After what felt like at least thirteen chapters trapped in that fucking forest, they were finally away. Of course the bear had died directly on top of Sam, and it took all five men to drag the massive beast off the frail kid.

But at least the younger boy was still breathing.

Caleb had carried Sam off the mountain. And Rufus and Bobby had nearly carried Dean because Bobby, being Bobby, had arrived with healthy doses of morphine for both boys, and by the time they reached the trucks, Dean was sort of convinced he could fly.

That's to say, nobody was feeling any pain.

Finally.

Well, except maybe for Bobby. And Caleb because he'd been the one relegated to return to the cabin and follow the boys' trail down to the weapons and to the remains. By the time anyone had thought to ask, Sam couldn't remember the two evil cousins at all, let alone whether he'd thought to bury their scorched remains.

And now Dean was curled up on the bench seat of Bobby's truck with Sam's head in his lap as Bobby broke every speed limit to get them to the private clinic of a hunter he knew. Both boys needed massive amounts of stitches, and Sam needed his nose reset, and he also needed a head scan, Bobby suspected.

And that just scared the older man silly. He'd never admit it to John, but he thought of Sam and Dean as his own, and the near impossible challenges that both boys would be facing after this fucking needless fiasco just damn near broke his heart.

"So help me, John," Bobby seethed silently. "I'm gonna kick your worthless ass into the next, damned century."

###

The prognosis turned out to be every bit as grim as Bobby had predicted. One brief glance at Sam, and Bobby's friend who ran the private clinic was on the phone to a plastic surgeon. It seemed the boy needed reconstructive surgery instead of a simple bone reset. The good news, however, was that the injury to Sam's head could not be causing his memory loss or his itch. As soon as the head scan came back okay, the doctor took Bobby aside and explained what he thought was probably going on with Sam.

"I'm pretty sure, from you've told me, Bobby, that Sam suffered a massive drug overdose and that the overdose caused brain damage."

Bobby's jaw dropped. "Is it permanent?"

"It could be. But we won't know for awhile. Everything you described - the chronic itch that felt like it came from inside his body, his worsening loss of memory - all classic signs of drug overdose. Of course the trauma to his nose, head and face didn't help matters, but the head scan came back clean. It had to be the drug he ingested. You don't know what he took, you said?"

Bobby bristled, "The kid didn't TAKE anything. Dean said it was forced on him by his father. We don't know what the bastard gave him."

The man nodded. "When Dean wakes up, I'll need to talk to him about how Sam reacted to the drug. I hope you realize that?"

Bobby grimaced, Dean was going to go apeshit when he heard that Sam might have brain damage. He sighed. "Whatever you have to do, Mike. I appreciate you helpin' us out. These boys … they're like my own kin." Bobby's voice broke.

Mike smiled and patted Bobby on the shoulder. "Just returning the favor, Bobby. I'll never forget what you did for me and mine, you know."

Bobby nodded, clearing his throat. "Can I see 'em?"

"You can go in. They're both out cold. Dean's not hurt as badly, but he's under a heavier sedation because I don't have to worry about what might still be racing through his system. Sam's lightly sedated, which means he's probably pretty miserable. I don't really have any choice though. The surgeon will be here in the morning to patch up his face."

Bobby grimaced. Sam was in pain. He could have done without that bit of knowledge. "He'll be sedated for the surgery though, right?"

Mike nodded, "Yes. But again, not as deeply as he probably should be."

Bobby scowled, "Well, can we delay the surgery until it's safe to give him the full anesthesia?"

Mike shook his head. "No. Sam's injuries are horribly painful. Every day we delay just prolongs his agony."

"Well, Balls!"

Mike smiled, "Go on in."

So Bobby did. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, letting it close behind him. He studied the brothers as they lay side by side in separate beds. They both looked to be about 12 years old - all broken and bruised like this. At first glance, he thought they were both out, but then Sam turned his head toward Bobby, and the old hunter smiled, stepping to the younger boy's bedside. He picked up his hand, which looked to be about the only thing on the boy that wasn't injured.

"Hey Sam." He said softly, smiling. "How you feelin'"

Sam looked back through black, swollen eyes and tried to return the smile. It came out as more of a grimace though. "I'm good, Bobby. How's Dean? Have you seen Dean?"

"He's right here beside you, boy. And he's doing just fine."

"He's here? In the same room?"

Bobby nodded, stepping aside so Sam could see his brother just a few feet away.

Sam looked, then looked up at Bobby. "That's Dean? Are you sure?"

Bobby frowned. "Yeah Sam, I'm sure. Why?" he joked, "Don't it look like your brother?"

Sam sighed and relaxed back against his pillow, "I thought - I thought Dean was … older."

Bobby's heart sank at the strange confession, but he just patted Sam's hand reassuringly. "That's the morphine makin' things fuzzy, boy. You in any pain?"

"Just a little twinge now and then. Nothing like it was."

"Well that's good." Bobby smiled again.

"Hey Bobby?"

"What, son?"

"Have you seen Dean?"