AN: Well, we've come to the end. I'm not sure this one is sewn up all that neatly, so criticism / suggestions welcome! Actually, they're always welcome, but especially when I struggle.

Also, this chapter draws from the affiliated Whumptober chapter as well.

Shazza: Thank you! Your questions should be answered in this chapter, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on how it ended…too abrupt? Not enough detail? Too much stoned Sammy? Wait, is it ever too much when it's a stoned Winchester…?

Stormy (Kat): Yeah, this whole story got kind of creepy. After I wrote the part about Allen's body, I was kind of like hmmm…overkill? I kind of hate writing Dean's self-thoughts, because he's so wrong! But I feel like it's how he really felt. It means so much to have you compliment that part of the story in particular since you seem to have unique insight into Dean's character. I would really like to get your thoughts on the ending to (she asked pathetically), because as even Chuck admitted, endings are hard.

Blondie: Poor Nate! LOL Bet he never drove that truck again… Also, I loved that they named an ep after the story of the scorpion and the frog, and have always wondered who it was in that ep that couldn't escape their nature: the demon? The hunters? Luther? I think it's supposed to be the demon, and part of the moral of the story is that the Winchesters have to remember that the ends (working with demons) don't always justify the means, and examine their own double standards (why were their deals okay and Luther's was not?), but I should probably leave that kind of speculation up to people who are a lot smarter than I am!

Sam knew he was dreaming this time. But the dream kept skipping back and forth with reality, making everything terribly confusing.

"Take the damn medicine, Sammy!" Dean was frustrated with him but he had finals and couldn't afford to just cash out. He was a junior, and really needed a perfect GPA if he wanted to get into any of the schools he really wanted.

"C'mon. It ain't gonna feel good getting out of here. I want some of this in you before moving you."

"But I have to study. I have two exams tomorrow," he said, except that wasn't what came out.

Hands were lifting his head, giving him something to drink and despite his complaints, he trusted Dean too much to turn away. "No, you got nothing to do tomorrow except work on healing up, I swear – "

"I swear if you fight me on this, I'll pin you down and shove them down your throat."

"I know you think it's stupid, but my grades are important to me. I need to study, and the pills are just going to make me go to sleep." Sam was almost as frustrated as Dean was.

It was just a dislocated shoulder, after all. His first one; Dad claimed it was practically a rite of passage. The ghost of Jacob Brown hadn't been gentle when Sam's shotgun had jammed and it had thrown him against the wall. It was bad enough that he'd ended up in the emergency room to get it reduced. There the painkillers had been a blessing, because when a doctor had kicked out the older Winchesters and asked Sam if his dad or Dean had been the one to hurt him, a drugged-up Sam had busted out in laughter. "No, and they'd kill anyone who hurt me," he'd all but giggled. He was glad his brother hadn't heard that. He would have laughed and mocked Sam forever.

Dean didn't sound amused now, though. "Since when does school come before your health, Sammy?"

"I'm fine!" Sam groused, knowing he sounded like a whiny little kid. He waved his hands in a kind of broad, frustrated shrug, and barely hid a wince when it hurt.

Or maybe he hadn't hidden it. "That's why you need 'em, Sammy. Just…let me take care of you."

"Just let me take care of you. All you have to do is move your feet, Sammy. We'll be at the car in just a sec."

"C-car?" He'd thought they were in their motel room, but he couldn't seem to open his eyes to double check. "I need to study."

A laugh that he could feel as well as hear. Oh, crap. Was he really hanging off his brother's arm like a drunk frat boy? And even through the fuzziness of what were obviously strong painkillers, it hurt. He tensed and couldn't walk for a second. Shouldn't it be his shoulder that hurt, not his side?

"He needs something stronger for the pain." That was Dean, and Sam was now apparently faceplanted against his brother's chest. Better and better. He wanted to say he was okay, to pull away and stand up like the freaking adult he was, but he couldn't past the screaming pain in his side.

"…the car…shot…" said an unfamiliar voice, and Sam was trying to figure out who'd been shot.

But Dean was talking again, and he focused on that, trying to distract himself. "Just breathe through it, Sammy. Breathe for a sec. We've only got a few feet more to go, but we'll just wait until you're ready."

Sam said something, he didn't know what, but Dean seemed to understand. "You sure?"

Sam just sighed and did his best to lock his legs. Somehow, he was in the car, and he slid his eyes closed again. There was a pinch in his arm, but it barely registered through the rest of the pain.

There was the familiar engine sound, the thrum of the driving, Dean talking, Dean's music. Eventually, there was more talking, and he was walked somewhere, but he didn't think he opened his eyes the entire time. Then there was a bed and that was just heavenly. He sighed deeply and mumbled something about clouds that even he didn't understand and heard a chuckle.

Dean was here. He could rest.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Sam wasn't alone. But he wasn't worried. Without even opening his eyes, he knew who was there. Dean. Naturally. Dean was going to help him over the log so he could improve his time. Sam reached for the hand he knew was there, and of course, it was. But when he pulled to get himself up, it didn't help, but instead pushed back against his chest to keep him down. It didn't let go, but it didn't help either, and Sam was confused. He drifted again, thinking thoughts that he couldn't hold onto.

It occurred to Sam that the hand was gone now, so he decided to get up on his own and figure out what was going on. He pushed himself to a seated position, which sounded simple, but proved to be a terrible and painful idea. "Shit!"

His curse was echoed from across the room and Sam opened his eyes to see someone rushing toward him. Not someone. Dean.

Dean grabbed his arm before Sam could fall all the way back onto the bed. Bed? Dean? Sam looked around blearily, trying to put his thoughts in order. He didn't recognize the room, but it was an ugly motel room, which was answer in itself. "What…why do I hurt?" he asked, as he let Dean get him settled back down. Let was optimistic. Didn't complain because he couldn't fight him off anyway might be more accurate.

Green eyes peered intently. "Are you really with me this time, Sammy?"

"Think so. What -- ?"

Dean exhaled heavily, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed in visible relief. "What do you remember?" Sam sorted through his mind, trying to separate dreams from reality. To Kill a Mockingbird, exsanguination, exams, obstacle courses…he discarded each one. There was something much more recent. "Take your time," said Dean with enough kindness that Sam knew he must have been out of it for a while.

"Ghost of Agatha. And…something else." His hand drifted over his lower right side, but he knew better than to touch it. "I burned the body, but…"

"PJ gave me a rite to get rid of whatever else was there. And he's got a guy who's gonna swing through town in a couple weeks to make sure it's all copacetic."

"Where are we?" Sam wanted to know. He made to sit up again, and Dean scowled but helped.

"I have no idea," Dean admitted a little sheepishly. "Just…too many people saw too much, so we had to get out of there. Lacey saved our asses and the last thing I wanted was to cost her her job. I wish we could have stayed a little longer." The so you had more time to heal was unspoken, but Sam heard it just the same.

"Was I in the hospital?" Sam had a vague impression of a doctor type.

"Clinic." Dean handed Sam a bottle of Gatorade before he could ask for it, and deliberately dodged the grateful look sent his way.

Sam blinked hard and finally got a good look at Dean over the top of the Gatorade bottle. He almost coughed out his drink when he saw the cuts and scratches littered across it. "Dude. Who fixed your face?"

"It's a long story," Dean rescued the bottle and Sam wondered if his tough-as-nails brother ever realized just how motherly he could be.

"Tell me."

"Bathroom and pills first, cuz you'll be asleep before I'm done anyway."

Sam wanted to protest but didn't bother. He knew how to read Dean's tone, and there were some times there was no arguing with him. Sam needed to lean on his brother just for that little trip, and using the facilities, washing his face, and brushing his teeth were about all he had the energy for. He leaned more heavily on Dean on the way back and grumbled about the pills – six of them! – but took them without asking what they were for.

He settled in for the story and actually made it until the end, though by the time they got there, even he knew he was pretty stoned. "Whoa. Wish I coulda seen the 'splosion." He snorted a laugh and vaguely noted that it didn't even hurt, though he didn't remember why it was supposed to hurt any more. "You're like, like Batman."

"Yeah," said Dean softly, chuckling. He had turned the lights down and Sam wasn't sure why. "And you're toast, Shaggy."

"Zoinks," grinned Sam. It seemed really funny to him, and he was proud when Dean grinned back.

"Go to sleep, Sammy."

Sam didn't want to. He had missed his brother. Half the time, he woke up thinking Dean wouldn't be there. Still. "Sleeped enough. Slept enough." He corrected himself, trying to force his eyes wider.

"You look exactly like you did when you were three and trying to convince Dad you weren't tired."

Sam ignored that, wondering why Dean was talking so softly, or if he was really rubbing slow circles on Sam's chest that were making him really tired. "Know what – know what the best part of this job was?" he asked, and his own voice was getting soft too.

"What part? You missed the explosion. And neither of us got the girl. Was it the good drugs?"

"Nope." Sam popped the 'p' extra hard. His eyes were sliding shut without his permission. "Drinking with m' brother."

The hand on his chest slowed for a second, then started up again. "Yeah it was."

Sam began to drift, but he had one more urgent question. "Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"I don't have any exams tomorrow, do I?"