A/N: I'm sorry this update has taken longer than usual. I'm a little annoyed I let things get under my skin the way they did, but I am getting back up on the horsie and here's a little chapter. Scopulus (my cliffie demon, for those of you who haven't met him yet) insisted this was the place to end it. There's a little surprise in this chapter! Thank you everyone for reviews and support, it means a lot and I dedicate this chapter to all of you! I will reply to all of you! Promise! Huge hug!

Gifts

Chapter Ten

Fetching

Sam was falling, Dean screaming his name. He raced through the bar, desperately trying to reach his brother, it was crowded but for Dean it was silent, crystalline, just Sam, falling. A sound worked its way into the bar as Dean dropped beside his brother—a scratching noise, then a rattle followed by thump. He was yelling for someone to call 911 and the sounds came again, this time accompanied by a soft chuckle.

Dean opened his eye and blinked at the sunlight pouring through the window. Scratch, scratch, rattle, thump. Sam's soft chuckle. Dean rolled over and looked at his brother, Sam had a smile on his face. A moment later the scratching noise, this time Dean managed to identify it. Fim climbing the bed. The kitten crawled onto the bed, a blue and pink ball in his mouth. He raced up the bed and dropped it on Sam, pawing at his face after he did. Sam picked up the ball in his left hand, rattled it and tossed it off the end of the bed. The kitten flew off—looking a lot like a flying squirrel leaping between trees. Sam chuckled as the kitten reappeared an instant later, the ball in his mouth again.

Dean watched as his brother tossed the ball, he wondered if his brother realized that he was throwing it with his left hand. Dean sighed silently, it had been a long night. Even though Sam had taken the few steps at the park, he'd been depressed as the evening wore on. Before dinner, Sam had taken a nap—only to wake up screaming, reliving those moments in the bar again. And it had been downhill after that. Be honest it was going okay until the shower.

Sam had fallen.

Dean was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, watching the kitten try to consume an entire piece of left over roast beef, when he heard a thud. Something about the sound had him moving through the house at high speed, trying to push the panic away, trying not to scream Sam's name. When he wrenched the shower door open his heart nearly stopped. Sam was on the floor, trying to reach for the stool, blood on his head from a cut on his temple. Dean turned off the shower, dried Sam off, helped him to bed and called Alan. The doctor came and checked on Sam, assuring Dean no harm had been done. Dean wasn't so sure.

Sam had been silent after Alan left, staring listlessly at the TV, then taking his medication without comment. Fim had curled up on Sam's chest, but he made no attempt to pet the kitten. He just lay in bed until sleep finally overcame him. Dean watched the whole time, wanting to say something, but deciding to let it go this time. He'd bullied Sam enough, and Dean let him go to sleep in peace, kicking himself the whole time for not being there.

"What did you do? Did you drop it in the water?" Sam said quietly, pulling Dean from the memory. Sam tossed the ball and the kitten leaped after it.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, looking over. "Fim fetches."

"He what?" Dean sat up.

"Fetches." Sam smiled as the kitten crawled back up in the bed with the ball in his mouth.

"How did you teach him that?"

"He just started, he was playing on the bed and accidently scratched me." Sam frowned. "I reacted without thinking and threw the ball away. He was back a second later with it. We've been playing for awhile now."

"Never heard of a cat that fetched," Dean said. Fim looked over, noticed Dean was up and made the jump, managing to almost make it. He had to lock his claws in Dean's leg to stop sliding off the bed. "You freaking monster." He grabbed the kitten by the scruff of the neck and dropped it on the bed. It immediately started chewing on the blanket. "Freaking…" He stopped, Sam was grinning at him, Dean grinned back. He purposefully looked away from the sadness in his brother's eyes. "I have to go in to work today, Sammy."

"Oh." The smile dropped away.

"Sam?" Dean frowned, wondering what was wrong. "You're coming with me, don't think you get to spend the day at home encouraging that beast."

"I'm coming with you?" Sam asked, tears in his eyes.

Ah, Sammy. "Yep, time for you to get out again," Dean said, standing up. "I'll go get breakfast started, then we can do your meds while we eat."

"Okay."

Dean scooped up the kitten and put it gently on Sam's chest before heading into the kitchen. I hope it set right. He opened the fridge and pulled out the bread pan and poked at the yellow mass.

It was the summer when he was fifteen. They'd been out on a hunt and were staying with Jim Murphy while their father recovered from an injury inflicted by a very angry spirit. Dean took turns sitting with his father and watching out for his brother. He and Sam had been scouting through the kitchen, looking for something to eat, when he'd discovered a pan in the fridge that looked like congealed cornbread.

"Eww, gross." Sam made a face.

"What's this Pastor Jim?" Dean asked.

"That? Cornmeal mush. I was going to fry it for breakfast."

"It's what?" Dean poked at it. "Doesn't look good."

"Nope," Sam agreed, nodding his head vigorously.

"Trust me," Pastor Jim said gently as he tipped the mush out of the pan and sliced it up. "Get that skillet hot for me, Dean."

"Okay," Dean said dubiously, watching as the older man coated the slices in cornmeal, then dropped them in the pan. "Huh, smells pretty good."

"Yeah, it does," Sam said, approaching the stove. "Really good."

"Get the maple syrup and butter out and set the table, Samuel," Pastor Jim said, flipping the slices in the pan. Sam did as he was told and a few minutes later the three of them sat down to eat. Dean watched his brother take a cautious bite, a slow smile spreading on his face. "This is totally awesome!" Sam said enthusiastically. "We are eating this every day forever."

"Sure, Sammy," Dean said, smiling at his brother.

Dean finished slicing the mush, coated it and put it in the pan to fry. While the first batch was cooking, he brought Sam into the kitchen and hooked up the IV.

"What's that?" Sam asked, watching Dean get the butter and syrup out.

"Fried mush."

"You made fried mush?" Sam smiled wistfully. "When did you make the mush?"

"Last night—well this morning about three." Dean dished up the food and put a plate in front of Sam. "I thought it'd be good before work."

"Yeah," Sam said softly, the sadness back in his voice.

Dean stared at his plate, wondering what to say, when a now familiar stinging sensation burned its way up his leg. I wonder how it knows not to climb Sam? He reached down and removed the kitten from his leg and dropped it on the table. "I suppose it gets mush, too?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Dean muttered as he got a plate ready for the kitten—he'd expected it and set a piece aside to cool when he'd made the first batch. Fim attacked the mush like a lion ripping into a wildebeest. "Freaking monster."

"He likes it," Sam chuckled.

"I need to take a quick shower before we go, Sam, do you want to sit in the recliner?"

"No, I'll stay here."

"Okay." Dean unhooked the IV and headed back to the shower. When he got out, he could hear his brother talking to the kitten, walking into the kitchen he noticed the table was clear, the dishes in the sink. "Sammy?" Dean said, swallowing a lump.

"We're ready to go, Dean, I did my chores." Sam smiled, looking like he had when he was six and was proud of himself for accomplishing a task.

"Good," Dean said, clearing his throat. "If you hadn't, I would have kicked your ass."

They were on the road a few minutes later. Dean stopped by the espresso shop, Pooh had extra muffins ready in case they went to the park later in the day. He glanced over at Sam as they drove through town. His brother was withdrawn, his mouth turned down at the corners. Dean sighed.

Nate was waiting when they pulled into the lot at the shop. He smiled at Sam and had the wheelchair out as soon as Dean popped the trunk. "I'm glad you're here, we're swamped," Nate said as Dean helped Sam into the chair.

"Hi, Sam," Nancy said. "How's the kitten working out?"

"The freaking monster?" Dean growled with a smile. "He fetches."

"Fetches?" Nate asked.

"Yeah, he figured it out this morning," Sam said. "What?"

"What what, Sammy?" Dean said. He'd been waiting for this, another surprise for Sam, he hoped it helped remove the look on his brother's face. He rolled Sam to the office and opened the door, holding his breath.

"What this?" Sam asked as he looked in the door with a frown.

"Your office." Dean wheeled Sam in. "You have a computer, a TV, the bed. And check it out, I put in railings so you can walk around in here." He pointed to the polished wood rails.

"Hey, I helped," Nate said indignantly.

"Yeah, he helped, sorta. He gave lots of directions."

"Thank you," Sam said. Dean watched as his brother looked around the small office. "Thanks," he said again.

"You get settled and then I'll expect you in the shop, Dean." Nate left, closing the door behind him.

"Sam? You okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "You did this?"

"Yep. Dean Winchester, handy dude."

"How long have you worked here?"

"Awhile now. I started once you were up a little more."

"You did?"

"Yeah," Dean said gently. "I need to get in and do a little work. Will you be…"

"Can I come out and watch for awhile?" Sam cut him off.

"Yeah." Dean opened the door and pushed the chair out into the shop. He'd actually planned on this too, and had a comfortable chair for Sam to sit in while Dean worked on the cars. He noticed his brother swallow several times after he helped him into the chair and set to footstool in front of it. Dean gathered his tools, opened the hood of the '65 Catalina and started working.

"Lunch time, honey," Nancy's voice interrupted the carb rebuild sometime later.

"Lunch already?" Dean glanced over at Sam—his brother had fallen asleep about an hour before. Dean smiled fondly, remembering how many time his brother had ended up sleeping by the Impala while he worked on it. He wiped his hands on the shop cloth, walked over and gently shook Sam. "Food, Sammy."

"Huh?" Sam asked, blinking.

"Food. Nancy brings lunch for everyone." Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair. "Homemade. Her enchiladas are like…"

"Don't say it." Sam rolled his eyes with a smile.

"But Sammy…"

"Just shut up, Dean," Sam said, nudging him. The action was so familiar, so like his brother before it had all happened, it gave him a moment of hope—until he saw Sam's eyes.

"Right," he said, playing along as he rolled Sam into the lunch room. Nancy and Nate were already sitting at the table. "Be right back, grease and chiles don't go together." Sam was chatting with them when Dean got back, he breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had been so quiet since it had happened, shying away from any and all conversation. His brother was recounting Fim's passion for cornmeal mush when Dean's phone rang. "Alan?" he said, answering it.

"Carrie, Dean, she…" Alan sounded like he was crying.

"Alan?" Dean looked at Nate.

"She, she took a bad turn, I think I'm going to lose her."

"Did you check the amulet? Is she still wearing it?" Dean asked.

There was a pause. "Yes, it's still there. Dean, what do I do?"

"It's not over yet…"

"I think it is." That time Dean heard Alan sob.

"No, we can still figure this out. Maybe…" Dean stopped himself, he'd been about to offer Sam's research skills. "Give me a little more time, and, Alan, come to dinner tonight."

"If I can leave, Dean, I will." Alan broke the connection before Dean could say anything else.

"Dean?" Nate asked, concerned.

"Carrie's worse, Alan thinks she's going to die."

"Oh no!" Nancy exclaimed. "I thought…"

"It was never sure, Nancy," Dean said quietly. "I just hoped…"

"I know, I'll head down there and sit with Alan," she said, getting up and walking out.

"Dean? What's going on? Who's Carrie?" Sam asked. When Dean was silent, he looked at Nancy and Nate then back again. "Dean?"

Dean took a deep breath, he'd been dreading this moment, never sure how to tell Sam. He wondered how his brother would take it. Maybe it's good we're here with Nate. "She's the one who shot you, Sammy," Dean said gently.

"What does that have to do with Alan?" Sam frowned at him.

"Carrie is Alan's wife."

To Be Continued

A/N II: Show of hands, how many of you thought I'd forgotten the shooter?