AN: Getting close to the end now!
Blondie: The Batman moment was for you, because we were just "talking" about Batman earlier. I knew you'd like that! So now you're jealous of a tree and a 4-year-old, huh? *winks* Yeah, me too. And the Cinderella thing cracked me up. So let's see: Cas can be red riding hood because of that red hoodie. Crowley can be the big bad wolf. And Jack can be…I don't know…Ariel? Wants to be human? And Bobby has to be the fairy godmother. Ha!
Kathy: I see two reviews from you; I don't know if that's all of them, but I respond to all of them as I see them. Thank you so much for your very nice words! You are very encouraging. "Leaders…brilliant and brave," that's the boys alright.
ScealaiTheRakker: Thank you! *squeals* Old soul / little girl / Batman – I want to be her!
Lena: Aw, hun, you are the sweetest. I'm glad that I can make you laugh sometimes. For whatever reason, I laughed a lot while writing this. Please don't be mad at me for killing sweet Fay. I don't like it when there aren't any consequences to the hunts, so somebody was gonna die. I couldn't kill a kid, I needed the sheriff and Kelly's dad, so sorry to poor Fay. *sniff* After this, just a pointless epilogue for fun. As always, thank you.
Dean rubbed a hand tiredly down his face, wondering if tomorrow he'd have enough use of his right arm to shave. He had just sent away the perky but persistent nurse again without taking the pain meds she was pushing. He had a great deal of experience waiting out the world's most stubborn little brother, and he was going to do it again. That meant not taking something that could put him to sleep, because by now the doctors were getting a little worried about Sam not waking up. So Dean was staying right here at his bedside and annoying him into waking up. Because it was damn time he saw those hazel eyes look at him with that magical combination of irritation and affection that nobody else did just right.
"It's time, Sammy. The docs took you off all your pain meds, figuring that would force you to wake up. Guess nobody told him that nobody can ever force you to do anything. 'Cept your awesome big brother, of course." Dean's heart clenched at the reminder of how Sam's face had grown pinched, and his brow had furrowed in pain. He'd insisted that they start the pain medications again, unable to watch Sam suffer when there was something he could do about it. Now, if only he could do something to make the younger man wake up. Maybe Kelly should come back and kiss him again.
Lori had been in to visit, and she had almost smiled when she'd thanked him for taking care of the evil that had hidden beneath Tenebrae Woods. She promised that she and her family would keep an eye on it, watching for any gwyllgi that had survived, and checking on the symbols on the trees regularly. To her surprise, her parents had used their life savings to purchase the entire woods, having been told many years earlier by Lori's grandmother that they would need to do so one day. Was it a perfect solution? No, but it was as good a one as hunters ever seemed to get.
Lori had also told Dean about renewing the existing symbols with her blood. "Both times, it seemed like it was sucking energy out of me," she'd explained. "After everyone was out of the woods, I went back and slept for 14 hours straight." Her worried eyes had strayed to Sam's silent form. "He had to create a whole new symbol, so I'm sure that took a lot more energy."
Dean knew. He still hated it.
He kept up the running commentary for Sam. "Oh, and Greg already killed two of the leftovers. Seems like a headshot takes 'em out now. I wonder if queen bitch being dead made 'em weaker." Dean sighed. Civilians finishing the job sucked so hard. But at least someone was doing it, he supposed.
"I have to get out of this place, dude. The coffee sucks, and they only give me one cup a day. And everyone is so…nice." Dean gestured to the balloons, cards, and gifts that surrounded them. "It's kind of creeping me out. Although, Greg's wife keeps sending cookies, so that's nice. But, man, you know how Pastor Jim used to say I have itchy feet, and can't stay in one place too long? Well, they're itching."
Dean's gaze fell to the spot he'd been avoiding. In light of the other hurts Sam bore – especially the ankle, which sported over fifty stitches – this one was pretty minor. The cuts on his arm were shallow and healing well. But the thought of Sam carving his own flesh to create a spell turned Dean's normally iron stomach. Almost against his will, Dean gently peeled back the bandage on Sam's left forearm. The cuts were clean and closed, the symbol they formed clearly delineated. With a glower, he carefully put the bandage back in place.
"Hoo pssed in yer c'rnflase?" said a raspy voice.
Dean's eyes shot to Sam's face, well able to translate the mumbled who pissed in your cornflakes? Leave it to Sammy to start out with a full sentence instead of a word or two. A grin spread across Dean's face, but he quickly schooled it back to a scowl.
"You did, by carving up your own skin. And then taking almost three days to wake up."
Sam considered that sleepily. "Y'r arm?" He was looking at Dean's hated sling. Figured.
Dean shook a cup of water questioningly even as he responded. "Nothing major." His brother managed to look skeptical even while half awake. Then in true Sam "I can do it" Winchester fashion, the younger man reached for the cup, but Dean pulled it away. "Nuh-uh. Stay still." He brought the straw up to Sam's mouth, ignoring the half-hearted bitch face that was sent his way.
Sam sighed, his unspoken thanks clear to his brother. "Bobby? Lori?"
Yeah, that was typical too. Sam wanted to know how everyone else was faring before himself. Deciding he would have plenty of time to yell at his brother later, Dean opted to give Sam the whole lowdown. Sam was quiet through the recitation, but surprised Dean a little by staying awake for the whole thing. His struggle to do so was obvious.
Dean tapped Sam's arm just below the bandage. "And you are never doing this again, got it?"
The corner of Sam's mouth curled up. "Okay, I'll never use a sigil made of my blood to reset a 350-year-old protection spell designed to trap gwyllgis." Damn. That was a hell of a sentence for someone who just woke up. Leave it to Sammy. Dean thought proudly.
"Smart ass."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Typically, the Winchesters could pack up a motel room and be out the door in five to ten minutes. This time it was not going well. The brothers had checked themselves out of the hospital against medical advice and were moving a lot more slowly than they liked. Dean's arm hurt so much he couldn't even use it, and Sam was hobbled by his ankle and could barely stay awake from what they figured was an after affect of the spell. Add to that the fact that their smaller injuries made everything painful for both brothers, they were a tad irritable.
"Will you sit down and put that ankle up?" groused Dean as Sam shuffled between the beds. The lines of pain bracketing Sam's mouth and the way he couldn't seem to get his eyes quite all the way open were ramping up Dean's guilt. He'd agreed to let Sam check himself out because it was the only way to that Sam would let him check himself out.
"No, because then you'll keep picking things up and turning white," responded Sam, just short of yelling. "Yeah, just like that." He hated Dean's obvious pain, his pallor and the way the corner of his eyes were pinched and his mouth was drawn tight. After his surgery, Dean should be tucked in bed on good painkillers with a remote and someone to bring him whatever he needed. Lord knows Sam would have done it, pain be damned, but he knew Dean's protective instincts would never allow him to stay still while his younger brother hobbled around. "You're a moron, you know that?"
"I'm a moron, douchebag? You're acting like you're fine when you can hardly walk! And I'm not staying in this weird ass little town one more day." Dean grunted as he lifted his bag onto his bed. "We're leaving."
"I know. I know. Hell would freeze over before Dean Winchester takes care of himself." Sam threw the book Secrets of the Druids, a gift from Lori (who had actually smiled when she handed it over) into his bag with more force than he needed to.
Dean pointed to himself. "Pot." He pointed to Sam. "Kettle."
"At least take some pain killers and take a nap in the car."
Dean laughed. "Wait, you're serious? You can't stay awake for more than half an hour. There is no way that I'm letting you drive my baby. You'd put us in the ditch before we hit the freeway."
Sam stared hard at Dean's arm, making his point silently. "You know, I'd wrestle you for the keys, but I'd be afraid of hurting you."
"Oh, yeah? Catch me."
They had devolved into truly creative name-calling by the time they were headed outside. They were so intent on their insults that they didn't immediately register the highly annoyed man leaning against a van just outside their door. "You idjits done fighting like a coupla old hens?"
"Bobby," greeted Dean with uncharacteristic caution, noting the older man's crossed arms and scowl.
"How ya' feeling, Bobby?" asked Sam, just as carefully.
Bobby snorted. "Put your crap in the van. We're all goin' to the salvage yard and lay low. Get better." His face didn't show it, but Bobby really enjoyed the way both their mouths dropped open. It took a lot to genuinely surprise a Winchester, so two at once – that was an image he'd cherish.
Dean looked around the lot. "Um, Bobby, where's my car?"
"Flatbed, already on its way ahead of us. You know Kelly's pops owns a towing company?"
Dean let his bag slip off his shoulder, whether in shock or just exhaustion wasn't clear.
"You're going to drive us?" asked Sam, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice. Bobby didn't look much better than they did.
"No, because I'm not a halfwit." He raised his voice. "Darren! Get these invalids' bags, will ya?"
The teen popped out of the van like he'd been ejected. "Yes, sir! He grinned at Sam and Dean. "The sheriff is paying me two hundred dollars to drive you to Mr. Bobby's place. And an extra fifty if I get you to stop for the night on the way. So ya gotta let me!" He grabbed all three bags at once and went to the back of the van to load them up.
Sam and Dean looked at each other, at a loss.
Bobby wasn't done. "One more thing." He waggled a pill bottle, making it rattle. "You two knuckleheads forgot to pick up your prescriptions. You're taking these. Now take 'em, pick your bench seat, and lie down. We're leaving."
"Um. How did you know…?" asked Sam, his curiosity making him unwise.
"Dr. Jerry was worried, so he called Lori and told her to keep an eye on you two," reported Darren with far too much energy. "Then Lori called the sheriff, and he called Mr. Bobby." The kid grinned with a flash of white. "You can't get away with anything in this town."
"No wonder Lori was smiling," grumbled Dean under his breath. "Snitch."
Maybe it was because they were so tired and hurting. Maybe it was because it felt so good to have people looking out for them – and Bobby acting like a father. Maybe it was simply because with the Impala gone, they didn't have much choice. But the implacable Winchester brothers actually backed down. They took their meds, chose their seats, stretched out and slept. And they ate good meals at the diners Bobby chose, slept for a full eight hours in a far nicer stopover than they would have chosen (some anonymous donor from the town had covered it). And for once, they rested.