Thanks again to everyone following this. Those of you kind enough to leave reviews have been most generous – thank you! Thanks as always to hotshow, the editor of this fic.

Chapter 11

So this is what it felt like to be the target of a supernatural nasty. Sam had wondered, considering how many times it happened to his brother, but he never thought it would feel quite this bad. He now knew why the Liberty Bell had that huge crack in it, it was to relieve the pressure. Oh, if only his head would crack open just a little, he was certain it would feel better.

There was something hard and smooth in one hand. He gripped it, hoping it could ease the throbbing in his head.

"Sam?" He knew that voice, heard the undercurrent of worry and anxiety. "Sam, you awake?"

He fought to open his eyes, but the lights were far too bright. Sam had to settle for a strained grunt. Next thing he knew, his eyelid was being pried open and a bright light shone in. Trying to escape the piercing light, Sam flung an arm up and pulled away. His arms felt slow and sluggish and that noise in his head bounced off the insides to reverberate so intensely that crack in his skull ought to show up any second.

"Hey, whoa!" Dean. It was Dean's voice he heard. Oh, thank god, Dean was here. His brother could make that light and the horrible noise go away.

"Dean?" he managed to whine. "Hurts."

"Easy, Sammy, easy." Dean sounded so in control and in charge, Sam automatically relaxed. The thing in his hand, he brought it up to his chest and held it there. For some reason he felt better when he did that. "Oh, come on, Sam," Dean whispered, "don't do this to me. Not again."

"Do what?" he whispered, unable to think with all that noise and pain. Even whispering hurt his head and made him wince.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean's voice was soothing as he felt one of his brother's strong hands on his shoulder. Sam tried to relax under his brother's touch, but his head throbbed painfully.

"Doc? Can't you give him something?" Dean's voice broke through the painful haze blocking his thoughts. Yes, please, something, anything.

"Just a moment, Dean." That voice sounded familiar, too, but Sam could not place it. At the moment, he did not care. He wondered briefly if he was dying, but quickly dismissed the thought. Dying would have to feel better than this. After what felt like an eternity, Sam felt a prick in his arm.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean's voice again, "just give it a minute. When you start feeling better, try opening your eyes, okay?"

Sam tried to nod his head, but that was a mistake. The noise reverberating rose to a crescendo. He slammed his free hand on his forehead, trying to hold in his brains because they could be spilling out any second. Something buzzed right around the edges of his consciousness. After a moment he recognized the buzzing as Dean's voice. At least his brother had not left.

From his arm, Sam felt a coolness spread. As it worked its way across his body and up to his head, Sam felt himself relax. The intense, searing pain inside his skull diminished. It was still there, but now it was tolerable. He cracked his eyes open the slightest bit. The painfully bright light was gone, replaced by soft hues of yellow. Hovering nearby were Dean and Doc Wayne.

"Hey, Doc," he thought he said out loud, but Doc leaned over to hear him, "what's going on?"

"Sam, how are you feeling now?" Doc Wayne put a hand on his forehead, pulling back his eyelids to peer into his eyes.

"Better," Sam said, figuring it could not have been much worse. At least the rolling thunder of pain in his head was quieter now, allowing some thought.

"How is Batman?" Doc Wayne asked, pointing to the hand still clutched against his chest.

Confused, Sam looked down at his chest. There it was, that stupid Batman doll with the green eyes. No, it wasn't stupid, it was an analogy for Dean. Sam used his free hand to rub his forehead, the point above his nose where all the wrinkles and tension were. He rolled his head to the side. "It was a trap, wasn't it?" he asked Dean, not particularly caring there was a civilian in the room.

He watched most of the tension in his brother's shoulders fall away. "Yeah, I think so. Sam, do you…"

"I swear, Dean, if you ask me one more time if I know how old you are, I'm going to buy you a damn calendar." With relief, he saw the worried look fall from his brother's face.

"I think he's okay, Doc."

Doc Wane smiled then. "That's good. You had us a bit worried there, Sam."

"Why?" Sam struggled to sit, but both Dean and Doc Wayne kept him firmly pinned to the bed. Doc Wayne operated the bed controls to move him into a somewhat sitting position.

"Don't move the elevation any higher than that today," Doc Wayne warned. "Now, I'll let you two talk for a bit. Dean, don't wear him out." Doc patted Dean on the shoulder, like they were old friends.

After Doc Wayne left, Dean looked at Sam with his normal intensity of worry. "Sammy? You sure you're okay?"

"Except for the fact I'm pretty sure my skull is going to split open any second, yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Why? What happened?" He hugged the Batman to his chest again, only realizing he was doing it when he felt the plastic dig into his ribs. Embarrassed, Sam tried to cover up his actions by fidgeting in his bed, as though he were uncomfortable.

"I guess the imp set out a trap for us. For you." Dean frowned and Sam could almost see the little wheels whirling in his brother's head. It was a good thing Dean's wheels were still working, his felt like they had been shattered into a zillion pieces.

"I don't see how you do this," Sam replied, attempting to will his headache away. It was not working.

"Do what?" Dean asked, curiosity and surprise on his face.

"Let things throw you around and get up, like nothing happened." Sam sighed. "If this is what you feel like afterwards it's hard to believe you can even get up, much less tackle me in the middle of a graveyard."

Dean stared at him a moment before answering. "I doubt that's what I feel like afterwards. I've never been hit by a car."

Sam glared back. "A car hit me inside Bobby's house?"

"No. A two-by-four. But it smacked you in the exact same place you hit when the car got you." Dean's features were decidedly grim.

Sam tried to roll his eyes, but even that hurt. "Fine," he sighed. "So what now? Any ideas about why the imp decided to come after me directly like that?"

Dean scratched his jaw. "Well, actually, I have a couple of ideas. Maybe the imp is controlling the gremlin? That would explain why they're both after you, and it tells us that it's the imp who wants you dead, not the gremlin. And I think this attack may be my fault."

Oh, big surprise there. "Why would it be your fault, Dean?" For the same reason the Earth circles the sun? Because anything that happens to me is your fault – period, Sam figured.

"I invited it to dinner," Dean said calmly. "Suppose the way someone tricked it before was by inviting it to dinner?"

"Oh." Comprehension came slowly through the painful haze, but it came. "It thought you were upping the stakes and retaliated. That would make sense." Sam gave his brother a short nod, about all he could muster at the moment.

"Dean?" Another familiar voice from the hall. Bobby? Wasn't he supposed to be stranded someplace? "How's Sam?"

"He's awake. Come on in, Bobby." Dean moved to the far side of Sam's bed, making room for the older man. Bobby walked in, still wearing the same clothes from early this morning only now they were covered in dust and oil and there were some new rips and tears.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked, not quite believing Bobby's disheveled appearance. "I thought you just broke down?"

"Uh," Bobby's eyes strayed down to his chest. Sam glanced down at the Batman.

"Bobby," he insisted, pulling up the bedsheet, "how did you get here?"

Bobby cleared his throat, shooting a meaningful look at Dean. "Some friends of mine live in the area where the gremlin took out my truck. I really hate those things. My truck is totaled."

"I thought you were going to call when you knew how bad the damage was?" Dean asked while shaking his head. Sam supposed that was Dean's way of letting Bobby know he wasn't going through a third childhood, since he'd already had two now.

"I tried to, Dean, but your cell kept rolling straight over to voicemail." Bobby said with a scowl.

Dean sighed and pulled out his cell. "Yep, dead again." He held it up. "I hate imps."

Bobby nodded. "Makes two of us."

Sam raised a hand. "Three."

"So." Bobby bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times as he looked between the two of them. "What's the plan?"

"We have to get it before it can get to Sam again," Dean said firmly. Sam just sat back, listening. He doubted he could have deterred whatever train Dean was on right now if he tried. "So I need you to stay here, keep an eye on things, while I go back to your place and take it out."

"What?" Sam asked at the same time as Bobby. Typical Dean, but somehow still not exactly what he expected.

"No, Dean," Sam said, fear spiking through him as he reached out to grab his brother by the jacket, "you can't go after those things by yourself." He fisted Dean's jacket. "Not alone, Dean."

Dean pried his fingers off, giving him a nasty look. "We don't have a choice, Sam." Dean looked at Bobby. "I'm hoping I'll be able to draw the gremlin away, too."

"How do you figure, Dean?" Bobby asked, stepping right up beside the bed. Sam wondered if Bobby intended to prevent him from making another grab for Dean. Their old friend would be in for a surprise if he did.

"I figure they're working together and that's why the gremlin is fixating on Sam," Dean explained.

"Fixating?" Sam asked, bothered by his brother's shift into better vocabulary. How hard did that thing hit his head?

"If I go after the imp, and I'm pretty sure it already thinks I'm after it, it should call the gremlin in to help protect it," Dean finished as though Sam were not even in the room.

Bobby scowled a little, scratching at his chin. "I don't like it, Dean. You shouldn't be going after those things by yourself."

"Yeah!" Sam jabbed a finger at his brother. "What Bobby said!" Somehow the words that usually came so easily to him were not flowing right now. He was grateful Bobby was here to back him up on this.

Both men looked down at Sam with worried expressions. "I'll keep an eye on him, Dean."

"Thanks, Bobby. I wouldn't trust anyone else." Dean started to head out of the room, pausing at the doorway. "I, uh, don't suppose you have a car here?"

"Nope, my friends just dropped me off after I talked to Reid. But I did see George downstairs," Bobby replied.

"No!" Sam shouted, his own voice ricocheting so powerfully inside his skull he had to grasp his temple with one hand while pulling Batman in tighter with the other. Strange how the stupid doll seemed to relieve his anxiety, be a reassuring presence. Eyes squeezed shut against the waves of pain in his head, Sam waited for Dean's assurances that everything would be all right. They did not come.

Sam cracked open an eye, but Dean was not there. Alarmed, his eyelids flew open and head turned rapidly from side to side. "Dean?"

"Easy, Sam," Bobby placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Dean knows what he's doing."

Sam glared. "Did that sound as good out loud as it did in your head?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, not really, but Dean's good. He'll be fine."

"Bobby," Sam struggled to sit up against Bobby's hand, "he has at least four cracked ribs and there's so much swelling George couldn't tell if he had any torn muscles or ligaments."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "You remember all that?"

"Of course I do," he snapped. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, uh," Bobby released his shoulder to motion to Batman, "what's with that?"

Sam stared at Batman a moment before answering, "I'm really not sure." He looked back up at Bobby. "But we can't let Dean do this alone, Bobby. He isn't up to it and he'll never admit it. We have to help."

Bobby sighed. "You're not up to it, either, Sam. Tell you what. You promise me to stay right here, and I'll go after Dean. Deal?"

Sam chewed his lower lip, considering the offer. His mind made up, he nodded. Bobby was barely out of sight when Sam swung his legs out of bed. If Bobby honestly believed he was going to sit here while his brother faced down two nasties, that man did not know the Winchesters as well as he thought.