So this is it, folks! I've finally finished it. For those of you who stuck with it, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. For those of you just finding this, I hope you've enjoyed it.

Again, thanks!

Chapter 13

It was almost a week before Dean was released from the hospital. Despite his promise to Sam, his grumbling about being confined had risen to new heights. He had complained about the food, the medication, and the fact that he couldn't leave his bed. Sponge baths had been an agony for everyone involved. At least that had been true until Sam had finally persuaded Dr. Carr to find a pretty nurse to do it. Dean had settled somewhat after that. That was the only thing Sam had been able to fix. Dean's complaining about everything else seemed to increase with each passing hour. It all came to a head one morning when Sam, in the hopes of cheering Dean up, had gone out to pick up some hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls. He hadn't much left Dean's side—trips to the hospital cafeteria and showering in Dean's bathroom not withstanding—and this was the longest he'd been away.

When he had entered Dean's room and taken in the scene before him, it had taken all of his willpower not to throw the hot chocolate across the room. After a long and calming breath, he had managed to set the bag of rolls and the cardboard tray of drinks on the table next to Dean's bed. Sam had muttered a few things as he bent down and pulled his brother up from the floor. He couldn't remember the words now. All he could remember was Dean's pale and sweaty face, and he had been panting like he'd been walking across a desert for days.

Even now it had Sam grinding his jaw. Sometimes, it was like Dean didn't know what was good for him. He seemed to think that he should ignore pain and forge ahead.

Sam looked over at the bed farthest from the motel room door. Dean was lying on it, trying not to appear as if any movement would send agony ripping through him. Right, Sam thought. Guess I'll have to be the irresistible force to his immovable object. He shook his head at the paradox. Something would have to give, it always did. But in this case, it wasn't going to be Sam.

Low murmurs came from the TV, but Dean wasn't watching it. Instead, Dean was staring at his sock- covered feet. Every few minutes, Sam saw him poke his tongue into his cheek or heard him whistling through his teeth. He was bored and Sam knew Dean would end up doing something to piss him off.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean asked, looking at him.

Here it comes. Sam thought, closing the laptop and standing.

"You hungry?"

Sam's eyebrow climbed. His brother hadn't had much of an appetite. He never did when he was hurt. "A little," he replied, guardedly.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Dean asked, slowly sitting up. His uninjured leg started to inch across the mattress.

In two strides, Sam was leaning over Dean, stopping the leg with a hand to his brother's knee. Gently, he eased Dean back against the pillow. Dean's lips were clamped together tight and Sam wasn't sure if it was pain or anger that caused him to do that. The moisture in Dean's eyes had Sam believing it was pain. "Get off me, Sam!"

Okay, Sam thought. It's a little of both."Damn it, Dean," he growled, not letting go of his brother. "You aren't supposed to fucking move!"

Dean shot him an incredulous look. "You're fucking kidding me, right? I gotta move sometime, Sam."

Sam dipped his head in concession. "But not right now."

"Sam." Dean stared at him.

"Dean." Sam stared back.

The standoff could have lasted indefinitely, neither brother was good at backing down from a confrontation, but there was a knock at the door, hard and sharp. A few seconds ticked by before there was another knock.

It was Dean who finally spoke. "Bitch."

Sam felt himself relax. His brother would stay put. At least for the time being. "Jerk."

"Gonna answer the door?" Dean asked, his tone mild.

Sam took his hands away from Dean and walked toward the door. He reached for the knob, turning to look at Dean.

"Not moving, Sammy," Dean murmured.

Sam was grateful. He could hear the pain in Dean's voice, see it in his eyes. Sam reached into his pocket and fingered the medicine bottle. He was in charge of dispensing Dean's painkillers, no matter what his brother wanted. A glance at the clock radio on the nightstand between their beds told him it was too early for any pills. Sam sighed. He'd have to wait another half hour.

Dean gave him a knowing look. "Don't need 'em, little brother," he murmured.

Another knock, a little louder this time, sounded at the door.

Sam scowled at him before turning toward the door. "I'll be the judge of that," he muttered to himself. He checked the peephole and acknowledged the weight of the gun at his back before opening the door. Normally when they were in the motel room, it was okay to just have a weapon within easy reach. But with his brother wounded and the reason behind the injury, Sam had stepped up his game. He had holy water close at hand as well. "Alan, good to see you. Come on in." Keeping a careful eye on the lawyer, he relaxed minutely when Alan crossed over the salt line.

"Hey, Alan," Dean called from his bed. He still hadn't moved. In fact, he was way too still.

Yeah, thought Sam. You're taking the damn pills even if I have to shove 'em down your throat.

"Hi, boys," the lawyer greeted. "Thought I'd stop by to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Dean said.

"He's in pain, feels like shit, and won't eat," Sam contradicted, his voice tight.

"That's not true, Sam," Dean retorted. "I asked for ice cream, but you won't go get any."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I never said I wouldn't get you any ice cream. Just not right now. I'm not leaving," he paused. "We have a guest." Translation: I'm not leaving you alone.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Alan's not a guest. He's a friend."

Alan looked at Sam, then at Dean. He was a lawyer, used to keeping a poker face, but Sam sensed his confusion.

"He's right," Sam said. "You are a friend. I can't thank you enough for helping us out, Alan."

"All part of my job," Alan returned. "I was happy to be of service. To be honest, I've been waiting a long time to start paying off a debt I will forever owe."

Sam knew that Dean had to be just as curious as he was.

Sure enough it was Dean who asked, "What is the debt exactly? How did our father help you?"

Alan sighed. "It's a long story."

"We're not going anywhere," Sam said, shooting Dean a look. His brother raised a hand in surrender and Sam noted the pain lines creasing his forehead. Another twenty minutes and he was taking out the pills. "Why don't you have a seat, Alan? You want anything to drink?" he asked as the lawyer took a seat on Sam's bed. "We've got soda, couple of bottles of beer. I can even fix you a protein drink." He ignored Dean's glare. If his older brother wasn't going to eat then Sam was going to have to provide nutrients in another fashion. So far there had only been one argument about it, but then Dean had only been released from the hospital late the day before.

"You have anything a bit harder?" Alan asked.

"Grab the flask from my duffle, Sam," Dean said. "It's probably not the fancy stuff you're used to, Alan, but it'll do in a pinch."

Alan chuckled. "Whatever works."

Sam quickly retrieved the flask and handed it to Alan. He took a sip and sighed deeply. "Not bad at all."

"So, Alan, what exactly happened to you?" Dean asked, letting out a breath as he tried to settle deeper into his pillow.

Sam frowned at him, but didn't say anything. It was enough to know that Dean was trying to take it easy. That was okay. Sam could work with that.

Alan stared at the flask in his hands as he rolled it between his palms. "I'm not sure where to start," he said with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

"What you have to say probably won't surprise us," Dean said.

"Nothing much does anymore," Sam added, sitting down at one of the chairs at the table. From his vantage point, he could make eye contact with Alan and still watch over Dean. There was also the added benefit of being able to see the clock.

"Sorry," Alan said. "I had not realized this would be quite so hard. I've never really discussed it with anyone but your father. I still have night terrors about that night. Denny knows about those. Just not the reason for them."

Sam leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. If he wanted the lawyer to talk, he would have to guide him like he would any other witness who had encountered the supernatural. "How long ago was it?" he prodded.

"It was 1987. I was in my early twenties and in my final semester of law school. I had a job lined up with an up and coming law firm and I was studying for the bar." He smiled briefly. "I was on top of the world. Everything was going so well. It had all been so easy." His smile fell away and he sighed. "I should have known better."

The bitterness in Alan's tone didn't surprise Sam at all. Those who encountered the supernatural no longer had the luxury of ignorance. It tended to make you cynical.

"I was staying with some friends, Paul and Anna. They had a five year-old son named Chris." A faraway look appeared in Alan's eyes. "They were happy. Like I said, life was good."

"What was it, Alan?" Dean asked. His tone wasn't as gentle as Sam's had been, but it held understanding. Another life fucked up by the supernatural. Same show, different episode.

Alan stood up abruptly, dropping the flask on the bed. He clasped his hands behind his back and slowly paced back and forth as if trying to distance himself from the memory.

"Everyone has fears," he began. It sounded like a summation to Sam. "It's healthy. We need fear to survive. Otherwise, we'd do stupid things like touch hot stoves." If that had been meant to be a joke, it fell flat. Alan stopped and looked each brother in the eye. "I'm afraid of clowns," he announced.

"You aren't the only one, Alan. Sam--" Dean began to say. His brow wrinkled. "Wait. Are you saying you saw--"

"A Rakshasa." Sam interrupted.

Alan nodded. "That's what your father called it. He said it disguises itself as a clown." He began pacing again. "One weekend we decided to take Chris to the carnival. We spent the whole day mainly sticking to little kids' rides and gorging ourselves on cotton candy and turkey legs. We had such a good time. Then, then," Alan couldn't seem to finish.

"It came in the middle of the night," Dean said.

"Yes. I had fallen asleep on the living room couch. Next thing I know, Chris is standing next to me, holding hands with a clown. Your father told me later that I must have surprised it because it was there to kill Paul and Anna."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "The Rakshasa makes friends with a child so that it can get into the house to kill and then eat the parents. That didn't happen, though, did it?"

"No. Thanks to your father, we all survived that night," he paused. "I still can't believe it." He leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest as if holding himself together. "It was bending over me, staring at me. Its eyes…." e took two sharp breaths. "The malevolence was so strong in them." He swallowed. He again tried for a breath that seemed to catch in his throat. "Its mouth just seemed to open wider and wider. Razor sharp teeth were coming closer…" he choked. "Oh, god."

Sam sprang up from his seat. Sometimes the terrors didn't just come to you in the night. "Hey, take it easy, Alan. Come on." He grasped Alan's arms and steered him to the bed, guiding him down to sit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean slowly sit up. "Dean," he growled, chancing a quick look at his brother. "Stay right where you are. I can't look after you both right now."

"I can look after myself," Dean muttered back in a sulky tone.

"Dean, please," Sam entreated, using what Dean called his puppy dog eyes.

"Fine. Whatever." Dean glared at him, but stopped trying to get up.

Satisfied, Sam turned back to Alan. He grabbed the flask, unscrewed the cap and held it up to him. "Here, have some of this. It will help." Alan grabbed the flask like a lifeline and started to drink from it, taking huge swallows. "Easy, man, easy. It happened a long time ago. The Rakshasa isn't here. It can't hurt you." Sam continued to murmur as Alan visibly pulled himself together.

Alan nodded. His voice was still shaky when he said, "Y—yes. It's dead. I—I know it's dead. Still." He took another shuddering breath and continued with his story. "There was this crash and the front bay window exploded. Someone—your dad—came in through the window and threw a knife at it."

"Brass dagger," Sam murmured.

"I'm not really sure. I didn't ask. All I know was that it…disappeared." Alan took a few measured breaths and tried to smile. "It was the first time I knew I was going to make a great lawyer. Your father may have been dressed as a police officer at the time, but Paul and Anna didn't really believe he was one. They'd wanted your father arrested for breaking and entering. I managed to convince them that your father had actually saved our lives that night. "

"He was good at that," Dean said quietly. There was a look of pride in his eyes.

Sam silently agreed with his brother. His father wasn't a perfect man and god knows how often they butted heads. But John Winchester saved people. There was no arguing that.

"Yes, he was. His methods were unorthodox, but the villains weren't exactly your usual suspects. He had to use unconventional means. I knew that others might not understand and that he could possibly get in trouble with the law. I vowed to him that night if that ever were to happen, he had a lawyer." Alan shifted on the bed. "Every time I switched law firms, I had to track him down. He was never in one place for very long so it was hard. Then he would just show up. I could never understand how he did that. I guess it doesn't really matter."

There was a long silence.

Dean gave a slight cough and cleared his throat. A shaky breath followed.

Sam glanced at the clock and reached into his pocket for the bottle of pain pills. "Time for your meds, Dean."

Dean held up a hand. "I know I've said it before, but thanks, Alan. Thanks for helping my brother."

Sam smiled. "That goes for me, too."

"Thanks aren't necessary. If it weren't for your father, I might not be here today."

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes.

Sam stared at him for a moment. "I'm getting you a glass of water and then you're taking these pills."

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean murmured.

"Yeah, you look it."

Dean opened his eyes. They were dull with pain. "Gee, little brother, you really shouldn't be lookin'. But I guess it's just like admiring a work of art. You just can't help it."

"I don't know about a work of art," Sam muttered as he turned toward the kitchen. "Piece of work, would be more like it."

"Funny." Dean groaned. "Fuck."

The last was uttered almost too low to hear, but Sam had been listening for it. He hurried his steps and reached the mini-fridge. "Hang on," he called over his shoulder as he grabbed a bottle of water. He turned back toward Dean.

There was a knock on the door. Sam looked from it to his brother.

"Answer it," Dean rasped.

"You need your pills," Sam protested. They had already had this conversation once today. He wasn't looking for a repeat performance.

"It's probably Denny," Alan said, standing. "He's my ride to the airport. I'll get it."

"Sam, get the damn door!"

Sam muttered an oath and slammed the bottle of water on the table.

"I can—" Alan started to say.

"I got it," Sam said through clenched teeth. He checked the peephole before yanking the door open. "Come on in, Denny."

"Good to see you, my boy," Denny greeted and entered the room. "Hello, Alan. Dean, how are you feeling?"

Wasn't it obvious? His brother was hurting. "He needs painkillers."

"Sam, give it a rest." Dean growled at him. "I'm okay, Denny. My brother is just a little too into the whole Florence Nightingale routine. Don't mind him."

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam grabbed the water bottle. "Someone needs to take care of you because you do such a lousy job of it." He sucked in a breath, already wishing he could call the words back.

"Fuck you, Sam." Dean's tone had gone cold. "I've been taking care of myself since I was four. Fuck! I was taking care of you and dad since I was four. So don't give me that bullshit."

There was no arguing with that. It was true. But Sam hadn't said anything about Dean's ability to look after his family. He was a master at that. What Dean had trouble with was looking after himself. He just didn't put as much stock into his wellbeing as Sam did.

Still, he regretted his words. And he had said them in front of others. That was just wrong. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Four, Dean?" Denny interrupted. He came closer to Dean's bed. "Is that when the big bad demon killed your mommy?"

"What?" Dean used his good arm to push himself into a sitting position.

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. "How did you—"

"Poor, poor little Dean," Denny continued, his voice deepening. "Having to go through life knowing your mommy was pulled up to the ceiling, her belly slit open, and her body consumed by fire."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean's eyes narrowed. He swung his legs over the bed and stood.

"Dean," Sam said. There was a stirring of fear licking up through his belly.

"Denny?" Alan asked. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"

"It's not, Denny," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Sam shot a quick look toward the door and saw that the salt line had been scuffed. "Fuck," he whispered. Alan must have broken it during his panic attack. He looked back at his brother, saw him trembling and knew that Dean was barely staying on his feet.

Sam grabbed the holy water from the table. He'd been so stupid. How hadn't he noticed the broken line of salt? He was supposed to be taking care of his brother. Everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

"What do you mean it's not Denny?" Alan asked, taking a step toward his friend.

"Stay back!"Dean yelled, but it was too late.

Denny shoved Alan who landed on the bed. He bounced once, rolled, and fell down on the floor with a thud.

"You should know that you will never be safe, Dean." Denny grabbed him by the t-shirt, lifting him so that his toes barely brushed the floor. "He's going to come after little Sammy and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Watch me!" The uttered words were full of hate.

"That's kind of the point, Dean." The demon shook him. "It's so much fun to watch your pathetic attempts to look out for your brother. It's even better," Denny's voice dropped to a low hiss, "when I get to watch you bleed." He shook Dean in his grasp.

Dean moaned as one of his hands reached up to grab at Denny's wrist. "That yellow-eyed son of a bitch will never get his hands on Sam." The vow was unmistakable even if it had been delivered in a pain-roughened tone. "Threaten me all you want. Doesn't change the fact I'm going to kill that fucking demon."

"Get away from my brother!" Sam yelled and flung his arm out, showering Denny with holy water.

The demon shuddered as the water made contact with the bare skin of his neck. With an inhuman screech, he threw Dean back against the bed and turned around.

"Dean!" Sam watched his brother's body smack against the headboard and then fall face forward into the mattress. He lay still. "Dean." Whispering seemed the only way to contain his panic. Any louder and he was sure he would sound fractured, crazed.

"Your brother is pathetic and weak." The demon, in the guise of Denny Crane, advanced on Sam, menace in every step. "You don't need him, Sam. You never did."

"That's not true." Sam lifted his chin. "Dean's my big brother and he can kick demon ass." It was such a little brother thing to say, but it felt right. "I think you're afraid of him." This felt right, too. Demons were hell bent—pun intended—on tearing Dean down, both physically and mentally, often hitting Dean where it hurt the most. But no matter how many doubts Dean had, he was still Sam's shield, his protector despite the torment.

The demon snorted as he glanced at the huddled form on the bed. "Me? Afraid of that? You have quite the sense of humor, Sam. Dean's no threat." He waved a hand, dismissively, focusing his coal-black eyes on Sam.

"Regna Terrae, cantata deo, psallite domino, qui vehitur per calus…." The words were strong and clear, and they sounded free of pain. Dean had eased himself up on an elbow and now had his gaze trained on Denny. "caelos antiquos!"

The smile on the demon's face faltered. "Dean Winchester, good for nothing. Useless. How your father put up with your wretched, needy self continues to be a mystery." Denny's features twisted.

"Shut up, you lying bastard!" Sam said in fury.

Dean's expression turned stony, but he didn't waver. If anything, his tone grew stronger until the words flew like bullets.

The demon began to shake as they struck true.

"Not a threat, huh?" Sam's eyes danced with triumphant pride. "Sure looks like he's kicking your ass."

"No!" The demon yelled as he tried hard to hold onto Denny's form. In a burst of rage, his hand shot out and curled around Dean's throat.

Sam's vision tunneled. All he could see were those fingers clamped tight around his brother's neck, trying to strangle the words out of Dean's mouth.

Sam didn't give the demon a chance to succeed. He leapt at Denny, knocking his hand away and tackling the now struggling man onto the other bed. "Stay the fuck away from him." Then he shut up as Denny threw his head back and screamed, black clouds funneling out of his mouth.

"…benedictus dues. Gloria Patri."* Dean finished the last of the exorcism.

Sam glanced back at him and noticed a fine sheen of sweat coating Dean's face. If their exchange of smiles were subdued and slightly battered, neither said anything.

"Denny?" Dean rasped. "He okay?"

Are you? Sam wanted to ask, but knew there was no point. He could see the answer for himself anyway. "Denny?" He glanced down at the man below him.

Denny seemed to be struggling for breath, chest heaving, fingers twitching spasmodically.

"Denny?"

Sam looked up.

Alan walked around the bed, grasping at the bedcovers as if he needed them to keep his balance. When he finally looked at Sam, he noticed the frown on Sam's face. "I'm fine," Alan managed. "It's just that…whatever that…I've never…." His voice trailed away.

Shell-shocked. Sam had seen this reaction too many times to count. With an inward sigh, Sam went into what his brother called 'soothing the victim' mode. "It's all right, Alan. The trouble is gone."

"For now," the lawyer muttered and Sam remembered that while this was his first brush with a demon it wasn't his first supernatural encounter.

"For now," Sam agreed. "Before you leave, I'll give you a few tips on how to protect yourself against this type of thing. And you can always call us if you need help with…anything."

Alan nodded. "Denny? You with us?"

"Wh—what happened?" Denny asked. He blinked as if the light was hurting his eyes. Normal, Sam noted.

Denny struggled to sit up and Sam realized that he still had Denny pinned to the mattress. Quickly, he rose to his feet as Alan moved in to help Denny into a sitting position.

There was a grunt from behind him.

Sam turned to see that Dean had managed to sit up a few more inches and was now balancing his weight on the palm of his hand instead of his elbow. Unfortunately, he could also see the small tremors in his brother's arm, his whole body. "Whoa, not a good idea." Sam grasped Dean's shoulders, intent on helping him recline against the pillows.

Dean shoved him away. He wasn't able to hide the flare of pain at the gesture nor the small cry that accompanied it, having used the injured arm to do it.

"What the fuck, Dean!" Sam growled at him. He didn't even want to contemplate any new damage that might have been inflicted on his brother's body and Dean seemed determined to make it worse. He moved in again.

"Not now, Sam," Dean said through gritted teeth.

Sam's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "What? Exactly when would be the time, Dean? You think I should wait until you've pushed yourself passed the limit and I have to carry you back to the hospital?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cut the drama, Sam, and salt the damn door!"

He should have known his brother would have figured out what had happened. "Fine," Sam said, acquiescing. Arguing would just delay the first aid treatment he was sure Dean needed. "Try to relax. I'll be right back."

Whatever rejoinder Dean made, Sam ignored. It probably called into question his gender anyway. He was pretty familiar with that type of response and would probably hear it more than once over the next couple of weeks.

Sam grabbed a can of salt from one of the duffle bags and applied a thick line of it across the threshold, sealing the gap that had been there. Mind the Gap, he thought humorously if not a bit hysterically. Sleep, I need sleep.

Rubbing at his eyes, ignoring how they watered, he rose to his feet and dumped the empty salt container in the trash. Behind him, he could hear Alan and Denny murmuring between them. He cocked his head when he heard "mad cow disease", but said nothing. It was none of his business and frankly, there was too much on his plate for him to worry about as it was.

Sam grabbed the bottle of water he'd abandoned when he'd so foolishly answered the door. He took two steps toward Dean when a thought occurred to him and he took another bottle from the mini-fridge. "Here," he said, handing it to Denny. "You could probably use this."

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger," muttered Denny.

"I'm afraid I drank what they had," Alan said. "Unless you have another flask?"

Sam shook his head. At the rate things were going, it might be a safe bet to carry a bottle of Jack in their med-kit from now on.

"Drink the water, Denny," Alan urged, tapping the bottom of the bottle Denny held. "It'll tide you over until we get to the limo."

"Right, the limo," Denny agreed. "It's parked out front."

Sam stared at them. He had to give Dean his pills and check his injuries, but Sam couldn't move. Dean was behind him and any possible threat would have to go through Sam first. It might be an irrational fear, but he just didn't feel comfortable turning his back. He might consider these two men friends, but as long as Dean was vulnerable—and to be honest, he was too—Sam had to stand firm against any potential danger. He'd already messed up once tonight. He couldn't afford to do so again.

"Sam, you all right?" The query came from Dean.

It was then that Sam noticed the silence. More of a deafening quiet. Alan and Denny were still sitting on the bed. Both looked uncomfortable and quite a bit tired. Sam wondered how long he'd been staring at them.

"Sam?" The concern in Dean's tone had racked up a notch.

"I'm okay," Sam managed. "It's just been a long week." He tried to muster up a smile, but it slid right off his face. "Sorry."

"We understand," Alan returned, softly. There was a weariness set in his shoulders that Sam was sad to see. "I think we should be going."

Sam barely managed to suppress his sigh of relief. "That's probably a good idea. The sooner you get back to Boston, the quicker you can put all of this behind you."

Alan stood, pulling Denny up with him. "I think that might take a while."

Sam nodded. "Thanks again for all of your help."

"You're welcome." They shook hands. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

Sam blinked. Despite all that he'd seen, Alan was still willing to help them. Having an ally such as Alan could take some getting used to.

"Take care of yourself, Dean," Alan said, but made no move to shake his hand. It was as if he instinctively knew that he wouldn't be able to get any closer to him. "Guess I don't have to tell you to take care of your brother."

"That's my job," Dean said.

"And he's damn good at it," Sam added.

"Yeah, well…"

Concluding that Dean had suffered enough embarrassment, Sam changed direction. He patted Denny on the shoulder. "You going to be okay?"

"I think I'll need a couple of drinks before I can answer that."

"Know how you feel," Dean said. "I could use a drink myself. I know, Sam. I can't right now. Doesn't mean I can't wish for one."

Sam shook hands with Denny and shifted on his feet when the other man made to shake Dean's hand. Apparently, he hadn't realized there was a barrier he wasn't allowed to cross.

Alan shared a glance with Sam before placing a hand to Denny's shoulder and steering him toward the door.

Sam watched them carefully as they opened the door and crossed over the line of salt, making sure that it remained intact.

Alan gently pushed Denny toward the limo. He gazed at the two brothers from the doorway. "I was lucky enough to have a few drinks with your father from time to time. He always seemed battle-weary. I thought I understood why." He shook his head. "What I didn't realize was that it wasn't really a battle, but a war." He paused. "He was a good man and he has two good sons." He looked as if he were going to say more, but only shook his head again. He walked away.

Sam wasted no time in closing and locking the door. Now that they were alone, he could tend to his brother.

Dean was now slumped on the bed, eyes closed, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Come on." Sam put one knee on the bed as he put two pills into Dean's palm and curled his fingers around them. "Take these."

"Gimme a minute," Dean said through clenched teeth. He pounded his fisted hand into the mattress and let out a noisy breath.

Sam didn't ask permission. He guided Dean upright and slipped in behind him, offering his chest for support as Dean, hand shaking, took the pills. Sam held the water bottle to his lips and Dean drank.

Dean leaned against Sam, head tipped back against his shoulder. He was holding his breath and letting it out slowly. His way, Sam knew, of trying to control the pain.

No arguments. No protests. Dean had finally reached his limit, pain and exhaustion pushing him past any strength he had left.

Sam was about to make things worse. "Dean, I'm going to give you a few minutes, but then I really need to check your bandages."

Dean's eyes remained closed, but he answered. "I'm not bleeding if that's what you're thinking. Just a little sore."

"I'm going to check anyway." On this, Sam would not be swayed. He could actually see the bandage poking out from under the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. No blood. However, it was the thigh wound Sam was most worried about. His altercation with the demon hadn't done Dean any favors.

"Fine. Whatever," Dean slurred. The pills were doing their job and Dean was drifting. When he was fully asleep, Sam would take a look at his leg. Sam figured it would be easier on both of them if he did it that way.

Tomorrow they would leave. Dean wasn't really in any shape to travel, but Sam had to get away from this city. He would put a couple of towns in the rearview mirror and then find a motel, a good one where they could hole up for a week maybe two. Sam would make sure that Dean got the time he required to recover, the rest he needed.

Tonight Sam would watch over his brother and try to get a little sleep himself with a gun and a bottle of holy water nearby, salt on the dresser in easy reach, and a knife under the pillow.

Sam glanced down at Dean, noting the deep and even breaths, signaling sleep. Under Sam's palm, Dean's heart thumped rhythmically, reassuringly.

Sam looped his other arm around Dean's torso, holding his brother in a loose embrace.

It was Sam's turn to be the protector and damn anyone or anything that came after his charge.

The End

*Words from John Winchester's Journal by Alex Irvine