My apologies for the delay on this chapter. My thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, or commented on this story, and I appreciate the help of Fanpire101 on previous chapters. I expect I'll need one or two more chapters to wrap everything up.

Not mine, don't own. Any errors are mine. If you might want to beta my future Supernatural fic, let me know. Thanks!


The Winchester brothers ambled down the rough hewn wooden planks that lined the main street of Jess' hometown. The tiny logging community appeared to be deserted on this cool summer morning. Sam and Dean had ample time to peer into the storefronts and enjoy each other's company on their walk back from the optical shop.

Sam studied their reflections in the windows as they passed by. It was weird to see his brother in glasses. Sam wondered if Dean felt the same way about him, but he suspected not. Dean had always viewed him as the geeky kid brother; glasses just completed the look.

Dean, on the other hand, usually exemplified Sam's definition of a cool, invincible badass. Studying his older brother now, Sam thought that Dean might need a couple of tattoos and a few piercings to offset the black hipster frames. But he didn't dare comment, for fear that Dean would stop wearing his new glasses altogether. His brother's recent injuries attested to the fact that Dean could no longer hunt without some form of visual aid.

This realization made Sam feel protective of Dean - similar to how he had felt in the hospital when Dad had been ready to sign his brother out against medical advice. Eying the heavy bandages holding his brother's wrist bones in place, Sam winced. Realizing that Dean was fallible - that he might actually be the one needing protection - tightened muscles in the back of Sam's neck. A shiver sizzled down his spine, radiating slight tremors throughout his body. Sam could feel the beginnings of a headache settling in.

He rubbed his sore right hand with his left, musing that perhaps punching a vending machine hadn't been one of his brightest moves. Sam massaged the still tender joints of his knuckles as he thought about his family.

It wasn't like Sam didn't know that the Winchester family business was dangerous. That was one of the main reasons he wanted out.

But if I'd been around, Sam thought, I would have noticed that Dean had a problem with his eyes. It wouldn't have taken him getting mauled by a Wendigo for me to realize that he needed glasses. How the hell could Dad not have noticed? Sam ground his teeth. This is exactly why I left. Selfish bastard.

Dean chose that moment to study Sam. "You all right?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Yeah." When that didn't appease his big brother, he added, "Sorry, just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

Sam paused and considered lying. He didn't want to open up this can of worms. But who else can I talk to about the hunting life? It's not like Jess is going to understand.

"Dad," Sam finally ground out.

Dean turned away and resumed walking. Sam rolled his eyes and followed. Typical Dean. He refuses to even consider that the man might have faults.

"He should have been there, backing you up on that hunt!" Sam gestured at Dean's sling.

Dean didn't meet his gaze. "He was there, Sammy." His brother sighed. "Trusted me to hold my own and I screwed up."

"No, you didn't, Dean! Dad's supposed to be your hunting partner. He should have noticed that you can't see past the tip of your nose!"

His brother replied with a low growl, carefully enunciating each word. "It — wasn't — his — fault."

Sam threw his hands up. "How can you defend that man! He tried to sign you out of the hospital without surgery—"

"I woulda been fi—"

"Don't you dare say fine, Dean! You were not fine!" Sam thrust his arms wide and planted his feet, glaring at his brother. "You need someone to back you up who gives a shit!"

Dean balled his good fist. Sam could hear his brother's breath quicken. "Don't go there, Sam. Don't you even go there." His brother faced him, blazing green eyes meeting troubled hazel. "You." Dean poked a hard finger to Sam's chest. "Left."

"I -" Sam stopped, the words had to dying on his tongue at the hurt expression on his older brother's face.

Sam blinked and took a hitched breath. He wrapped his arms around his waist and nodded, not sure what might come out if he spoke just then. Guilt flooded every pore of his being as he studied a lone dandelion growing through the boardwalk.

Yes, Dean, I left. I had to get the hell away from Dad. But I never intended for you to become collateral damage.

Dean must have sensed some of what Sam couldn't say out loud because when he spoke next, his voice held a measure of warmth.

"Hey." He reached out with his good arm and shook Sam gently. "I'm okay." Dean lifted his sling. "You did good."

Sam swallowed and looked into his brother's eyes. It was so disconcerting to look have to down to see Dean, and it only served as another reminder that things between them had changed - were continuing to change. Sam nodded again, still not trusting his voice.

Dean patted him on the back and sighed. "Always the girl, Samantha," he muttered softly.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled.

"Bitch," Dean replied, with fondness. He cleared his throat. "Whaddya do for fun around here, Sammy? There's nothin' but trees for miles."

Sam gave a lukewarm smile as his heart rate slowed. With Dean's encouragement and occasional crass remarks, he began to extol the virtues of the town.


The brothers walked several more blocks, careful to keep their conversation light, before reaching the barbershop with its antiquated spinning white and red pole. Sam idly wondered if it was the only establishment in town open on Sunday.

"Time for a trim, Sammy," Dean teased, nudging his brother with his good shoulder as they passed by.

The younger Winchester gave his brother a light shove back. "It's Sam."

A horn sounded from a side street, and both brothers' heads swiveled in unison. A blue-haired woman waved at them as she opened the driver's side door of a hot pink VW bug speckled with white flowers. Sam grinned and returned the wave.

The woman started the engine, took a right turn too fast, and pulled up close to the boys with a screech of tires and a plume of dust. She rolled her window down. "Shep says to come by Tuesday at noon."

Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam and grimaced.

Sam put a restraining hand on his brother's arm. "Quit pulling your stitches," he hissed. Then, to the woman, he replied, "That's great, Mrs. Harris. Tell him thanks. We'll be there." He felt Dean stiffen slightly as she drove away, and Sam realized, with a jolt, that he probably should have introduced them.

"Another friend of yours?" Dean's voice, while not angry, held none of the light banter from moments before. Sam felt his brother slip from his grip and he let Dean pull away.

"My first customer at the optical shop," Sam explained as they began walking again. He touched the right stem of his glasses as he remembered. "She needed her reading glasses repaired. Said the dog ate them."

Dean didn't reply. He appeared to be studying the scuffed toes of his boots.

Sam sighed. Here was another conversation that needed to happen, one that had better occur before Tuesday at noon. Once the Impala's repairs were complete, Dean could drive right back out of his life.

"Her son Shep owns the garage," Sam added. What he meant to say was: Don't leave yet. I've really missed you. But he couldn't find the words.

"He's got my baby?"

Sam pushed away the childish thought that he was Dean's baby. He turned aside before Dean could catch the scowl on his face. Sam kicked a rock as they stepped off the boardwalk and into the gravel road, satisfied when it thwaped against a trash can with a resounding thunk. So stupid to be jealous of a car, he knew, but still. It was bad enough that Dad gave Dean the Impala for his sixteenth birthday. For his own sixteenth, Sam got a black eye from a training "accident" and a lecture about being grateful.

"Yep," Sam said on a sigh. "Best garage in town."

Dean snorted. "Prob'ly the only garage in town."

"That too." Sam met Dean's eyes then, and something warm passed between the brothers.

I've missed you, Sam tried to say. Please stay. What came out instead was, "You could head out then if you wanted, but that would be stupid, with your arm and all. Got all the info we need for you to start PT right here. You might as well hang around for awhile, get your strength back." Sam knew it would take at least six weeks for Dean's broken wrist to heal properly, but he'd never get his brother to agree to stay that long. He'd be lucky to get any time past the two days until Baby was road-worthy again.

As expected, Dean's eyes narrowed. "Can't stay here," he grunted, and waved his good arm to encompass the town. "No bar, no pool hall."

"You can't shoot pool right now anyway." But he knew what Dean meant. His brother had no income, no means to support himself. And Sam knew that Dean didn't like being dependent upon anyone, especially his little brother. He wondered if Dean could hear all of the things that he couldn't say out loud, too, and decided that it wasn't fair to expect his big brother to be a mind reader.

Sam cleared his throat. "Look, Dean, I don't mind you staying with me," he said. "I'm gonna be at work most of the time, anyway—" Sam's voice trailed off when he realized that Dean wasn't listening.

His brother tipped his head. "We've got company."

Sam narrowed his eyes in the direction that his brother had indicated, realizing abruptly that he didn't need to squint while wearing his glasses. Jessica was waiting for him, sitting on the crumbling steps to their dingy basement apartment. At a distance, her sprawled limbs might have indicated that she was relaxed. But Sam could clearly see her furrowed brows and the way she was chewing her bottom lip. His girl was anything but calm. It would take careful navigation to avoid a confrontation, if not an outright fight.

Sam sighed. It seemed that difficult talks were the theme of the day. He rolled his shoulders and tried to release some of the tension that he felt there. No sense in working himself into another migraine.

Dean stopped and clasped Sam on one flannel covered elbow. "I'm gonna head back to the barbershop." He ran his free hand over his spiky hair. "Need to cut this mess anyhow."

Sam snorted. "You cut your hair any shorter, you'll be bald." Then he added, in a softer tone, "Thanks, Dean."

"Anytime, little bro." Dean tipped his head in Jess' direction. "Good luck with that." He clapped Sam on the shoulder twice before turning to walk back up the street. Sam took a deep breath and headed toward his fiancée.