Hi! So I knew July was going to be an INSANE month. And it has been let me tell you. Two weeks ago, I flew out to see my bestie and my second flight was cancelled so she drove 5 hrs overnight to pick me up. We never really recovered from the sleep deprivation but still had a great time. My laptop died in the middle of all of this and I had to buy a new one while I was out there with her. Then it was back to work...and a week of overtime no less...then I drove to Chicago to see my friend who has 4 kids under 5 years and let me tell you, sharing a bed with a wiggly 2 year old is a great way to ensure you don't sleep at all. Two nights of that. Then was supposed to spend this past week resting and relaxing camping with the folks. My car decided to join in the fun of July and give up the ghost. Bought a new car, so not in the plans. My folks SUV had a flat tire the day my dad had a follow up MD appt (oh yeah, he had to have surgery the day i was flying out to see my friend go figure). To top it all off...wound up sick. Came home from camping early and have been laying around feeling like utter crap for the past two days.

I'm never taking a vacation again! Lol! They're bad for your health! (or maybe it was the utter lack of sleep and eating junk food for three weeks that did it...idk) ;)

Needless to say, this poor chapter has had a rough road! It's been composed on a desktop, a laptop, a chromebook, my iPhone, using microsoft word, google docs, google keep, and notepad. I have never stopped working on this through everything, but it just has been a battle to give it the attention it needed. I can't post if I don't feel like it's worth reading and it's taken this long to get polished up and ready to share. Sorry for the extreme delay...i have HATED myself every single day for not posting. Thank you for your patience!

PS...the other story i'm posting...it is complete. Just to reassure you guys that I am NOT sacrificing time from this story to work on that one! I know at least one guest was concerned about that. :) If I post to that one it's me simply throwing the doc onto the website and hitting post lol. And I haven't even hardly had time to do that lately haha!

Chapter 14: There's a cage locked around my heart

"We're out of snacks."

Arla rubbed her eyes and glanced at Tommy. He held up the empty box of donuts and presented her with his most pathetic expression. Despite the early hour, and lack of donuts, he looked a lot fresher and more awake then she felt. Feeling a pang of jealousy at his continued ability to weather all nighters, Arla waved a finger and whispered, "Hush. Don't you dare wake them up."

Tommy grinned but kept his voice low, "I'll go get more coffee. Yes?"

"Yes please."

It had been a long night and she didn't anticipate that the day ahead would be any different, so another cup of coffee was a necessity. She took a quick peek at both of the boys, satisfied herself that they were both still asleep, then watched Tommy quietly gather the remnants of their late night snacks.

He blew her a kiss as he exited the room with the trash. Standing up to stretch, Arla checked her watch. Just after four. Yawning, she rubbed her neck and took another glance at the boys.

Sam was sound asleep on the couch. As far as she could tell, he hadn't moved an inch since he'd first laid down. He still looked distressed, even in sleep, but she wasn't going to interrupt whatever rest he was able to get. It surprised her that he had managed to sleep at all; let alone this long. Given the way he'd been acting in the ER earlier, she'd expected the sheer exhaustion to drop him for an hour or two, then for him to spend the rest of the night wide awake and anxious. The relief at seeing him continuing to sleep brought a smile to her face. Part of her wanted to pull the covers up over his shoulders, check for fever, and smooth away the worry lines on his forehead, but she didn't dare.

Looking back at Dean, she saw that, unlike his brother, he was awake. She wondered if their voices had disturbed him or if the meds had worn off. Either way, he was awake now. Even in the room, lit only with dim, tangential lighting, the discomfort was obvious in the way he had a hand pressed to his stomach, while his red-rimmed eyes searched the room. He caught sight of her and Arla hurried over despite the flush of embarrassment, fever?, that swept over his pale face.

Reaching for the basin, Arla got it under his mouth just before his stomach rebelled. One hand on his shoulder to provide support, Arla held the basin for him because he never made an attempt to reach for it. By the time he finished, he'd brought up little more than spit and bile, but the effort left him as exhausted as if he'd run a marathon. Arla almost dropped the basin as he collapsed sideways. Setting the basin aside, she caught his shoulders and eased him back against the pillow; she could feel the fever as she settled him back and he curled into himself.

"Dean?"

"Hm?" He flopped listlessly against the pillow and blinked slowly as he looked up at her.

"I'm going to get the nurse." Arla waited for the inevitable argument but it never came. Dean merely nodded and Arla hit the button on the call light; concern tripling at his response. She asked, "Feeling pretty bad?"

"Yeah." His voice was hoarse and his hand shook as he raised it to rub his eyes. "Where's Sam?"

One track mind. Arla smiled and pointed to the other side of the room. She watched the relief immediately appear in his eyes once he caught sight of his brother.

"He's sleeping?" The hand rubbing at his eyes stopped mid-rub. Dean lowered his hand and stared at his brother like he couldn't quite grasp what he was seeing.

"Yes."

"He ok?" Dean tore his gaze from his brother and pinned her with the question.

Arla knew she had to tread carefully; 'ok' was a very generic term and she didn't know if it would be the one she'd choose to use regarding Sam's condition if she had other options. But Dean needed to know something and she needed to minimize his worry so she said, "He's been comfortable for about four hours now."

Dean nodded again, closing his eyes. I guess that worked, Arla thought to herself, watching him.

A few minutes later and Heidi, the night nurse, walked in, only turning on a small light rather than the overhead light. Arla exchanged a smile with the nurse as she introduced herself to Dean and began her assessment. She said, "I can see you're not feeling very well this morning, Dean. Still feeling sick to your stomach?"

"Bucket of puke not a good enough clue for ya?" Dean remarked, shooting her a glance out of the corner of his eyes before closing them again.

The nurse didn't seem bothered at the irritable tone. "If not for the bucket, the color of your face tells me everything I need to know. Nausea and pain are to be expected, but we can do our best to minimize the discomfort. As soon as I've finished with your vital signs, I'll step out and get something for the nausea. How's that sound?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder.

"How's the pain?"

"Fine," Dean said, swallowing hard and looking paler by the second.

"Mmhmm," Heidi murmured, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. Once the vital signs were completed, the nurse walked over to the computer in the room and recorded the information. She locked the computer and said, "You're running a fever so I'm going to bring you some Tylenol as well."

"Not sure I can handle that right now."

Arla believed him. Saying something so blatantly honest was so unlike him that Arla knew he had to be feeling extremely ill. And then there was the fact that he wasn't flirting with the nurse who really should have had a tank top under her too large scrub top. Every time she leaned forward, the ID badge clipped to her collar dragged the fabric down and Arla was able to see, well, everything. And if Dean was missing everything, then she knew exactly he how bad he felt.

Heidi nodded, reaching up to check the IV bag. "We'll start with an IV medication for the nausea. Then, if you do ok for a bit, we'll have you try some juice and then the Tylenol. You're not going to feel better till we get the fever down."

She slipped quietly out of the room. Arla took up position back in the chair at the side of his bed, noting that Dean's gaze, inevitably, had drifted toward his brother. When his eyes slid closed, Arla remained silent, knowing he wasn't up to chatting. He didn't say anything when the nurse returned to administer the IV medication. In fact, they were completely silent until Heidi returned a second time with a cup of apple juice and the Tylenol. Dean accepted them with a quiet thanks and managed to take the medication without an issue.

Once the nurse left, Dean shifted onto his side. He looked half-asleep as he whispered, "You don't have to..."

"I know that," Arla cut him off, "And you should know by now that I'm not doing this because I have to, Dean."

That earned her a small but genuine smile. By the time Tommy returned a moment later with two cups of steaming coffee, Dean was sound asleep again.

Dean woke up to the smell of artificial air, the sound of people talking in too loud whispers somewhere outside the room and that heavy, sluggish feeling that spoke of either a really good night of drinking or a really bad night of pain killers. Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was an IV pole so he knew it hadn't been a good night of drinking. Running a hand over his face, he squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache was dull; throbbing a rhythmic counterpart to his heartbeat. He felt shaky and sick, throat raw, mouth dry as bone.

After a few moments, he felt adventurous enough to lower his hand and attempt to peel his eyes open for another look around the room. Despite the drug haze he floated in, his mind was clear enough that he didn't have any trouble remembering why he'd wound up in a hospital bed.

Remembering, of course, led instantly to worry. Worry that somewhat abated when he started looking around and caught sight of the main source of his worry soundly sleeping on the couch. Sam looked relaxed and comfortable which was more than Dean had hoped to see. Finding him still asleep did a lot to boost his mood considering he was still in a hospital bed hooked up to an IV of who knew what.

"Good morning."

Dean refocused his attention on the soft voice and saw Arla sitting in an armchair, curled up under a blanket. She had a smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand. He was going to need a cup of coffee of his own before he could manage a smile.

He nodded at Sam and asked, "How long's he been sleeping?"

Arla glanced at her watch and whispered, "About seven hours."

"He's been out that long?" Dean asked doubtfully, trying to narrow down the reasons that Sam might have managed a solid seven hours of sleep. Not that it was necessarily solid. You were drugged to your eyeballs. He could have been screaming all night long and you wouldn't have noticed it, Dean thought, fists tightening and sending bolts of tension back up to his shoulders. "Did they dope him up?"

"No. He didn't want anything even though he probably should have taken something." Arla glanced over her shoulder with a regretful look at Sam. She turned back around and said, "Once we got up here and he checked on you, he crashed."

"They let him go?"

"Yes."

Dean nodded, settling back and allowing his fists to unclench. "Good. I don't think he would have done well with being admitted. Not after the last time."

Arla smiled again. "Oh he made it very clear last night that he wasn't staying."

"And he didn't take anything?"

"No. I kept the scripts from the doctor in case he changes his mind."

"He won't." Dean didn't have a doubt about that.

"Maybe not, but I think I'll still get them filled in case."

"What'd they want him to take?" Dean asked, feeling like he should probably pay attention since he doubted strongly that Sam had paid any attention to anything.

"A pain killer, something for nausea, and a low dose sedative."

"To help the withdrawal?"

"Yes."

"I'll talk to him."

"I think that's a good idea." Arla leaned forward, her voice soft, "He didn't tell me much, but I think he needs to talk about what he went through, Dean."

He didn't roll his eyes mostly because he already felt dizzy. But the thought that Sam was going to be interested in talking about anything he'd gone through was laughable. Before he could comment, Arla asked, "How are you doing?"

"Fine." He waved a dismissive hand. "Time is it anyway?"

"Seven-thirty."

"You here all night?"

"Yes."

"Didn't need to be." He smothered a yawn and tried to be polite as he added, "But...thanks. For everything."

"You're welcome." Her smile faded and she asked, "How 'bout you be honest, Dean? How are you feeling and don't say fine this time."

"I feel like hell. That what you wanted to hear?"

"Not really."

Dean sighed. He saw the weariness on her face and hated himself for snapping at her. Again. Tamping down on the ever present anger that was right under the surface, Dean forced a small smile and asked, "Can I call a do over?"

Arla smiled sweetly and said, "Not necessary, but sure."

Dean smiled a bit wider, a sense of relief settling over him. "It's really great to see you, Arla."

"It's great to see you boys too." And she meant it. There was no doubt in his mind. She asked, "Apart from feeling like hell, how are you?"

"Well, apart from that, I've had about the worst year of my life." Dean rubbed his forehead and said, "It'd be nice to run into you sometime when we're not feeling like hell, though. We're usually pretty healthy."

"I'm not sure I believe you Dean Winchester," Arla laughed softly, "but Tommy and I were thinking the same thing."

"Tommy's around?" Dean felt a stirring of unease despite the fact that he liked the man and remembered his unwavering support from years ago. But times changed and the man was in law enforcement. Who knew what stories he'd heard about them? Who knew if he would still give them the benefit of the doubt?

"He got in late last night," Arla said, interrupting his thoughts. She shook her coffee cup. "He's off grabbing us some more coffee. Poor dear."

"You guys don't have to stick around. We can handle this on our own," Dean said automatically, even though everything that was happening was so far out of his comfort zone that he didn't even have a forwarding address.

"But we're going to," Arla answered. " And I don't want to hear any complaint or concern or...well, basically all I want to hear is yes ma'am. We're gonna give you boys whatever help you need to get you back on your feet doing what you do so we can keep sleeping soundly at night. Got it?"

Everything in him screamed NO but all that came out of his mouth was, "Yes, ma'am."

The relief in Arla's eyes humbled and stunned him as she said, "Good. Because I did an awful lot of baking yesterday and if I don't have a couple extra hungry mouths to feed all of those muffins to, my husband is gonna lose his svelte frame."

Dean laughed. Actually honest to goodness laughed and it was the best he'd felt since this latest nightmare had begun. He took several easier breaths and rested back against the pillow as he took a peek at Sam. The humor faded and he shook his head, he looked back at Arla. "Not sure we're gonna be up to eating much right away."

"That's ok too. I'll just let Tommy eat the first batch, then he can go on a diet while you boys eat the next batch."

"Sounds good," Dean said, tiring already. He'd really done a number on himself this time. Pushing those thoughts aside, his gaze drifted to Sam and worry bubbled up again despite the pressing desire to go to sleep.

Arla caught his gaze and said, "He's going to be ok, Dean."

He stared at Sam and wished he believed Arla was right. Glancing back at her, Dean asked quietly, "How do you know?"

"Because I've seen what he's made of. What you're both made of."

"You don't know what he's gone through," Dean whispered, thinking of apocalypses, demons, devils and a hundred years of torture.

"No I don't. And I don't think I want to." Arla took a quick peek over her shoulder, then said, "But you know. And you need to talk to him. The dehydration we can treat. The withdrawal from the meds we can treat. But he needs to talk about it. To you. I'm not sure he's going to talk to anyone else."

"I'm not sure he's going to talk to me either," Dean admitted quietly.

"He may not. At first. He probably doesn't know how to start the conversation. Probably doesn't know he needs to start the conversation."

"We aren't exactly great at conversations."

"From what I've seen, you two communicate just fine."

"Obviously you don't know us as well as you think you do." Dean snorted. He didn't get the chance to elaborate because Arla was looking past him.

Tilting his head, he saw Tommy walk into the room with two cups of coffee. A fresh and unwanted wave of anxiety passed over him, but Tommy smiled broadly when he caught his eye and that did something to temper the worry. Handing one of the cups of coffee to Arla, Tommy said quietly, "Good to see you, Dean."

There was nothing but fondness and concern in the older man's eyes. Much like Arla, Tommy looked relieved that Dean was awake. He didn't look like he wanted to arrest him. Didn't look like he thought they were murderers or monsters. Dean didn't know how to respond. Couldn't believe that these perfect strangers would still be willing to help them after all these years.

Do they not watch the news? How could they not have seen us supposedly holding hostages, robbing banks, murdering people… The most recent memory, that of Leviathans wearing their faces, flashed through his mind. Why would they want to have anything to do with us? He couldn't explain it or understand it.

After a few seconds, though, he realized they were staring at him; waiting for him to say something. So he said the first thing that came to his head, "What happened to your hair?"

Tommy's smile widened and he broke out laughing. Dean caught Arla's amused expression as Tommy said, "It lasted till the twins arrived."

"Your daughters?" Dean frowned, trying to figure out what he meant by that and adapt to the sight of Tommy without his fluffy white hair.

"No, the twin grandsons. Amy's latest addition to our collection," Tommy explained, rubbing his bald head with a rueful smile. "Between Amy and Sara, we now have a grand total of nine grandchildren."

Dean's eyebrows rose. "No wonder your hair fell out!"

"No wonder." Arla smiled in agreement, taking a sip of her coffee.

Tommy sat down on the arm of her chair and asked, "So, Dean. You boys've had a rough few days it sounds like."

"We've had better," Dean admitted just as a young woman walked into the room carrying a tray. He stared at the tray she placed in front of him without interest. Breakfast. Half expecting Arla to push him into eating something, he glanced up at her.

She gave him an understanding smile, but simply took another sip of her coffee.

Dean sighed and forced himself to stab a straw into the cup of apple juice that he did not want to drink. Looked like he was lucky enough to be getting a completely liquid meal this morning. So appetizing. Not that he felt like he was up to even taking a sip of the juice let alone trying to eat any real food at this point.

Even though Arla was being kind enough not to be actively pressuring him into trying to eat, he still felt her eyes on him and knew she wanted him to make an effort. What choice did he have anyway? If he didn't eat, drink, and regain his strength, he wasn't going anywhere. And he needed to get back on his feet as soon as possible.

Preferably before Sam wakes up and all hell breaks loose.

So he forced himself to drink the juice and choke down the jello, all the while worrying about the only person in the room who hadn't decided to socialize with the rest of them yet.

Tommy watched the kid forcing himself to eat and knew every bite was a struggle. He looked pale and unwell. But it wasn't merely from the ulcer that had landed him in the hospital. Tommy could see it in his eyes, in the heaviness of his shoulders even as he sat slumped in the bed. He'd been unwell for a long time. And that was much more concerning than the ulcer and current hospitalization. Medical problems could be treated, cured even. Whatever had happened to Dean in the past six years, though, Tommy wasn't so sure could be easily cured.

For a good ten minutes, the room was completely silent. Arla wasn't pressing Dean to eat, well, drink, his breakfast and Tommy wasn't about to put any pressure on him either. There were questions he wanted to ask, answers he wanted to know, but the last thing he wanted to do was hamper the trust that they had been given so far. For good reason, the Winchester boys were not the most trusting individuals he'd ever met and Tommy knew that it wouldn't take much for Dean to kick them out of the room. Which was why he was surprised when Dean spoke up.

"We...uh…we have to check out of the cabin today."

"What time do you have to be checked out?" Tommy asked, checking his watch.

Dean sagged even more against the pillows and set aside the now empty cup of juice. "I can't remember and I don't know where the key is and…"

"I have the key, Dean," Arla interrupted gently. "We can take care of things for you boys."

A hint of apprehension crossed Dean's tired features, but he nodded.

It was probably far too early for them to need to check out of the cabin, but maybe it would be just as well to leave now. Dean appeared fatigued and not likely to bother with much more of his breakfast and even less likely to engage in small talk. Arla looked almost as tired as Dean did and even Tommy could feel the sleepless night dragging on him. It seemed like a good time to step away, get themselves some breakfast, and maybe allow Dean a couple hours of undisturbed rest.

Already, Dean's eyes were closed more than they were open. Tommy glanced at Arla, catching her yawning. When Dean opened his eyes next, Tommy said, "We might head over there now, Dean. Run and grab some breakfast along the way."

He regretted his words when a flash of guilt crossed Dean's face and he said, "Yeah, sure, I'm sorry. Go get yourselves some food."

"It's ok, son." Tommy smiled, trying to set his mind at ease. "You think you can hold down the fort for an hour or two?"

"Be lucky if I can hold down this gourmet breakfast," Dean remarked with a smirk. "But yeah, go ahead. We'll be fine."

Nodding, Tommy followed Dean's gaze to the couch. Glad to see Sam still asleep, Tommy turned to Arla and asked quietly, "Ready for some breakfast, babe?"

"Sure."

But there was hesitation in her tone and Tommy knew she was worried about leaving the boys on their own. He had his own concerns on that note but had observed Dean long enough to know he needed a bit of time to simply gather his thoughts and regroup. Being reliant on anyone when you were used to relying on no one could be extremely stressful.

Trying to make it all as easy as possible, Tommy said, "Alrighty then. We'll head out for a bit, grab some food and your boys' gear. You just settle back and try to rest. I know it's about the last thing you even want to consider doing right now, Dean, but it's what you both need. Deal?"

"Deal." Dean answered agreeably enough, but his eyes told a different story.

As well as he thought he knew the kid, Tommy realized that he would never really know him or what he'd been through; what had made him into the man he was today. Tommy could see a lifetime of mistrust in Dean's eyes as he surveyed the room. One brief check on his brother, one assessing but friendly glance at Arla as she gathered her purse, and one, slightly longer gaze shot his way. There was doubt there, Tommy noted. Hesitation to trust, but also a hint of hope.

Tommy didn't know what he could say to reassure Dean. It was doubtful that anything he tried to say would help at this point. He wasn't sure what Dean was worrying about, although he thought he had a pretty decent guess. Willing to bet it had something to do with some of the less than favorable news reports that they had caught over the years, Tommy almost wanted to tell Dean that they'd seen them and ask what it had all been about. Tell the kid that they didn't believe what the media was selling. Bringing any of that up at this point, however, would only serve to shake the already shaky trust that they had worked to establish.

"We'll be back soon, Dean." Tommy offered a hand to Arla to pull her to her feet. He squeezed her hand when she hesitated. He nodded at Dean and received an answering nod.

"Rest, Dean," Arla said as they headed for the door. She shot a last worried glance over her shoulder as they walked out the door, then tugged on his hand and whispered, "Why are you in such a hurry? We shouldn't be leaving them."

"Honey, it's the best thing for him."

"How do you figure?" Her voice was low, but harsh and told him how worried she was.

Tommy let go of her hand, put an arm over her shoulder and said, "We were sitting there. Staring. He needs a break from us and we need food and I need a shower."

"Then run home and take your shower." Arla started to pull away, but he didn't let her.

"Arla. I know you're worried." He stopped walking and gently pushed her into a small alcove. He tilted her chin up with his right hand and smiled. "They're going to be fine. They're in a hospital. They may be stubborn, but they're not stupid. Probably."

He grinned when she snorted in disbelief. Tommy went on, "Dean needs a little time to himself."

"How do you know that?"

"Because he's not that different from me. If I had the burdens that he's carrying around, I'd need some time to myself to sort it all out, get my head screwed on right. From everything you've told me, Dean's been pushing too hard for too long. And he's right on the edge of trusting us. We push him too hard and they're going to disappear. Hospital or not. Ulcer or not. They will be gone and we will never see them again. And if they do that then we won't be able to help them at all."

Arla sighed and squeezed his free hand. She said, "I just hate leaving them when Sam's not even awake and Dean's barely able to function. What if…"

"Dean knows how run down he is. I didn't get the impression he was planning The Great Escape anytime soon. I have a feeling that, without an audience, he's going to let his guard down and get some of that rest you wanted him to get."

"I hope so." Arla nodded and waved a hand. "Let's go. Faster we grab their gear, faster we get back."

"Don't forget my shower."

She pinched her nose, but her eyes sparkled with mischief when she said, "I'm not likely to. You stink."

Tommy grinned, wrapped his arm around her again and lowered his voice, "You could always join me."

"Thomas Pender!"

"What?" He laughed at the shocked yet amused expression on her face and guided her toward the elevators.

About twenty silent minutes later, they pulled up in front of the cabin. Tommy double checked the number on the key to ensure they were at the correct cabin, then glanced at Arla; smiling when he saw that she'd fallen asleep. He was tired too, but had at least managed a decent sleep on the flight last night. There are advantages to being able to sleep like the dead under any circumstance.

Parking the car, he studied the rusty beater that was parked in front of the cabin. What happened to the Impala? Tommy frowned, considering the expired plates, the very un-Winchester paint job and the nearly rusted off bumper. This vehicle was nothing like the '67 classic that they'd been driving six years ago. If he hadn't already seen the boys in the hospital, Tommy could have figured out from this wreck that they'd been having some very bad times.

As quietly as he could, Tommy got out of the car and closed the door behind him. Arla didn't stir. Deciding he could get everything packed up himself and allow her to continue her little nap, Tommy stopped by the boys' car for a quick peek. The back seat was littered with trash. Otherwise there wasn't much to see in the vehicle. It was the type of nondescript vehicle that would be easy to overlook. Easy to steal. Tommy didn't need to run plates or make any phone calls to confirm the car was likely not with its rightful owner anymore.

No matter how bad things got, Dean would not choose this car if he had any other option. In fact, it was so unlike him that Tommy knew it was a deliberate choice. They're on the run. He had assumed as much already, but this car was a neon sign to him that they needed to keep a low profile. Given everything they'd picked up on in the past six years, he wasn't surprised. There had been a lot of disturbing news reports; especially lately. But they'd taken every single one of them with a grain of salt and this wasn't any different. First thing on his list after packing the cabin up was to get this car far away from all of them and wipe it down for fingerprints.

Tommy turned and headed up the steps and unlocked the cabin. It reeked of sweat, sick, and dirty laundry. He took a minute to survey the area.

Bed unmade and messy. Table covered with convenience store food. Bottles of beer lined up by the sink. Trash on the floor. Overturned wastebasket. And, oddest of all, a bag of IV fluid incongruously hanging from a lamp. Where on earth did they come up with that?

Crossing to the couch, he picked up the duffel bag sitting near it and paused when he caught sight of the bottle of whiskey. Maybe it was being nosy, maybe it was his investigative instinct, either way, Tommy pulled the bottle out. It wasn't full. Not as empty as he'd been afraid it would be, but not as full as it probably should have been considering how many empty beer bottles he had seen. You're too young to be drinking like this, Dean. Shaking his head, Tommy tucked the bottle back into the bag and his hand brushed the handle of a gun, but he didn't bother digging any deeper.

He picked up a few assorted pieces of clothing and shoved them into the bag. He knew that Arla would have taken the time to fold every item neatly but he made the executive decision not to worry about it. What she doesn't see me do won't hurt her, he smirked and zipped the bag up, leaving it on the couch.

After gathering some other odds and ends, he headed to the bathroom. A few items to toss into the backpack sitting on the counter, but there wasn't much else in the bathroom for him to worry about. He grabbed the backpack and then things were tumbling out of another pocket that he hadn't realized was unzipped. A notebook hit the floor, spilling loose papers across the tile. A tube of toothpaste and a wallet followed.

Tommy knelt down and grabbed the toothpaste and wallet. A quick glance inside revealed that it was Sam's wallet. Tucking them back into the backpack, he started to pick up the papers, not intending to do more than slide them back into the notebook. But he couldn't help it when a quick glance at the top page caught his attention.

The script on the page was messy and disconnected; the words trailed up and down the page in uneven and unsteady lines. And as much as the handwriting was a clue to the physical state of the writer, the words themselves told the story of Sam's emotional and mental condition. Despite what he knew of the boys, despite the way he'd already known that things had been out of control bad for them, this? this showed him how ignorant he really was.

The first page he glanced at had the most writing on it. A brief examination of the other sheets of paper revealed that they were all variations of the most complete one. In fact, it appeared that each page was almost the same, starting the same way, and merely adding more details, like drafts of a child's book report; the dates noted on top of each page went back over the course of several weeks. The last page had been written a week and a half ago. The pages all started out fairly neat, but then dissolved into indecipherable scribbles. Odd words and interrupted thoughts littered the pages; even the last draft. There were entire sections written in odd symbols that he didn't recognize; symbols that almost looked like words, but bore no resemblance to any language he'd ever seen before.

It was a letter penned by a man losing his mind.

In spite of the fact that he knew he was invading the poor kid's privacy, Tommy read the note, picking through the unconnected thoughts, symbols and scrambled words until he saw the actual letter that Sam had been trying so hard to write.

Dean,

I need you to know I'm sorry. About all of it. Dad's death. Trusting Ruby. Not saving you from hell. The demon blood. Letting Lucifer out, starting the apocalypse. Everything I did to you and Bobby when I didn't have my soul. I'm sorry that Bobby died. I know how hard his death is on you even if you won't talk to me. I'm sorry about all of it. I should have listened to you. I always should have listened to you. I'm sorry I've always been such a screw-up. I can't believe you've put up with me this long. I know you think you have to. I know you see it as your job. And I'm sorry Dad ever put that on you because he sure as hell shouldn't have.

Now, with Frank dead too, I can tell you don't know what to do and I'm not helping anything.

I don't think I have much longer, to be honest. It's taken me weeks to even get this much on paper; I can't THINK with him talking to me all the time.

I'm having a really, really hard time knowing what's going on, what's real, and Lucifer is making it easy to believe I'm still down there and that these past months, months I don't even remember, are the false reality. Maybe it's better that way.

Nothing works now. Pain doesn't even help. He NEVER GOES AWAY DEAN!

I never told you, but ever since you went missing in Idaho, he's never let up. It's my fault. I listened to him. Once I acknowledged him, he never let up, but he did help me find you. At least he did one thing to help before he started singing Stairway to Heaven on endless repeat. I hate that song, Dean.

By the time you read this, I'll probably be dead. Either he's gonna kill me or I'm gonna do it myself like he wants me to. At this point, I don't think there's a difference. And it's the best way for this to end. I just wish I knew you're gonna be ok once I'm gone.

Just know how sorry I am, ok? And it's not your fault. None of it.

Tommy stared at the unfinished letter for a full minute; trying to come to terms with what he'd read. He couldn't understand most of it. Hell and demon blood? The apocalypse and Lucifer? From any other source, he would have decided that the words were either metaphors or exaggerations. But he knew better. He knew that everything Sam had written was the truth. It had happened and suddenly Tommy had to hold onto the door-frame to maintain his balance.

Ghosts and storybook monsters had been one thing. This? This was entirely different.

After a moment, he pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the counter, still staring at the notebook in his hand. A notebook that gave him only a hint of how bad things really were. As much as Sam had written, Tommy knew there were volumes left unwritten.

For the first time, he understood why Arla seemed so worried. Worried about leaving them, worried that she wouldn't be able to help them.

"What are you doing?"

Tommy turned at the sound of Arla's voice. He forced a smile, knowing it probably left a lot to be desired, and said, "Packing. Didn't want to wake you up."

He saw her gaze go to the notebook in his hand. She doesn't need to see this. At least not right now, he thought, shoving the notebook back into the bag. He could tell she knew he was keeping something from her, but she trusted him enough to not press the issue. Hoping he was making the right decision, Tommy zipped the bag up and joined her in the main room.

"Thanks." Arla nodded, pushing her hair behind her ears as she surveyed the mess. "Felt good to get a bit of a rest."

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad."

"So you've been playing detective in here?" Arla narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe a little. You know I can't help myself."

"I know. What do you think? You ready to call the cops?"

"I am a cop." Tommy watched as she started packing up the odds and ends on the table. Her lips were pursed and each movement she made was tense and quick. Knowing what she was thinking, he grabbed her shoulders and said, "Arla. I'm not going to call the cops and I'm not going to arrest them."

"Are you sure?" She asked, tears in her eyes.

Drawing her into a quick hug despite the fact she made it a challenge by having her arms folded across her chest, Tommy said, "Sometimes I think you think I'm a mean old man."

"No, I don't. Not really. I just know that...I know that we're coloring outside the lines here. I know that the boys…"

"Are heroes." Tommy looked her in the eye as he spoke. "And we're a couple of the lucky people who are privileged enough to know that. I'm thinking that most of the people they meet, people they save, have no idea that those two boys saved their lives from monsters they wouldn't believe are real even if they ran face first into them. From everything I saw that Christmas, those boys have earned my trust until proven wrong and I'm not expecting to be proven wrong."

Arla nodded and he could feel the tension ease out of her body. He added, "As far as coloring outside the lines? Let's just say we're blurring the lines a bit. As far as we know, they haven't done anything wrong. Right?"

"Right." Arla smiled.

"Exactly. So let's pack 'em up, check 'em out and grab some breakfast on the way home."

"Home?"

"Yes. Home. Were you really planning to take all of their gear up to the hospital? I thought we might conveniently leave it in a couple of our guest bedrooms?"

Arla's smile widened as she said, "You are a very sneaky man, Tommy. Very sneaky. I approve."

"I knew you would." Tommy slung the backpack over a shoulder and helped pack up the rest of the few items lying around. "And if we park this car out by that abandoned warehouse store on the north side of town where there are conveniently no security cameras, and make sure the car's neat and clean, they won't have a choice but to ride with us wherever we take them."

"You're going to ditch their car?"

"It's not their car."

Arla studied him for a long moment, then said, "I didn't really think so either. Alright. Ditch the car. Breakfast…"

"Then shower." Tommy grinned, although his heart felt ten times heavier than it had before he'd found Sam's notebook.

"Yes. Then shower."

Something about the twinkle in her eyes assured him that he wouldn't be taking his shower alone...

Hope it was worth the wait guys! I'm off to drink a bottle of Nyquil and take a nap. Hope you're having a great day!