Hi! I'm prefacing this one with a hanky warning. That is all.

7:30 AM January 3rd, 2006
Pender Home

It was probably kind of creepy, but Dean figured he could play the big brother card if there were any complaints. Not that it seemed like Sam was going to be complaining for awhile. Dean took a moment to press his fingers to his eyes to rub the last bit of sleepiness away before he went back to studying Sam. He was sleeping. But he'd only been doing that for the past hour or so. Dean couldn't be exactly specific of course, because he himself had been sleeping for most of the night as opposed to being caught up in nightmares.

He'd caught one of them, but thanks to the medications and the lingering exhaustion of fighting for days for each and every breath, he'd probably missed out on more of the nocturnal disturbances. Because it was rare for Sam to just have one nightmare. Dean sighed, deciding he should be grateful at least that Sam was sleeping now. But he couldn't help being disappointed that they were back exactly to where they'd started. Some deluded and overly optimistic part of him had hoped that Sam would have somehow miraculously gotten over the nightmares.

They had a better chance of winning the lottery.

Checking the time, Dean decided he might as well get up and get ready for the day. His movements slow, he rifled through his bag to find the clean clothes that miraculously always seemed to appear. Pulling out a fresh pair of jeans, Dean had to pause and stare at the neat, almost invisible job of patchwork that he could see on the material. It was his best pair of jeans and he'd been annoyed after realizing he had somehow gotten a hole in the left knee. Now, he could barely tell there had been a hole.

He had to blink back the tears as he hurried into the bathroom.

By the time he'd showered and dressed, Dean wasn't surprised to see Sam sluggishly waking up. It only took one split second of eye contact, though, to tell Dean that keeping his mouth shut and leaving the room would be his wisest course of action. Sam averted his eyes and flopped back against the bed, facing the wall this time. Dean closed the door quietly behind him as he headed for the dining room. He squared his shoulders and prepared to be at his most polite even though he really wanted to go out and shoot something

He smelled coffee as soon as he walked into the hallway and, considering it wasn't even eight am and he was up, it was a good thing there would be coffee available. Tommy looked up from his breakfast and smiled, "Morning. Coffee?"

"Please." Dean nodded. Funny how, even though he felt like a completely new person after a few days of decent rest, he still was ready to sit down. By the time he'd pulled out a chair to sit down, Tommy had poured a cup of coffee for him and Arla was piling food on a plate for him.

He was really going to miss all of this.

"How did you sleep, Dean?" Arla asked, setting the plate down in front of him. She sipped her own coffee as she looked him up and down in careful assessment.

Reaching for a fork, he said, "Probably the best sleep I've had so far." He didn't bother to mention that he'd been pulled from his sleep by Sam's nightmare. Sam would definitely not appreciate him saying anything.

Arla's smile widened and she said, "I'm glad to hear it. You certainly look better."

Dean got the impression she wanted to say something more, but she seemed to change her mind. She glanced briefly at Tommy, then turned her attention to her breakfast. Not for the first time, Dean felt a sharp jab of urgency slice through him. They needed to get back on the road. It had been a necessity, their prolonged stay with the Penders; even he couldn't deny that there had been no way either of them had been up to leaving.

Until now.

Now, though, as he savored the taste of a homemade cinnamon roll and listened to the easy morning chatter of a normal couple, Dean knew it was time. But they'd decided to give it one more day. So he intended to take advantage of the last day of normal he might ever get. He licked icing off his fingers and said, "Sam mentioned that you had fishing gear."

Tommy nodded, "You want to head out to the creek?"

"Not until I've had another cinnamon roll." Dean grinned.

It was cowardly. It was denial, avoidance, or maybe just plain laziness. Sam wasn't sure and he wasn't sure he cared one way or another. He didn't want to get out of bed. He hadn't slept much and his head was pounding again. It wasn't nearly the worst headache he'd had over the past week or so, but it was bad enough that it left him feeling achy and ill. It must have been obvious even to his sometimes obnoxiously dense brother that it wasn't a good time for flippant jokes or much of anything at all. Even so, Sam had been surprised that Dean had left him alone and walked out of the room without a word. He knew Dean had been awake at least once during the night when he'd awakened gasping for breath, Jessica's skin so real against his fingers as she burned to death. But Sam was pretty sure Dean had slept through most of the nightmares for which he was grateful; Dean worried too much as it was.

Sighing, Sam shifted and rolled onto his back, trying to find a comfortable position. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn't. Because the ceiling was white and all he could see was blonde curls and blood and flames and he wanted to throw up. Tears stung his eyes and Sam could almost smell the smoke.

"Jess." He whispered, not able to pull his eyes away from the ceiling. Only when the tears ran down his face to pool in his ears, making him shiver, was he able to look away.

He needed a drink.

Pushing himself upright, Sam sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, until he was certain he could lift it without it falling off. Looking to the left, he was glad to see a bottle of water on the nightstand, next to the Tylenol. Wishing he had something stronger to take, something strong enough to knock him out for however long it would take for his heart to stop bleeding, Sam reached for the pills and the bottle of water.

When he lifted the water bottle, he realized there was a slip of paper under it. Curious, he grabbed it and then curiosity gave way to surprise. It was the note he'd written for himself the day he'd been released from the hospital. He'd forgotten he'd crumpled it up and tossed it across the room. Now, it had been smoothed out and there were scribbled addendum's next to each of his notes.

Poltergeists. Arizona, linked to the motel? Need to ask Dean. Yes linked to the motel cuz our luck sucks I TOLD you we should've just camped in the car

There was another Wendigo? I know right? What are the chances? Good shot, by the way

Penders-Dean trusts them. He's supposed to be released tomorrow. What? Did you miss me or something?

Dad is missing. We're gonna find him Sam

Jess is dead. Not Your Fault!

Sam ran a hand over his eyes to get rid of the tears that were blurring his vision. There were times, many times, that he wanted to wring his brother's neck. Sam shook his head and smiled. This was not one of those times. This was one of those times when he knew without a doubt that he had the best brother in the world. And even though he wanted to get back into bed and ignore the world, pretend it didn't exist, he decided he couldn't. This was the last day they'd be staying with the Penders. They hadn't talked about it in great detail the previous evening, but that was the decision they'd made. And he didn't want to ruin Dean's last day with the Penders. So he was going to get up and he was going to make the best of it.

He could already smell the fresh baked goodies out in the kitchen and decided that he might even enjoy it himself.

She probably should have grabbed the stool. Or at least one of the dining room chairs to stand on, Arla mused, on her tiptoes and straining to reach the sugar from the top shelf.

"Let me get that for you."

Arla stopped straining and looked up at the towering form next to her who was easily lifting the sugar from the shelf and setting it down on the counter. She smiled and said, "Thanks, Sam."

He smiled back and asked, "Anything else you need?"

"Since you're here...and ten feet tall," Arla grinned, pointing up at the cupboard, "how about getting the flour down too? Tommy thinks the top shelf is the perfect place to store the extra baking supplies but they're a bit less than accessible for me, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Doesn't he realize that if he puts all if it up too high, he's not going to get any cookies?" Sam asked, setting the flour next to the sugar.

"Good point." Arla nodded. "I'll have to have a chat with him because he does like his cookies."

"Coffee?" Sam asked, pointing at the pot on the counter.

"Help yourself." Arla said, handing him a fresh mug.

He poured himself a cup, his gaze wandering to the tray of chocolate muffins that were sitting to the left of the stove. Arla busied herself with the sugar, watching out of the corner of her eye as he wordlessly helped himself to a muffin and stood there, leaning against the counter and looking around the kitchen. He munched on the muffin and seemed about as relaxed and comfortable as she'd ever seen him. And somehow, despite how relaxed he seemed, he also looked wrecked. Like he hadn't slept at all. Like the worries of the world were slowly killing him yet again. Arla sighed as she measured the sugar. She knew grief, knew how it could eat away at you until there wasn't anything left.

What she didn't know was how to make it better.

Because grief was an individualized creature, as mysterious and changeable as the weather and there was no one size fits all cure to it. Arla sincerely hoped that maybe some healing, not just physical, had happened while the boys were at her home. But she knew that the only thing that was going to cure Sam's pain was time.

And the support of his brother.

"These are amazing." Sam's voice interrupted her thoughts and her measurement of the sugar. She set the measuring cup aside and looked up at Sam. He was on his second muffin and already eyeing a third.

Arla smiled and said, "I'm glad you like them." She added chocolate muffins to the list of things she needed to bake another batch of in order to send with the boys when they left. She was relieved to see that he was eating and smiling despite the fatigue and misery in his eyes. She asked, "Do you want any eggs or bacon to go with the chocolate?"

His eyes lit up at that and Arla grinned. Maybe she still had time to help him heal a little more before he left. If chocolate muffins and bacon would do the trick, she'd happily never leave the kitchen.

Dean was surprised when he looked up and saw Sam walking toward him from the house. A glance at his watch showed him that it had been an hour or two since he'd come out with Tommy to start fishing. He spared a glance at the water; he'd felt a nibble a moment ago and he didn't want to lose whatever he had on the line. But his attention quickly returned to Sam and he was relieved to see that his brother looked ok. Overtired and emotionally wrung out maybe, but ok; these days Dean had to take what he could get. Sam even smiled a bit as he walked up and the smile didn't looked forced; it just looked tired.

"Fishing or eating," Sam said quietly, hovering just to Dean's left, "only things I've ever known that keep you quiet and still."

Dean grinned and held up another fishing rod. "Join?"

Sam accepted the rod and sat down on the grass, staring out at the horizon.

"Tommy ran back for more bait." Dean said, playing with the line a bit. He tried to look casual as he attempted to assess his brother's state of mind with surreptitious glances from the corner of his eye.

"Haven't caught anything yet?"

Sighing theatrically, Dean said, "It's not about the catching, Sam. It's about…"

"The act of fishing…" Sam smiled, his voice indicating how many times he'd heard that line over the years.

Dean returned his smile, reeling his line in and then casting again. Sam was just absently fiddling with his reel. He wondered if his brother was ever going to decide to actually cast his line out, but figured he should keep his mouth shut and be grateful Sam was out of bed and indulging him in conversation. The way he'd looked earlier, Dean hadn't really expected it. It had been hit or miss ever since Jessica's death whether Sam would react well to Dean's presence or just completely tune him out. A long time ago, Dean hadn't been able to shut his little brother up. Nowadays, he found it increasingly difficult to get Sam to talk. About anything. The continued silence from his left made him think that he probably wasn't going to have any luck today either. So he just let his attention focus on what he was doing instead of putting any pressure, however inadvertent, on Sam.

By the time he'd landed the little fish he'd been fighting with and released it back into the wild, Sam was sound asleep on the grass next to him. Dean smiled a bit as he stared down at his brother. He hadn't even noticed him lay down but he certainly looked comfortable. So he just took Sam's fishing rod and cast his line out, setting the rod between them. Who knew? He might end up catching a fish while he was sleeping.

Tommy knew Dean was waiting for the bait, but when he was halfway back and saw Sam was sleeping, he decided not to take a chance of disturbing him. So he just returned to the house. Arla met him at the back door, a quizzical smile on her face.

"What's up?" She asked, pulling yet another tray of muffins from the oven.

"Sam's sleeping. Didn't want to disturb them."

Arla raised an eyebrow, "You sure it's not because you wanted another piece of pie?"

"What? Before lunch?" Tommy grinned. He'd just finished a slice. "Surely you must be crazy."

"Mmhm." Arla said, turning away. She called over her shoulder, "It's warming on top of the oven."

"You're my favorite wife."

"I'd better be."

Tommy grinned, heading for the pie. He loved the holidays.

Evening

Tommy looked like he was five years old. He was grinning from ear to ear and Arla realized that he was no longer going to be content driving their SUV again. Ever. She shared an amused smile with Sam as they listened to Dean and Tommy enthusiastically chattering about the engine. Tommy had been thrilled each time that he'd already driven the car, but this time, this time he was beside himself. Because he had it opened up and was getting every bit of horsepower out of that V8. No one was sick, no one was dying and there was absolutely no reason not to enjoy what the sleek black car had to offer.

Even though Tommy was driving, Arla could see that Dean was enjoying himself as he went into depth detailing every salient point of the Chevy's engine. She hadn't seen him so enthusiastic about anything up to this point. And she had to laugh because, although he didn't seem to be anywhere near as up on the technical selling points of the car, Sam was looking rather proud and maybe a bit smug as Dean talked about the car and Tommy ate it all up.

If she hadn't already figured it out, she knew for sure now that the car was the most important thing they had in their lives other than each other. As Dean talked, she got more details on their nomadic lifestyle and realized they'd practically lived in the car at more than one point. By the time they'd reached town and Tommy pulled them into the parking lot at the burger joint, Arla knew more about the workings of a Chevy Impala than she'd ever realized there was to know. And a lot more than she had really needed to know. But she never tried to break into the conversation because she was enjoying the happy chatter and wanted to keep pretending that the boys weren't leaving in the morning.

She was going to live in denial as long as she could.

And she was going to enjoy every minute of it. She'd been around the Winchester boys for over a week now and they'd only just begun to feel well enough for her to really get to know them. She hoped that this evening, this last evening, that they'd be able to have an enjoyable time. She wanted to give them that much at least. Something good they could hold onto before they went back to their dangerous lives.

Arla tuned into the conversation around her as Tommy parked the car and they headed across the parking lot.

"Easy money." Dean was saying with a grin. He coughed a couple times, then slapped Sam on the shoulder. "Sammy's not exactly the pool shark."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, "So you're saying you are?"

"That's right." Dean nodded, cocky grin in place. "Someone's gotta earn the lunch money."

Arla saw Sam rolling his eyes at his brother's bluster, but he wasn't contradicting him. Smiling to herself, she wasn't sure she would bet her money on Dean. He'd never seen Tommy play pool, but she had. And she knew he'd played everyone in town. Tommy wasn't into gambling, but she saw the twinkle in his eye and had a feeling he might get up to no good tonight.

Never say you aren't a show off, Thomas Pender, Arla shook her head.

As they walked inside, Dean hung back and whispered, "I might need to borrow a dollar. I'll triple it at least for you by end of the night."

Arla laughed and said, "I can probably handle that."

They headed to their usual table and when Jeannie walked up, ready for their order, Arla smiled and said, "Four beers, Jeannie. I owe this young man."

Dean's grin made her night.

Tommy had to laugh at the expression of utter disbelief on Dean's face. He grinned and said, "Guess you didn't expect that, didja?"

Dean shook his head slowly and said, "You gotta teach me that one."

Tommy nodded, taking a sip of his beer and saying, "Set 'em up again and I will. Because, kid, the way you play? It's good, but you got a thing or two to learn."

For the next twenty minutes, they worked on nothing but tricks and techniques. Tommy hadn't been lying; the kid was good, but there was a lot he needed to work on. Sam seemed to find the entire thing rather amusing and said with a smirk, "So I guess maybe you do have room to improve."

Dean glared at him and Tommy set his next shot up with a grin, thinking score one for the little brothers.

After a couple more games, Tommy could tell that Dean was wearing out. He'd looked good all day, but he was still coughing and his movements were becoming a bit slower and less coordinated. He was trying to hide how breathless he was, but he wasn't doing as good a job as he thought he was. Tommy was about to suggest taking a break but was surprised when Dean handed his pool cue to Sam.

Dean wiped a hand over his face and said simply, "Gonna grab another drink. Don't lose our money, Sammy."

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything. Tommy thought he was looking a bit pale and weary too. Maybe it was time to head home, he mused as Dean walked back over to rejoin Arla at the table. But then Sam set the balls up again and said, "He doesn't think I pay any attention to anything he says or does."

Tommy was about to ask what he meant but then Sam expertly broke the balls. Sam looked up with a grin and said, "I don't want to damage his pride."

"You're a nicer little brother than I ever was." Tommy smiled, lining up his shot and realizing already that he was going to lose. "If there was anything I could do to put Erik in his place, I would. Because he never hesitated to do that to me."

"Dean's not really like that." Sam shrugged and any lethargy that Tommy might have seen earlier was gone; replaced with concentration and skilled determination. "He's a pain in the butt most days, but...he's always, he's always been there for me, you know?"

Tommy nodded even though he didn't really know. Was only starting to understand the depth of what that meant for these two. Erik would have, and had, beat up bullies for him at times growing up. But he'd also beat up on him more than once. While he assumed that Dean and Sam had also scuffled plenty of times over the years, he knew that the level of dependence between these two brothers went far beyond his relationship with Erik. Because these two depended on each other to stay alive. They didn't have anyone else who could, who would, watch their backs.

Except each other.

Sam expertly put the #2 ball into the side pocket and stepped back, waiting for Tommy. Tommy studied the table, realizing that he was absolutely going to lose. He caught Sam glancing over at his brother, expression subtly changing from fondness to worry and then going carefully blank when he caught Tommy looking at him. Taking his shot, Tommy stood up and met Sam's gaze.

"We're leaving tomorrow." Sam said.

"I know." He'd been assuming, but wasn't surprised to hear it confirmed.

"What you and Arla did for us...we...just," Sam struggled for a moment, then met Tommy's eyes and said, "just thank you."

"You're welcome."

Sam nodded and took another perfect shot. He said softly, "You're kind of the nicest people we've met in a while."

"For that, I'm sorry." Tommy said, studying the kid. He said, "You two ever need anything…"

"Thanks." Sam smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. He said, "It's probably best we stay away from you in the future. Things...things happen…"

Tommy's heart broke at the despair in Sam's voice. They had nothing and no one and all either of them had been concerned about from the beginning had been keeping him and Arla safe. He took a step closer and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, meeting his eyes as he said, "I don't care. Ok? You need something, anything, you let us know."

"Ok." Sam said and Tommy knew he meant it.

Whether they'd actually ever call was another thing, but at least he'd gotten through to the kid. Tommy stepped back and said, "I'm not going to win this game, am I?"

Sam grinned, "You want to play Dean again?"

"You're sneaky, you know that?" Tommy shook a finger, "People gotta watch out for you."

"Who me?" Sam shrugged and abruptly looked so innocent that Tommy almost forgot the kid was hustling him at pool.

Tommy laughed and took his best shot knowing it wouldn't be enough.

Arla sat back, enjoying her dessert and the sight of Tommy and the boys engaged in a healthy competition. They all looked like they were enjoying themselves and she couldn't help but take a quick picture on her cell phone. She felt silly for doing it, yet she couldn't help herself. Because she wanted to remember them. She probably would never see them again, but she was going to hang on to whatever she could. Sitting there alone, she felt a knot in her throat the size of a fist. It was hard to swallow and hard to fight the tears. But then Dean was walking slowly toward her and she had to push it all aside and force a smile. She didn't want to ruin the evening with her sentimentality.

Despite her resolve, Arla found that she couldn't hold back when Dean sat down next to her, looking worn out and ill. She grabbed his arm and said, "Dean. I want you to do something for me."

"I know, I know." Dean said immediately, not really looking surprised. He said, "Take care of my brother…"

Arla shook her head, shaking his arm and interrupting him, "Don't put words in my mouth, Dean. I don't need to tell you to take care of Sam. You do that as naturally as you breathe. I want you to let him take care of you sometimes."

Dean snorted, "I don't need him to take care of me. He's my little brother and I…"

"This life you lead…"

"You don't know anything about it." Dean said, voice vibrating with sudden tension and he started to pull away.

Arla tightened her grip and said, "I know. And I'm thankful. Very thankful. But it's an awful hard burden for one to carry. You two share something that most people don't. That most people wouldn't understand. Couldn't possibly understand. You're so good at taking care of him. Don't shut him out of your life, Dean."

She watched the emotions dance across his face. He didn't like what she was saying, that was obvious, but it was also obvious that he was actually listening to her. At least to some extent. He was brash and cocky, full of himself and full of confidence. But she could see the fear in his eyes. See how scared he was. He was a grown man but he was struggling along trying to make sense of a world that made no sense. She could see how badly he wanted to find his father. How badly he needed to make things right for Sam when what he really needed was someone to make things right for him.

What scared her was that she knew there was no one who could do that. Because who could make things right for a couple of kids who hunted things that gave most people nightmares...people who thought such things were just that. Nightmares. Not real. How could anyone make that right?

Arla stared at the kid in front of her and realized she was utterly at a loss for words. What could she say? What motherly advice could she possibly give? How could she ever wrap her head around what they went through on a daily basis?

"You know," Dean's soft voice broke through her thoughts, "nobody's ever really done this for us. Try to understand what we do. Try to help us like this." He glanced up at where Tommy and Sam were laughing and setting up the pool balls again. Dean smiled a tired, much too world-weary smile for one so young and said, "It's been good."

"I'm glad." Arla said, knowing he was trying in his own way to express everything he didn't know how to say.

Dean nodded, eyes on the table as he traced the edge of his beer bottle through the condensation. He said, "I think...it's been good for Sam."

Arla smiled to herself as his eyes returned to his brother. She had a feeling it had been good for both of them.

It was late that night when Sam found her. Arla was just finishing packing up the baked goods she'd prepared for them when he walked into the kitchen. Tommy had turned in earlier and she thought both of the boys had too, but Sam didn't look like he'd been anywhere near his bed yet.

"Hi Sam." She set the box aside and looked up at him. "You alright?"

He nodded, but there was something off. Arla could just feel it. She frowned as he hovered near the counter, staring around the room; looking anywhere but at her. That knot was back in her throat as she took a step forward and asked, "Sam?"

"Thank you for saving Dean's life." Sam whispered, meeting her eyes very briefly before he leaned down and wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you for everything."

Arla immediately hugged him back, tears springing into her eyes at the almost desperate way he clung to her. And then just as quickly as he'd initiated the hug, he was gone. She leaned against the counter, her hand to her mouth as she silently cried. He never looked back and she knew right then that she wouldn't see him again.

That he'd just said his only good bye.

Tissue anyone?

I wrote this sitting in Panera Bread and trying my darnedest not to cry in public. I mostly succeeded...mostly.

Would you like something to cheer you up? Ch 38 is as good as finished. I'm hoping to post Friday after I polish it up a bit. :)