A Most Concussed Man

Set just after 13.15 A Most Holy Man

"I can't believe you didn't know what un uomo santissimo meant!" Dean said as he got behind the wheel. "Dude, you've been translating that stuff since you were in kindergarten."

"You didn't exactly offer up a translation yourself." Sam shrugged, resting his arm against the door. "And it's not like it was Latin."

"No, it was Italian, which is Latin's second cousin. Or first born child. Or something." He waved a hand dismissively, then started the car. "And I didn't say anything because it's your job to-"

"My job?" Sam interrupted with a smile.

"Yeah. Your job. You do the research and the translations and I do the heavy lifting."

Sam snorted.

"What?" Dean asked, glancing at him.

"You do the heavy lifting? So you aren't fluent in Latin and don't know a dozen exorcisms?"

"Well, yeah but-"

"And I can't hold my own in a fight?"

"That's not what I meant." Dean shook his head as he eased the car out onto the main road. "I just meant I was surprised Father Lucca had to translate for you."

Silence.

Dean glanced at his brother again. Something was off. Reaching over, he tapped Sam's arm and asked, "Why did Father Lucca have to translate for you, Sammy?"

"He didn't. I knew what it meant. I mean, I didn't know it off the top of my head. I just-"

"Just asked him what it meant. Nice try, Mr. Latin-is-the-father-of-all-modern-languages."

"It's not a big deal, ok? I've just got a headache."

Tension crept into Dean's shoulders as he asked, "A headache so bad you forgot your Latin root words?"

"I didn't forget. It was just easier to ask Father Lucca."

"Mmmhmm." Dean started thinking about concussions and hospitals.

"It's just a headache. I'm fine."

"So fine you forgot how to translate."

"Dean. Seriously."

"Seriously nothing!" Dean studied the street signs. There was a hospital around here somewhere. "You should've said something."

"Say something about a headache? It's a headache, not a missing limb. If we complained about every headache we experienced, that's all we'd ever talk about."

"I'm not talking about every headache, Sam. I'm talking about this headache. The one you didn't tell me you still have."

"I didn't say anything because it's not a big deal. But, since we're talking about it, can we stop talking about it? You're making it worse."

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel; there was a distinct note of stress in Sam's tone. He tried to do the math; tried to remember exactly how long it had been since he'd found his brother unconscious on the floor in the motel. Long enough, but not so long that the pain from the blow would've faded entirely; especially given the busy night they'd had. It was understandable but it didn't mean he liked it.

Sam pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

Keeping his mouth shut, Dean concentrated on the road. It was a good day's drive back to the Bunker and once upon a time they probably would have muscled through in one go. He wasn't going to admit it, but making a trip like that these days was a bit more challenging than it had been when they'd been in their twenties.

Of course, even in their twenties they'd still required at least a couple hours of sleep after an all-nighter. He yawned, adjusting the visor against the sun. They'd been up all night and they definitely needed a couple hours of sleep.

Sam might be insisting he was fine, but Dean had been keeping count. Five times in recent months. Five times. They'd both suffered through plenty of head injuries over the years, but five in close succession wasn't anything to be taken lightly; regardless of how "fine" Sam insisted he was.

Dean wasn't taking chances.

Wasn't taking chances and didn't care about his brother's arguing and complaining and sulky capitulation. He resolutely ignored Sam and found a decent motel in a good sized town a comfortable few hours from Seattle. He might have been convinced to keep going for a little longer, except for the fact that Sam had - without trying to hide it - downed a handful of painkillers and hadn't stopped pressing his hand to his head for the past fifty miles. He was just lucky they weren't heading straight to the nearest emergency room.

Sam griped and complained the entire time they unloaded the car. He was probably still complaining. Dean smiled. At least he wasn't stuck listening to it. He'd unceremoniously left his brother behind while he went to get them a late breakfast. Sam hadn't been happy about that, either. It had felt kind of wonderful to slam the door on his brother's continuing complaints even if he did feel a smidgen guilty.

The smell of egg and bacon sandwiches chased away the guilt. His sandwich didn't make it back to the motel. He'd known he was hungry, but the smell of food had reminded him exactly how hungry he really was. The only thing that could have made things better would have been a cup of coffee, but since sleep was the point, he'd passed over the caffeine.

Parking the car in front of the motel room, he decided it was a good thing he'd stopped when he had. He could barely keep his eyes open and he seemed to be yawning more than he was breathing. Once he gave his brother his sandwich, Dean planned to fall into bed and sleep for the next day and a half.

Sam couldn't have been less interested in breakfast. He was face down on the bed, boots off and blanket half-heartedly pulled over him. Dean nudged the bed and received a muffled groan and an impolite hand gesture in response.

"Rude," Dean said, walking away and putting the sandwich in the fridge.

He pulled all the blinds closed, then collapsed on the other bed. As he started untying his boots, he studied his brother. He was breathing and looked comfortable even if his face was mostly buried in the pillow.

"Sam."

Silence.

Dean dropped his boot on the carpet and asked, "How bad?"

"Not even top twenty." Sam sighed, but didn't move. "Just tired."

"Yeah, I'm with you on that." Dean kicked off his other boot. "But I'm not the one who got beaned by a priest last night. You're not gonna slip into a coma while I sleep, are you?"

Sam snorted.

Dean smiled a little, despite the worry, and stripped down to his t-shirt before getting comfortable in bed.

"You better tell me now if you need a hospital. I'm not gonna be happy if you wake me up later to tell me your brain has liquefied."

"Brain's fine. Skull's intact," Sam mumbled into his pillow. "Headache is getting worse with every word you say. Shut up so I can sleep."

"Fine, fine, you big baby." Dean rolled over and snuggled a pillow closer to him.

It didn't take long before he fell asleep.

When Dean woke up, it was just after three in the afternoon. His head was muzzy - like he was hungover but without the fun of getting drunk. Stiff and sore, he rolled onto his back, wishing he was still asleep.

He glanced over at the other bed.

The sheets were mussed and the bed was empty. Dean struggled to get his uncooperative mind to work as he pushed himself upright. It wasn't unusual for Sam to be up before him; although there had been days of late where he hadn't gotten up at all. Worry was a great motivator and Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, ready to shout his brother's name.

And then he didn't need to.

Sam was sitting on the floor between the beds, head tilted back against the nightstand. Sound asleep. Weird. And concerning.

"Sam." Dean frowned, leaning forward to tap his brother's shoulder. "Hey, wake up."

"Hmm?" Sam didn't open his eyes.

"Wake up. What are you doing on the floor?"

"Nightmare."

Dean rubbed his eyes and tried to remember anything since he'd fallen asleep. Nothing. Just a big, sleep-filled blank space. He hadn't heard anything.

Shaking his head, he asked, "Bad one?"

This time Sam tilted his head and opened bleary eyes as he said, "Wasn't me."

That was not what Dean had been expecting. He didn't remember anything of the sort. Not that it mattered when there was still something infinitely more important to be cleared up here.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"I heard you." Sam yawned, then closed his eyes again. "Sounded bad. Tried to wake you up, then I just talked to you for awhile."

While it was comforting to know his brother had been trying to help, it was embarrassing that he'd had to. Face warming, Dean asked for the third time. "Why are you on the floor?"

"Stayed close in case you had another one." Sam settled his arms across his chest, apparently intending to go back to sleep.

Dean wasn't having any of that, though. It was bad enough that his concussed brother had lost sleep talking him through a nightmare he didn't even remember. There was no way he was going to leave him on the floor. Leaning down, he tapped his brother's shoulder again.

"Get up."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine; you're on the floor."

"Where do you think people sat before chairs were invented?" Sam mumbled.

"Seriously?" Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't need, or want, a history lesson. You don't need to sleep on the floor."

"I'm not sleeping."

"Not yet, you aren't, but you're so close it isn't even funny." Dean smiled when Sam glared at him, eyes half open. "How's your head?"

Sam grimaced, apparently too tired to pretend he felt fine.

"Thought so." Dean stood up. Grabbing Sam's arms, he tugged until, reluctantly, his brother began struggling to his feet. "Time for some meds."

He waited for the expected protest, but none came. Instead, Sam grabbed his arms to steady himself as he swayed. Easing him onto the edge of the other bed, Dean kept a hand on his shoulder.

Once he was fairly certain Sam wasn't going to pass out, Dean asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"Stay put."

Sam gave him a shaky thumbs up.

Dean went for the painkillers and some water from the bathroom. Returning to his brother's side, he handed him a cup of water. Sam took a cautious sip while Dean tapped out the medication. Once Sam had taken the pills, Dean sat down across from him.

"You need to eat something."

Sam sighed.

"Just give it a shot, ok? Then you can go back to sleep."

"No, let's just go," Sam said, setting the empty cup on the nightstand. "I'll eat something, but then we can leave."

"Why bother? It's pointless to leave now. We'll just have to stop again in a few hours." Dean crossed the room to heat up the breakfast sandwich. "Let's get a decent night's sleep and head out first thing in the morning."

He glanced over his shoulder while he waited on the microwave. Sam had his head cradled in his hands, but he was still sitting up. Dean knew he was making the right choice. Despite the sleep, he remained tired and obviously his brother was feeling the effects of Father Lucca's ill-advised smack to his head. The urgency was pulsing through his veins, but he knew another day wouldn't make that much of a difference in the long run.

Wouldn't do them any good to rush back to the Bunker and be too exhausted to accomplish anything.

Dean put the sandwich on a paper towel, then gave it to his brother.

"Headache any better than earlier?" he asked while Sam stared disinterestedly at the sandwich.

Sam shrugged. "About the same."

"Sorry."

"Not a big deal."

Dean disagreed but figured he might as well keep that fact to himself if he wanted his brother to get some sleep. The last thing he wanted was to start an argument. So he kept his mouth shut and putzed around the room doing a whole lot of nothing just so Sam wouldn't think he was worrying. Which, of course, he was. And Sam knew it, but since they both kept it to themselves, all was well.

Only when he heard Sam shifting on his bed did Dean turn around. Most of the sandwich was gone and Dean figured he might as well eat the rest of it since he was starving again. He sat down on his bed and munched on the sandwich while Sam made himself comfortable.

"Stop staring at me and get some more sleep," Sam mumbled, finally settling with his hand over his eyes. "I'm fine, so stop worrying."

"Stop staring and stop worrying," Dean said, crumpling the sandwich wrapper. He pitched it into the wastebasket. "You sure get bossy when you're concussed."

"I'm not concussed."

"Yes, you are. And I'm not worrying."

"Ha." Sam lowered his hand, annoyance and amusement in his eyes. "The only time in your entire life that you haven't been worried about me was when you were a demon."

Dean opened his mouth to contradict, but what was the point? They both knew it was the truth.

"Ok. Yes. I'm worrying. But you are concussed. A maxime concutere homo. Now that is Latin." Dean grinned. "Translate that."

Sam snorted and closed his eyes. "Ego vobis nocebit vos. Sit mihi somnus."

Dean couldn't hold back his laughter at the threat. "Alright, alright. I'll let you sleep."

"Gratzie."

"Now you're gonna spout Italian?"

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean settled back in his bed.

"Shut up or we are going to need a hospital. For you."

Dean rolled his eyes. He couldn't stop worrying. But maybe he could shut his mind down for a few hours. They were both alive and mostly healthy. They had a piece of the puzzle that would hopefully lead them to Mom and Jack.

His thoughts drifted back to Father Lucca's words.

I believe that all good things are God's things. And what your brother's doing, it's a good thing.

He rolled onto his side and studied Sam.

Finding their family was a good thing. Taking down monsters and bad guys was a good thing. But they'd done plenty of that over the years and the price they'd paid had been steep.

The past few months had been hard on both of them and he wasn't eager to push their luck.

He wasn't eager to push his brother.

Dean had nearly lost himself after losing their mother and Cas. He'd regained his footing, mostly. But Sam had been falling apart right in front of him for months and he'd barely caught his brother in time. He didn't know how much more disappointment and pressure either of them could withstand.

You know it's just a hunk of bone, right? Dean had asked Father Lucca.

I do, but everyone, we all have faith in something, even if it's just "a hunk of bone."

A Most Holy Man had traveled halfway around the world to retrieve something of great value to him and his people despite all odds. Dean wasn't even close to being a most holy man and his backup was currently a most concussed man, but somehow they were going to travel to an entirely different dimension to retrieve two people of great value to them.

Dean smiled.

He didn't have a lot of faith left these days. But he did have faith in his brother and maybe even a little in himself. It would have to be enough. It always had been.

He refused to believe otherwise.

The End

A maxime concutere homo. = A most concussed man.

Ego vobis nocebit vos. Sit mihi somnus. = I will hurt you. Let me sleep.

Hope you enjoyed! I loved writing this one. I absolutely loved Father Lucca. He was such a great character and I would love to have seen him again in another episode. He was just a sweet, kind, breath of fresh air - one the boys needed badly right at that time.

Thank you for reading! Have a great week. :)