AN: Final "real" chapter, then there will be an epilogue and a "chapter" just to share the original prompt. Thanks for joining me through this!

Warning: waders strongly suggested.

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Dean clumped across Bobby's living room trying not to resent the unwieldy walking boot. It was a million times better than the hard cast and crutches. He was so glad he'd convinced a Sioux Falls PA to do the swap, and he'd enjoyed getting to know the lovely Stephanie very much. She was a cougar in all the best ways, and had made it clear that she didn't expect anything from him but a good time. Dean grinned as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Steph was one big advantage of their extended stay in South Dakota, but far from the only one.

For another, Sam actually seemed to catch up on his sleep. He had the requisite nightmares, but not many, and the familiar bedroom seemed to facilitate a quick return to calm. Neither of them commented on the fact that the first thing Sam did on waking from a nightmare (and nothing more -- no oneiroi poking around) was look over at Dean. It didn't make Dean feel all warm and gooey inside either, no sir.

For another, this was the first time since Dean had showed up at Stanford that they had a chance to just breathe. Sam had been devouring Bobby's library, ostensibly relearning about Hunting, but also indulging in his eternal, insatiable curiosity. It was nice to know that hadn't changed. Actually, this was a good chance for Dean to relearn his brother, because while many things hadn't changed, and certainly not the most important ones, the trimming was very different.

This Sam ate things like edamame (whatever that was -- it looked sketchy) and sushi, and appreciated overpriced coffee, though he still sucked down their normal swill too. Dean took a pull off the mug in his hand. Honestly, he could appreciate the fresh ground stuff Sam had picked up for Bobby, but he wouldn't be telling anybody that.

And this Sam was comfortable in a suit and projected an air of confidence that had cops and witnesses not questioning his FBI status despite his baby face. The awkward, stuttering Sam only made rare appearances.

And Sam had really grown into his height. He was broader at the shoulders and at some point had learned how to use his height to intimidate when the situation called for it. But he still knew how to make himself seem small and harmless, a trick Dean had never been able to learn.

Bigger, stronger, more confident, and now driven by revenge, Sam was better than ever to have at Dean's back. And somehow they hadn't lost their patterns. They worked almost seamlessly together. And while Sam's habit of questioning everything and debating had only gotten worse, he didn't do it during hunts.

In the privacy of his own thoughts, Dean savored just how proud he was of his brother. The kid, okay man, was formidable. His genius level intellect and unmatched researching skills had solved supposedly "unsolvable" cases and saved Winchester (and other) asses for years. And he was no slouch hand to hand or with weapons. Dean was and probably always would be better with a blade, and he was a quicker shot, but he couldn't quite match Sam's pure precision and aim. Yup, formidable.

All the same, he hadn't outgrown his need for his big brother. A whispered confession as he recovered from the skinwalker attack that nothing was right without you there, man had healed a part of Dean's heart he'd thought would be bruised forever.

Nothing was perfect. How could it be with the love of Sam's life murdered above the bed they shared? The resulting pain was turning into a burning hatred and need for revenge, and Dean knew that could kill Sam as surely as the literal fire could have. And Sam's obsession with finding their dad right now (like Dean didn't want to find him too and get the team back together!) could make him reckless and prone to bursts of temper. Yet. Dean couldn't find himself to regret that he and Sam were together, and Hunting together again.

And this break, if not the injuries that had precipitated it, was just what the doctor ordered. Sam's bruises from the skinwalker were finally gone, and he could actually sit up without pain now. In fact, he was on a little road trip with Bobby to pick up some dusty old book that both of them were very excused about. It was a tacit test of how Sam did spending a couple hours in the car.

Speaking of the car, Dean had really hoped that the window he'd ordered would have come by now so he could have replaced the busted one while his roomies were gone. He could have cannibalized a car in the salvage yard, but windows of a certain age had an unfortunate tendency to break at inopportune times, like when you were driving down the highway.

Dean considered doing some of the other work his baby could use, but knew that if he got started he wouldn't want to stop, and he'd promised to take it easy because of his still aching head. It was galling to leave her in less than perfect condition, and just as bad that Bobby'd spotted them the money for the window. He'd scowled and told Dean to shut up and drink his beer when he'd tried to thank the man for the assist with the oneiroi, subsequent room and board, and loan.

And when Dean had tried to apologize for the years of silence, he'd trailed off after "I'm sorry for..."

Bobby had finished the sentence "being a stubborn idjit? Yeah, it's kinda a genetic thing. Just don't do it again, genius."

Dean smiled a little in remembrance. It felt good to have Bobby on their side, and even better just to have him back in their lives.

Dean cast a longing look out to where his baby waited, but knew from the tattoo beat behind his eyes that his best bet was to stay inside and out of the bright sunlight. With a sigh, he began to clean the weapons. He made it all the way through theirs and Bobby's impressive arsenal (how did he not know that Bobby had a Civil War era Burnside Carbine?!) and they still weren't back.

Dean's body wanted some rest, but he was too antsy with Sam gone. He was over having to aband -- leave Sam behind. (Sam yelled at him every time he said abandon.) Mostly. But, seriously, did things ever go right when they were apart? He sometimes thought it was a miracle Sam had survived for years without Dean to watch out for him, as much of a trouble magnet as the kid was. And he was also somewhat surprised that he'd survived. He knew he hadn't had a whole lot of impetus to be careful with Sam gone.

Of course, maybe the reason that Sam was in danger all of the time now was that he'd been dragged back into the ridiculously danger life of Hunting. Not my fault, Dean reminded himself. Evil had come for Sam at Stanford, and he was throwing himself back in the life in response. We've got work to do Sam had said that horrible night, and his tone had been so hard that it still made Dean shudder to think of it. Another Winchester who wouldn't quit Hunting until he died or killed the thing that had murdered the woman he loved. Awesome.

Irritated and worried and bored and headachy, Dean growled about how he was better off without a partner because the worry was stupid. With a scowl that was wasted on the empty room -- and annoyingly empty coffee pot -- Dean gave in and dialed Sam, who was smart enough to answer on the first ring.

"We're on our way back, Dean," was Sam's greeting. "We'll be there in about an hour."

"What the hell took so long?" Yeah, he was crabby. What of it?

"We ended up running extra errands, but everything's fine. I'm fine."

He sounded conciliatory. Apologetic, even. Things Dad rarely of ever was. Dean thawed a little. "You could've let me know." Great, now he sounded like a jealous wife.

"I'm sorry. We didn't realize it was this late."

Dean grumbled again, but it was hard to maintain more than mild annoyance in the face of such sincerity. How did Sam do that?

"Hey, why don't you lie down until we get there?" asked Sam softly, sounding all caring and emo like the kid Dean remembered. "Sounds like your head is bothering you again."

Dean scowled even harder, and complained about Sam forgetting who was the older brother and mother henning and told Sam where he could stick his nap suggestion. Sam just chuckled, amused instead of intimidated. "Nah. I know who the big brother is. Where do you think I learned to pay so much attention?"

Well, what could he say to that? Unfair tactics, really. "You wanna talk to Bobby?"

"I'm not some little kid who needs a chance to talk to grandpa," Dean complained, aware that his words made him sound like a little kid. Bobby was bitching in the background, but Dean didn't catch the words.

There was downright laughter in Sam's voice as he responded. "Yeah, he loves you too." And he hung up over the protests on both ends of the line, the bitch.

Dean did lie down, but only because he wanted to and because his head did hurt a little. Not because of a little brother who sometimes forgot his place just because he hadn't known when to stop growing. And he wasn't going to sleep, either.

Dean didn't realize the lie of his resolution until he was waking up to see Sam's face looking down at him over the back of the couch. He looked...happy, if slightly worried.

"Hey, Dean. How you feeling?"

Dean sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He realized that he had heard Sam and Bobby moving around for a few minutes already. "Fine." The nap really had helped the headache. He watched carefully as Sam walked around the couch and sat in the armchair. He was still limping, but it was slight, and no more than he'd been before they'd left. And he didn't seem to be in pain. He was actually healing faster than Dean. "Ride go okay?"

"Great, really." Sam half smiled and picked at a fraying spot of his jeans. "I've got something for you."

Something light landed on Dean's lap and he blinked stupidly at the stack of money he was holding. "How...? What did you do?"

"Well, we got there too early, so we stopped in this bar that advertises paninis, and you know how you always say bars have the best sandwiches."

Dean thumbed through the bills as he absorbed the word vomit. There was slightly more than $2000! And Sam seemed excited but just a tad nervous. Not I did something bad or we're in danger nervous. More of...well, years ago, it would have been, I really want Dean to be proud of me nervous. But that was long gone...wasn't it?

"So, uh, the bar was full of this biker gang. But not like you're thinking. No hogs, just BMW's and other big cruisers. And all these guys were suits who retired early and were, I don't know, living out some fantasy. Rich older guys, but pretty cool. They were bored and waiting out the rain."

Dean was nodding slowly. He wasn't entirely sure what a panini was, other than, obviously, it was a sandwich, but the picture was emerging. It wasn't Dean's typical type of bar, he was sure, and he would bet the rich ol' boys had recognized in Sam that I went to an elite school vibe despite his attire. And since no typical biker gang would stop for a little rain, Dean had no doubt they were exactly who they'd said they were.

"There was a pool table, and I don't know, maybe I looked like an easy mark with my limp. Or maybe they just thought pool was part of the authentic experience. So, um, I suggested we set up a tournament with a $50 buy-in."

Dean smiled in admiration. Sam had appealed to them perfectly. "I take it you won?" he asked unnecessarily.

"They weren't very good." Sam shrugged modestly. "I almost feel bad, except they were entertained and didn't even miss the money." He was practically squirming in his seat. Leave it to the boy scout to feel bad about taking their money when he hadn't even hustled them. Sam huffed a laugh. "They weren't mad. One offered me a job."

Dean laughed aloud and shook his head. Only Sam.

"Um, I paid Bobby for the window and bought some groceries and I know we need tires soon..."

Dean wondered why Sam was still babbling and it occurred to him that he hadn't said anything yet. "Sammy." Dean leaned forward. "This is awesome! Good job. I'm proud of you, bitch."

Sam honest-to-God blushed and Dean acknowledged that, yes, Sam still wanted his big brother's approval. It was good to know.

"Okay. Good." Sam wiped his hands on his pants and stood up like he hadn't really cared, but Dean had seen what he needed to. "We, um, picked up some fresh steaks. Do you feel up to grilling?"

Dean's mouth was already watering. He stuffed the money in his pocket. "For steaks? Hell, yeah! Go get 'em!"

Just before ducking into the kitchen, Sam sent a quick but real smile over his shoulder, with dimples and everything. And Dean decided that having a partner was worth the aggravation after all.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Sam was pretty certain he was never going to move again. Despite all the activity and car ride, he had only a bit of stiffness in his hip. His foot ached a little, but it barely registered. He'd be completely back to normal before Dean got his boot off.

They were some place familiar and safe, with no fear hanging over their heads. And, wonder of wonders, they had Bobby back in their lives. And Sam was so full he wasn't sure he could walk.

In addition to the huge steaks, they'd had late season corn on the cob and Bobby had made baked apples with this crumbly brown sugar stuff on top. Really good panini notwithstanding, Sam had found himself hungrier than he'd felt in a long time. Dean channelled his inner Italian grandmother and kept loading Sam's plate until he'd begged for a break. Dean's transparent pleasure that Sam was eating was even better than the food.

Dean's praise for the money was better yet. The burden of keeping them supplied fell heavier on Dean, and Sam knew he'd hated taking even a little loan from Bobby, and was worried about needing new tires. Now, he wouldn't have to think about money for a while. I'm proud of you. Sam was going to hear those words for a while.

He groaned and rubbed his stomach and Dean rolled his eyes indulgently. In Sam and Bobby's absence, Dean had coaxed the ancient TV set back to life yet again, and he'd found some terrible horror movie. Between the fuzziness of the set and Sam's inattention, he wasn't sure which one. The Man Without a Face, maybe? He just couldn't be bothered to care, far too content to get up and go to bed, even though Bobby had headed for his own bed at least an hour ago.

Sam's psych professor had had them read a study on happiness. Studies showed over and over again that the happiest people weren't those who'd had he easiest lives. No, it was often people who'd survived something terrible. They had learned to find something to hang onto in hard times and hadn't forgotten that lesson in the good times. The most resilient had taught themselves to find glimpses of beauty even in the very worst of circumstances -- like Jess' wildflowers.

In the morass of mourning the woman he'd hoped to marry, Sam wasn't quite sure that he could find true happiness just yet. But between bouts of vengeance fever burning him from the inside out, maybe he could start by finding moments of contentment like this.

Sam looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye. Whatever the movie was, he was enjoying it. He seemed to be cheering for the monster this time, considering the humans too stupid to deserve life. Sam wasn't stupid. He knew who had forced him to keep going when he was sure that he couldn't take one more breath. Who had saved him emotionally just as surely as physically. And he knew that while Dean was frustrated, feeling like he wasn't doing enough, Sam had come a long, long ways from those first, dark days after Jessica's death.

Sure, he knew the impatience and anger and pain would boil over again, probably soon. Hopefully when it did, he could hold onto moments like this one.

Sam yawned and it turned into a belch.

Dean elbowed him without looking. "Dude, turn away next time!"

Sam didn't answer, just slid even farther down on the couch, his legs stretched out on the coffee table. With a sigh -- a contented one -- he leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. His neck would probably hurt like a bitch when he woke up, but he'd worry about that...later.

He didn't really wake up when he was carefully jostled lower yet on the couch and gentle fingers turned his head so he rested against Dean, but he smiled.

And he smiled again later when he heard the low rumble of a familiar voice saying "idjits" about every fifth word and a warm blanket was spread over him and Dean.

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AN: I was told that too much schmoop wasn't possible, and this was what happened. *shrugs*

Christine: Thanks! It's fun to write.

Timelady66: It can't be pure happiness, not in Supernatural! Your insights impact the way I view the series too. Remember Bobby's speech trying to convince Dean to let Sam jump into the Pit? Maybe that was the point at which he overcame that resentment. I know that I've sort of resented some of the milestones my youngest hits just because I'll never get to experience them again...maybe it's like that. While I'm proud of my Justin (though did he really have to pass me in height by 13?!) it's harder to let go of his childhood than with the other two. JMO. Also, "love-created stupidity" is fantastic. It's a Winchester speciality!

Long live BRUCAS: They're always better together, right? Glad the goat story gave you a smile. And I adore that you said they're heading "home" to Bobby's.

muffinroo: Nope, I found some more feels for this chapter. Not sorry. So, you sure I can't get just a Sam hug maybe? It's really hard to find someone that much taller than me to hug. (Look at me justifying my whining!) Anyway, I'm very happy you like the story, and always smile when I get comments from you.