept up the façade of lightness while the kids were at the table, smiling as the boys regaled Sam with tales of their lives since they'd last seen him and asked question after question about what he and Dean had been doing. But she'd kept a close eye on Sam. She could tell he was as exhausted as his brother, his open demeanor faltering occasionally when he thought no one was paying attention.

"Hey, what happened to your face?"

Jake pointed his fork at Sam.

"Sweetheart, please don't gesture with your silverware," Jo reproved him. Jake let the fork slide down in his fingers.

Sam's hand came up unconsciously to his jaw.

"We were goofing around, and Dean clipped me with his elbow," he grimaced.

The lie was easily said, but from the glance Luke sent her, Jo knew he didn't believe that any more than she did.

Michael pushed back his chair.

"We gotta go," he said, carrying his plate to the sink.

Jake and Tommy clattered up after him, rushing to match their oldest brother's long strides as he headed toward the door.

"Bye, mom! See you, Luke! Bye, Sam!" And they were gone.

A heavy stillness descended in the wake of the noise and motion that had just blown out the back door.

Luke put his fork down.

"You want to tell us what's going on, Sam?"

Sam set his own fork carefully on the table.

Jo noticed that Sam had eaten very little. Head bowed, he clasped his hands in his lap.

Jo and Luke exchanged looks.

"Sugar?" Jo put a hand on his arm.

Jo wasn't exactly sure how to raise the whole So. You were possessed by a demon and beat up and shot your brother? conversation that they'd started not that long ago.

"Sam," she started hesitantly, "you said…"

He nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Yeah," he whispered.

Luke was looking from one to the other.

"OK," she breathed.

Jo turned to Luke.

"Dean's been shot. And beaten." She paused. "He told me it was a demon, and Sam… Sam said that he was the one who was possessed when Dean got hurt."

Luke went completely still before he drew in a long, steadying breath.

"Is Dean OK?"

"Dean says he is, but I'm going to call Rob and ask him to come by, if he can."

Luke nodded.

"Sam?" It was said as a question, but Jo could hear the command in the tone.

Sam's head came up obediently.

"How about you? Are you OK?"

Sam stared at Luke and started to nod his head, but changed mid-motion to shaking it.

"I don't… I don't think so," he admitted softly.

Jo swallowed back tears at the lostness in his voice.

She ran her hand up and down Sam's arm. "You're exhausted, honey. Why don't you go get some sleep? You can… We can… talk about everything later."

"I could have killed him," Sam said brokenly, as if he hadn't heard her. "I almost did."

Jo's breath caught in her throat. "Sweetie…" she didn't know where to go from there.

"As I understand it, it wasn't you at all."

Sam blinked at Luke.

"Isn't that right, Sam?"

Luke raised an eyebrow at the younger man, an expression Jo recognized from some of his interactions with their own boys.

"I…"

"Sam, isn't that right? When someone's possessed, the demon's in control?"

"Dad…" Sam started.

"Your dad, what?"

"Dad broke through," he said desperately. "Dad fought it. He beat it. When it was hurting Dean. Dad…" Sam looked from Jo to Luke with haunted eyes.

"I don't understand," Luke said. "Dean was torn to hell. The doctors almost couldn't save him."

"Dad couldn't get free right away," Sam admitted. "But he did. He stopped it long enough for me to get loose, to get the Colt…"

"'Long enough'?" Luke asked, interrupting Sam again. "How long was that, Sam?"

Jo was biting her lip, forcing herself not to jump in, not to tell Luke to go easy with Sam. Luke was getting at something, asking questions to force Sam to the same conclusion he himself had come to. His relentlessness frustrated Jo, but she knew he had a point and she'd seen him do this with the boys enough times to let him do things his way.

"How long, Sam?" Luke asked again, gentle in spite of his insistence.

"A few s- seconds," Sam stuttered, taken aback by Luke's rapid-fire questioning. "Long enough to…"

"A few seconds, Sam?" Luke asked. "It took him awhile and it was only for a few seconds? While the thing inside him was ripping his oldest child to pieces in front of his eyes?"

Luke's own voice broke at the thought—of his own children, of Dean, of John Winchester.

"Luke," Jo gasped. "Stop!"

Luke startled at the anguish in his wife's voice, and he was suddenly aware of Sam, pale and frozen across from him at the table. He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "Sam, I just mean, your dad… Kiddo, if your dad could only break free for seconds while the two of you were being hurt, while one of his babies was being tortured…"

Luke trailed off.

"I know how much you love your brother, Sam. I know that you would trade yourself for Dean in heartbeat. But as deep and as true as that love is, it's different from the love a father has for his children. From your dad's love for Dean. From his love for you. And if your dad couldn't stop this thing from hurting the two of you, from hurting Dean so horribly; if he couldn't free himself for longer than a few seconds… I just don't know how anybody could fight something like that with any hope of beating it."

Sam was staring at Luke, slow, dazzled blinks the only movement on his face.

After a couple of long minutes of silence, Luke said gently, "Think about it, OK, Sam?"

Sam nodded, eyes back on the table.

"Get some sleep, kiddo."

Sam nodded again, standing unsteadily.

"Sam," Jo said, rising with him. He turned to her, eyes shuttered.

"It's going to be OK."

She knew that he didn't believe her, didn't wonder that he didn't. But she couldn't keep from trying to reassure him, reaching out to give him a quick, hard hug. He accepted the embrace, and she felt the tremor across his back as he tightened his arms around her. His chin pressed into her shoulder a couple of times, nodding, pretending to agree.

"Thanks."

xxxx