Dean stared at the elevator ceiling as it made its slow descent to the bottom floor. He was doing the exact opposite of what he should be doing, but at the moment, he didn't care. The doctor's words bounced around his head like a possessed pinball machine, moving faster and faster until he was dizzy and couldn't keep up. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Had Hope lied to him about not being able to have children? Even if she hadn't lied, this was just as much his fault for being irresponsible.

The elevator door dinged and slid open, and he let out a breath as he sprinted for the parking lot. Dean half expected to find Sam leaning against the side of the Impala, arms crossed and staring back at Dean with a bored expression, but he was nowhere to be found. He hesitated, then shrugged and got into the car. He didn't plan to go far; he just needed to clear his head. Sam was with Hope, so she was safe until he returned. If he timed it right, Hope wouldn't even know he was gone.

"Hey, Baby," Dean murmured as the engine rumbled to life. "Let's go for a run, what do ya say?" He headed toward the highway, pressing the accelerator toward the floor and cranking up the radio to drown out the noise inside his head. His fingers drummed along the steering wheel to the beat of the music, ignoring the creeping speedometer and letting the car thunder down the eastbound highway like a thoroughbred on race day.

A hundred miles and a little over an hour later, Dean spotted a bar and pulled into the parking lot. He sighed and leaned his head back as he shut off the engine, and he tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that told him he shouldn't go inside. Every fiber of his being knew it was true, but he pushed the door open and climbed out of the car anyway.

The bar was mostly empty as the door shut behind him, and he scanned the room for a moment as he let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. "You lost?" came a woman's voice from behind the bar. "In or out my friend, stop blocking the door."

Dean licked his lips, blowing out a breath as he took a seat at the bar. "Are you this nice to all your customers?" he said, waiting for the bartender to finish wiping down the other end of the bar.

"Only the ones who look like lost puppies," she retorted, regarding him with a raised eyebrow. "What's the matter? Girlfriend dumped you?"

"Not quite," Dean snorted, shaking his head as he caught his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. What the hell was he doing here? For a second, Dean considered getting up and leaving, but that didn't last long as the bartender sauntered his way, leaning over the bar and crossing her arms.

"I see," she said cryptically. "So, what can I get you? Beer or whiskey?"

"Whiskey," Dean replied, averting his gaze from her cleavage. He was making enough bad decisions at the moment, thank you very much.

"Oooh," the bartender said, pushing off the bar and reaching for a bottle on the top shelf behind the bar. "It must be bad." She set two shot glasses on the bar and deftly filled them, then pushed them in Dean's direction.

Dean picked up the glass, lifting it high in the air before tossing it back. He turned the shot glass upside down and set it on the bar, savoring the burn on his insides as he downed the second shot and gestured for another. What are you doing, you idiot!

The bartender gave him a dubious look, then shrugged and poured another. "So you wanna talk about whatever's eating you?"

"No," Dean snapped as he downed the shot. "Why, are you a therapist?"

The bartender shrugged again, wiping down the surface of the polished wood bar. "Cheapest therapy you're ever gonna get. Take it or leave it."

"I'll stick with the whiskey, thanks," Dean growled, laying a card on the counter and motioning for the bottle. He had demons he needed to drown, dammit, and over the years, they'd dared to learn how to swim.

"Suit yourself," she said, taking the card. She picked up the bottle and held it out to Dean, her other hand outstretched, palm open. She waved her fingers as he stared at her incredulously. "Look, you wanna drink yourself stupid it's no sweat off my ass. But I get your keys or you don't get the bottle."

"Do you steal all your customer's keys?" Dean snapped, reaching for the bottle. The bartender snatched it out of his grasp, shaking her head.

"Only the ones destined to become a greasy smear on the highway as they try and outrun whatever it is that's haunting them," she said, snapping the fingers of her empty hand. "Now, hand 'em over."

Dean growled, fishing the keys from his jeans pocket. In a last act of defiance, he reached past Aisy and slapped them onto the bar, and grabbed the bottle out of her hand. She rolled her eyes, snatching the keys and dropping them on a hook behind the bar, making a mental note to keep an eye on the tall, dark, and broody stranger. "So," Dean said, pouring himself another shot, "what's your name?"

"Uh uh," she smirked at Dean from the other end of the bar, "nice try, handsome; but it ain't gonna happen."

"What?" Dean asked, frowning in confusion. "I mean, if you don't wanna tell me that's fine, but that just means I'm gonna call you bartender all night."

The bartender turned, eyeing him with a raised brow. "You first, big boy. Otherwise, I'm just gonna call you the drunk guy at the end of the bar."

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "It's Dean."

"Well, Dean," she grinned at him, "I'm Aisy. Have fun drowning your sorrows."

Dean nodded, pouring himself another shot and raising the glass in a cheer before slamming it and dropping the glass onto the bar. He drew in a hissing breath as the whiskey spread like fire through his chest, teasing the sweet oblivion that would come soon enough.

Over the next several hours, the bar grew more crowded and noisy, but Aisy kept a close eye on Dean. Since he'd traded the Impala keys for a nearly full bottle of whiskey, he hadn't moved from this seat at the corner of the bar, which she supposed was a good thing since the bottle was now half empty. Whatever the man was running from, he sure had a hell of a time drowning the pain.

Near midnight, the stream of customers slowed to a trickle, and by closing time, the bottle was nearly gone. After the last customer left, Aisy took a seat next to Dean at the bar, pouring herself a shot from the almost empty whiskey bottle. "So, you feel like talking yet?"

"Was this your plan?" Dean asked, his words slurring slightly, but to Aisy's surprise, he was still more coherent than she'd expected. "Ply me with whiskey so I'll tell you my sad life story? No thanks, sweetheart." He downed another shot, grimacing at how easily he'd called a stranger the nickname he'd unconsciously given Hope. It wasn't his fault, though, was it? He'd used that term for women for many years before Hope came along. Somehow after being with Hope, it just felt wrong to do it now, and he promptly drowned that thought with another shot of whiskey.

"Whatever," Aisy replied, "You just look lost, and I'm a pretty good listener." She glanced around the bar. "It kinda comes with the job, y'know?"

"Hmmm," Dean huffed, casting a bleary sideways glance at her, "I would imagine so. Thing is, right now, I couldn't find my ass with both hands, a map, and the best damn tour guide on the planet. I doubt you're gonna be able to help me."

"Fair enough," Aisy said, pouring herself another shot and tossing it back. She grabbed the bottle and held it out of Dean's reach as he made a clumsy attempt to reach for it. "It's closing time, so how about you stop drinking, hmm?"

Dean growled, slumping against the back of the barstool. "I knew this whole thing was a mistake," he muttered, speaking to no one in particular. Aisy made a noncommittal noise, waiting for Dean to decide whether he wanted to share anything else. "There was no way it would ever work, and now—"

Dean turned his glassy-eyed gaze on Aisy, and she regarded him with one raised eyebrow. "Tell me something," he murmured, his face taking on a faraway expression, as though he were lost in a memory. "Have you ever loved someone so much that you think you'd do anything for them?"

"Can't say that I have," Aisy replied, her expression nearly identical to the bitchface frowns Sam gave him whenever Dean was doing well—exactly what he was doing right now. "But, I'm sure the right guy just hasn't come along yet."

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "My brother would like you. He makes that face at me all the time."

Aisy snorted, chuckling as she slid off the barstool. "Oh, look, the drunk guy has jokes. But you were saying?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean sighed, scratching absently at his jaw, "it's over now, anyway. It has to be."

"You don't sound very sure about that," Aisy said, her tone dubious. Dean shook his head, covering his mouth with one hand.

"Trust me," he said, "I'm pretty sure it's over." Why wouldn't it be over? Hope was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for not only her life but the life of their child as well. What the hell was he doing? He was here, in some roadside dive bar a hundred miles away, drowning in whiskey and ducking the curveball life just flung in his direction at somewhere in the vicinity of light speed, instead of acting like a goddamn grown man and dealing with his problems head-on. In Dean's eyes, it just proved once more that Sam was a better man than him, and probably always would be.

"Well, here's a test then," Aisy said, a slight smile playing on the corners of her mouth as she leaned across the bar and gestured toward the front door, "if the woman of your dreams walked through that door right now and said, 'Come with me and I'll fulfill your every fantasy,' what would you do? Would you go with her without a second thought?"

Even in his inebriated state, Dean's answer was almost immediate. "Not unless her name was Hope Bennett," he said, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. Aisy nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Then whatever it is you're running from isn't over," Aisy said with a self-satisfied smirk. "So, now that you know, what are you going to do?"

"Nothing," he said, frowning as he stared at the empty shot glass. "Not a damn thing." He sighed, closing his eyes.

"You're right," Aisy said, nodding toward a door near the end of the bar, "you're not going to do anything in this condition. Follow me, there's a cot you can crash on in the back."

"I appreciate it, but I think I'll just go crash in my car," Dean said, sliding off the barstool and stumbling several steps before almost falling down.

"How about no," Aisy said, grabbing Dean's arm and leading him toward the back room. "Let's go, ya big lush."

Dean allowed Aisy to lead him, grumbling the whole time. She pushed him roughly through a narrow doorway, where he promptly fell face-first into an old military cot and passed out. Aisy rolled her eyes, flipping off the light switch and heading back out to the main room. She gave the bar one last wipe down, stopping abruptly as Dean's phone lit up, vibrating annoyingly loud against the edge of the wooden bar. Aisy glanced toward the back room, chewing on her lip. She picked it up, sliding a finger across the screen and pressing the phone to her ear.

"Dean?" the man's voice was frantic on the other end. "Dean! Where the hell are you?! I've been calling you for hours!"

"Uh, sorry," Aisy said, "Dean can't come to the phone right now. He's passed out drunk in the back room. He left his phone out here on the bar."

"Who the hell is this?"

"Who the hell is this?" Aisy shot back, her annoyance getting the better of her. She moved the phone from one ear to the other, pinching the bridge of her nose as she let out a sigh. "Sorry, it's just been a really long night. My name is Aisy and I own the Twisted Horse Saloon out on Interstate 20, just outside of Rushville. Dean has been here all night."

"Of course he has," the man said, sighing heavily. "I'm Sam. Dean is my brother, and he took off earlier today and hasn't been answering his phone."

"Yeah, kinda figured that," Aisy replied. "Look, he's fine for the moment, but he's gonna be a mess when he wakes up, so—"

"I'm on my way," Sam replied. "I'll be there in about an hour, if that's alright."

"Sounds good," Aisy said. "I'll be here, don't keep me waiting."

"Right."

Aisy ended the call, tossing the phone onto the bar. She had closing work to do anyway, so she got to work, sweeping the floor and occupying her mind with tasks until Sam showed up.

"Son of a bitch," Sam muttered, angrily pressing buttons on his phone as he navigated to the ride-sharing app. He swallowed the ball of fury rising up beneath his breastbone as he scribbled a hasty note for Hope and headed for the parking lot. Dean already owed Sam big time, and if Hope woke to find both of them gone—Sam didn't even want to think how that scenario would play out.

A little over an hour later, the first rays of morning light were streaking the sky with pink and gold as Sam stepped out of the car, straightening his shoulders and walking through the door of Twisted Horse Saloon. Nothing had lessened the furious incredulity that currently clawed at his insides; if anything, the time spent crammed into the back seat of a freakishly tiny Toyota Prius had only served to fuel his irritation. Somehow, Sam knew he shouldn't be surprised that Dean's response to finding out he would be a father would be to run away and drink himself into a stupor. Yet, here he was—surprised again.

"We're closed," came a muffled voice from behind the bar as the front door slammed shut behind Sam. The woman stood up, casting an annoyed glance at the door, her gaze landing on Sam. Her breath caught in her throat and she sputtered slightly, quickly coughing to cover up her moment of surprise. "Wait, are you Sam?"

"Yep," Sam said, popping the 'p' sound as he crossed the bar floor in a few strides. "Please just tell me Dean behaved himself and didn't do anything he won't forgive himself for."

Aisy flashed a sardonic smile, chuckling lightly as she gestured for Sam to follow her. "He's probably not gonna forgive himself for the hangover he's about to endure, but other than that, he was a perfect gentleman."

"I find that hard to believe," Sam snorted, shaking his head. "Dean is a lot of things, but a perfect gentleman is not one of them." Sam's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he held up one finger as he dug it out of his jeans pocket. "Sorry, I gotta answer this," he said, turning away from Aisy as he answered the phone.

"Bobby? Please tell me you found something, man. The doctor says Hope's only got another day at best if the fever doesn't break soon."

Aisy's ears perked up, and even though she told herself whatever was going on in Sam and Dean's lives were none of her concern, she found herself straining to hear the conversation Sam was obviously trying to keep hidden.

"Pasithea Oizymanian Fever, you're sure?" Sam said, and Aisy tilted her head in curiosity; she knew that fever all too well. The cure consisted of several scarce ingredients—one of them so rare it was almost impossible to find inside the United States.

"Quaking Aspen Bark, oxalis ennephylla, dried lotus flower, honeysuckle, iris petals, angel blood, and a lover's blood, got it. Most of that's easy enough to track down. Any ideas where we can find oxalis ennephylla?"

Aisy watched as Sam fell silent, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was something about this man, something dark and dangerous, and Aisy shook her head, annoyed with herself that she'd missed the signs. They'd been there, blatantly evident from the moment Dean walked into her bar, and she'd ignored them.

"I know, Bobby," Sam groused into the phone, "but we have to try. Thanks for your help. I'll let you know how it goes."

Sam hung up the phone, squeezing it in his fist so hard Aisy thought he might crack it into microscopic pieces. "Something the matter?" she asked, trying to figure out the best way to approach him with the information he so desperately seemed to need.

"The better question is, what isn't the matter?" Sam snapped, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "I have a lot of work to do, so if you don't mind, I need to get my irresponsible man child brother out of here so I can get to it."

"I can help," Aisy said cautiously as Sam regarded her with narrow, bloodshot eyes. "Sorry, I overheard part of your conversation. You're hunters, right? Someone you know has been infected with Pasithea Oizymanian Fever?"

Sam tilted his head, his brows knitting together as he pursed his lips. "What do you know about it?"

"Quite a bit actually, and I know there's one ingredient in the cure that doesn't exist anywhere in the northern hemisphere," Aisy said, shrugging one shoulder. "Depending on when your girl got infected, I'd say she's only got about twelve hours tops." An unwelcome stab of jealousy tore through her insides, and Aisy shook her head, turning away to hide her face. Where the hell had that come from?

"She's not my girl, she's a friend," Sam said quietly, "and I owe her my life a few times over now, so I have to try."

A knowing smile played on Aisy's lips as she connected the dots. "So—Hope, was it? She's Dean's girl—isn't she? That's why he's been hiding out here."

"Something like that," Sam said, blowing out an exasperated breath. "You said you could help me, how?"

"Come with me," Aisy said, disappearing through a set of swinging double doors into the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes but did as Aisy said, biting back his frustration and worry for Hope as he made a mental note to murder Dean when he regained consciousness. The two of them made their way up a narrow flight of stairs to the apartment above the bar.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, his voice reverberating slightly in the small space. Aisy glanced over her shoulder at him as she unlocked the door and opened it with a forceful shove of one shoulder.

"You'll see," she said, flipping on a light switch as she entered her apartment. "Have a seat." Sam did as she instructed, eyeing Aisy warily as she set down her keys and phone and poured them both a drink. She crossed the short distance between the kitchen and living area, holding out a glass as he glanced up at her in suspicion. Aisy rolled her eyes, shaking the glass slightly. "It's not drugged, Sam. I meant what I said, I want to help."

"And how exactly do you think you can do that?" Sam asked, taking the glass from Aisy, not breaking eye contact. Something about her drew him in, and it bothered him that he couldn't figure it out. What did she want from him? All he knew for sure was that she was a mystery, one he didn't have time to solve right now.

"Because," she sighed, taking a seat on the overstuffed armchair across from Sam, "I know who you and Dean are." Sam regarded her with a raised eyebrow, taking an experimental sip from the glass he held. "I mean, I know you're hunters. I am too."

"Are you now?" Sam said in a disbelieving tone. "Sorry, I don't buy it."

Aisy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Really? Fine, do you want me to prove it?"

Sam stared at her in silent challenge, and she heaved an exasperated sigh. "Alright, have it your way. Your friend, Hope, I'm assuming she got infected sometime in the last 6-8 hours? You took her to the hospital thinking she was coming down with a nasty flu, and now she's pretty much comatose, right?"

Sam stared at her incredulously, and Aisy nodded, tilting her head as she regarded him with narrowed eyes. "So, have the hallucinations started yet? Because that's what's gonna happen next. This virus is no joke, Sam, and it's transmitted by only one kind of demon, a succubus. So tell me, what the hell were the three of you doing hanging out with a demon if you're not hunters?"

Sam closed his eyes, scraping his teeth across his bottom lip as he decided how to answer her question. "First of all," he growled, glaring at her, "we weren't 'hanging out' with a demon for shits and giggles—unless you count being force-choked against a wall as a good time. Second, Hope got infected because she was trying to save a young boy's life, but that's not what's important right now—what's important is getting her the cure. It's not just her life at stake anymore."

"I don't understand," Aisy said, frowning as she downed the rest of her drink. "The virus is only transmitted from demon to human. It's not contagious to other humans."

Sam closed his eyes again, pressing his lips together into a thin line. Dean would kill him for what he was about to say, but desperate times and all that. Aisy might be their only shot at curing Hope, and it was one Sam was willing to take. Dean would thank him for it someday. "Hope is pregnant."

Aisy's brows shot up as her eyes bugged out of her head. "Oh my god, are you serious?!" She jumped out of the chair, pacing the room and waving her hands as she ranted. "Why in the fucking hell is she hunting then? Seriously?! What kind of irresponsible—"

"We didn't know," Sam said, clenching his jaw and mustering every last ounce of patience he had. Aisy fell silent, whipping her head around to stare at him. "It's very early, according to the tests. The doctor isn't even sure Hope knew, but Dean and I definitely didn't, or else she would not have been there. Dean would've made sure of it."

"Ahhh, that explains just about everything," Aisy mumbled, a lopsided smile splitting her face. "Dean's the father?"

Sam stared at her, not dignifying the question with a response. He'd almost convinced himself he would come to regret the decision to accept her help when Aisy sighed, setting her empty glass on the coffee table and standing up. "Forget it; it's none of my business anyway. C'mon, we've got work to do."

Aisy disappeared into the bedroom, reappearing a few moments later carrying a duffle bag and walking to the front door. Sam watched in silent bewilderment as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Are you coming or not?"

Sam groaned, standing up and following Aisy out of the apartment. She grabbed the Impala keys off the hook behind the bar as Sam wrestled Dean's dead weight off the cot and out to the car, maneuvering him not so gently into the back seat. Sam flung his hair back as he slammed the door, cutting off the sound of Dean's mumbled curses.

"So, where to first?" Aisy asked, tossing Sam the keys and resting her hand on the door handle. Sam glanced between her and the door car, shaking his head.

"I am headed back to Alliance to take Dean's drunk ass back where he belongs, then I am going to round up the ingredients for the cure. Alone," Sam said. "Hope is running out of time, and the last thing I need right now is someone getting in my way."

Aisy glared up at Sam with narrowed eyes. He had a considerable height advantage over her; she assumed he was used to that alone intimating people into doing what he wanted. "What? You think because you're glaring at me and trying to make yourself look big and scary I'm gonna be a good little girl and do as you say? I have three words for you, Sam. Haha. Fuck. You."

Sam clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes as he glared down at her. "Real mature, Aisy."

Aisy tilted her head, studying Sam. He was a stubborn one, she could tell, but not without reason or logic. "Tell me something, Sam, how do you plan on finding oxalis ennephylla? I've already told you it's impossible to find in the Northern Hemisphere."

Sam's glare faltered for a second, replaced almost instantly by a steely resolve. "We'll figure something out, we always do."

Gotcha. Aisy snorted, gesturing toward the backseat of the car. "Who, you and mister comatose over there? The guy who, and I quote, 'couldn't find his ass with both hands, a map, and the best damn tour guide on the planet?' Good luck with that. You don't want my help, fine. Have fun watching your friend die. If you think your brother's a mess now, wait until he finds out you could've saved her but you were too stubborn to accept help from a stranger." Aisy pushed past Sam, headed for the front door of the bar. She counted the steps in her head as she waited for him to wrestle with whatever kept him from accepting her help.

"Wait," Sam sighed, turning toward her. "What do you get out of it?"

Aisy frowned, shaking her head in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You heard me," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for Aisy to answer. "What's in it for you?"

"Nothing, Sam," Aisy scoffed, staring at him incredulously. "I just want to help, that's all. If you don't want it, I'm not gonna force you to take it." She shifted the duffle bag on her shoulder, mimicking Sam's stance in a silent standoff.

After several tense moments, Sam finally relented and unlocked the trunk. "Something tells me I'm gonna regret this, but let's go. The hospital is over an hour away and we're running out of time." Aisy nodded, stifling a smile as she tossed her bag into the trunk. She slid into the passenger seat, rolling her eyes at Dean snoring in the back seat. Sam slid into the driver's seat, glancing sideways at Aisy as he started the car and pointed the car in the direction of Alliance General Hospital.

They rode along in silence, Dean's occasional snorts the only sound between them in the car. After about a half-hour, Sam couldn't take it anymore. "So, if we're going to be working together, maybe we should get to know each other?"

"What do you want to know?" Aisy asked, her tone dubious. She wasn't an easy person to get to know, and she supposed it was by design, but something about this man sitting next to her made her want to change that. That's ridiculous, she told herself. Sam was dangerous, and she would be stupid to believe he saw her as anything but a means to an end. Still, there was something about him that she just couldn't shake.

"Your name, is it short for something?" Sam asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

Not what I was expecting, but alright. Aisy shrugged, staring out the window. "It's a nickname. My first name is Aislinn."

"And your last name?"

"Are we really going to sit here and play twenty questions, Sam?"

"Yes," Sam said, shooting her a sideways glare. "Yes we are."

"Fine," Aisy said, rolling her eyes. "It's Mallory. Would you like my date of birth and social security number too?"

Sam snorted, then shook his head. "Not right now, but I'll keep it in mind if I run out of other things to ask. So is there anything you want to ask?"

"Well you know my last name, what's yours?"

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched as he answered. "Winchester."

Aisy sucked in a breath, averting her gaze out the window. Silence fell in the car once more, as Sam gave Aisy a sideways glance, wondering what the hell just happened. "What?" Sam said.

"Nothing," Aisy replied, not looking at him. "It's—nothing."

"Bullshit," Sam replied, shaking his head. "What is it?"

"You're the ones other hunters tell stories about," Aisy breathed. "Did you guys really team up with the King of Hell to lock away Lilith?"

"Yep," Sam said, setting his mouth in a thin line. "Among other things."

Aisy nodded, slightly annoyed with herself for being the hunter equivalent of star-struck. "So…" she said, her voice trailing off as the conversation between them died.

"So," Sam replied, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "Look, I'm sure whatever you've heard about us, most of it is complete bullshit. Believe me, we lose as much as we win."

"I'm sure you do," Aisy said, letting the subject drop as she stared out the window. Neither of them spoke again until they pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

Sam glanced over at Aisy, who didn't acknowledge him as he reached under the seat and pulled out the air horn Dean kept stashed there. Aisy stared at him, one eye raised in suspicion as Sam stared at it, a sly smile spreading across his face.

"Sam?" she said, tilting her head. "What are you doing?"

"Get out of the car," he said, nodding toward the passenger door as he pushed open his own. Still looking dubious, Aisy did as he said and climbed out just as Sam opened the rear door and blew the air horn. Dean snorted, his arms and legs flailing as he bolted upright, cursing.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed, rubbing his bleary eyes. "God damn it, Sam! What the hell?"

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Sam quipped, tossing the air horn over the seat. "Have fun last night?"

"Bite me," Dean growled, swallowing hard as nausea hit him hard in the gut. "Wait, where the hell am I and why are you here?"

"Hi Dean," Aisy said, waving from just behind Sam. "How's that bottle of whiskey treating you?"

"What the hell?" Dean shook his head, still too drunk to think clearly. "Sam, what did you do?"

"I brought you back to the hospital, Dean. You ran away, you asshole. What the hell, man?" Sam practically vibrated with anger, and Aisy took a step back. This was clearly a family matter, and she decided to be anywhere other than in the middle of it.

"It's none of your business, Sam!" Dean snapped, pressing his palms into his eyes. "Ugh, I'm way too hungover for this bullshit."

"Yeah?" Sam snapped, "Whose fault is that, hmm?" Sam slammed the door, striding toward the front door of the hospital and toward the elevators.

Aisy appeared at his elbow as he jabbed the elevator button. "Everything alright?"

"It's fine," Sam said, his jaw muscle twitching as he avoided her questioning gaze. "He's just an idiot. Nothing new there."

As the elevator doors slid open, Aisy glanced over her shoulder to see Dean entering the hospital, stumbling slightly. Sam ignored him, stepping into the elevator. "Aren't you going to wait for him?" she asked, arching her brows.

"Nah, let him take the stairs," Sam said, pressing the button for the fourth floor. "Maybe it'll sober his dumb ass up."

"Or he'll break his fuckin' neck," Aisy muttered as the doors closed. She took a deep breath, then jogged over to where Dean was barely standing upright, taking him by the arm. "Come on, I'll help you upstairs. Let's go," she said, guiding him to the stairwell.