A/N: It is finally here! The chapter that I have been promising for a long time. Its a tad short, but I need all of the next chapter to be by itself. Warnings for this chapter are just references to some of what Mark did. I'm hoping to have the next chapter out sooner than this one was. *laughs nervously

When Sam re-awoke, he seemed to be alone. He glanced around the room frantically, before laying eyes on his brother who was sitting at the table in the room, sharpening a knife. A sharp pull alerted Sam to his body's needs, and he got up to make his way over to the bathroom. He could feel that Dean had looked up, and felt him watch his every step into the other room. Nothing was said, and irrationally, a small part of Sam wondered if Dean was upset with him. When he left the bathroom, Dean looked up at him again. He looked angry. Concerned, but also angry.

"You feelin' any better?" Dean wondered.

"Uh, yeah," Sam smiled. "I-I think my fever broke, and um, my back doesn't hurt as much anymore, so that's good."

"Dad went out last night. Ganked the wendigo," Dean sounded uncomfortable.

"I heard. Bobby told me when I woke up earlier," Sam nodded.

"I uh, haven't seen him yet today. Last I heard he was sleepin' in Bobby's room."

"Bobby said he was hungover," Sam's smile faded.

"He's pretty upset about everything," Dean rationalized. "Hell, even I wanted to get drunk after last night."

"But you didn't," the pointed response held less malice towards their father than it normally would have.

"Still," Dean shrugged.

"I couldn't wait to see you again," Sam remembered. "The whole time I was there, I was just waiting until you guys came back. I missed you, and- and I knew you would make it all better."

"Sammy, I- I'm so sorry," Dean's voice cracked. "I wish I coulda helped you sooner."

"Dean you didn't know," Sam tried to draw things into perspective.

"I shoulda fought dad on even sending you there. It was a stupid idea. I shoulda told him that. He-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted sternly. "Stop. You didn't know. None of us knew what was gonna happen. It's not your fault, o-or even Dad's fault. We, we just didn't know," Sam insisted. "And besides. Dad was right. I did have an attitude problem. I needed to learn respect, and while Mark's process was unconventional he still taught me some valuable lessons."

"No," Dean growled. "No you do not get to stand there and defend that-that monster. What he did to you, is beyond defense. I-it, have you seen yourself? You look awful, Sam. You've got a gaping tear in your chest from a wendigo, his pet wendigo that he set loose on you, and then made you stitch it up yourself. Your back, I don't even know what kinda monster made marks like that, but whatever it was it was a nasty sonuvabitch. Your ribcage is painted black and blue, like some freakish art project. So you do not get to defend him."

"Wasn't a monster," Sam sniffed, feeling tears pushing to escape the corners of his eyes. "Uh, my back. It-it was a whip, not- not a uh, monster." He stared at the floor, unwilling to make eye contact with his brother. The next thing he knew, he was being wrapped in strong arms.

"You- fuck Sammy," Dean was crying. Wait, Dean was crying? That wasn't possible, because Dean doesn't cry, but here he was, hot tears dripping onto Sam's shirt, as he held him in a fierce embrace.

The moment was interrupted as the door to their room was thrown open. Sam tensed on impulse. His back was to the door, but he knew who had entered the minute Dean spoke.

"What do you want?" his voice was cold.

"Oh come on, Dean," John sounded exasperated. "What, I'm not allowed to see my own son, who's sick?"

"That depends," Dean's arms tighten minutely. "Are you just gonna make everything worse like you usually do?"

"That's not fair, Dean," John bit back. "I take care of you boys the best I can. You can't expect me to never make a mistake. And anyway, I just came here to grab my stuff. I'll leave the Impala keys and take the bus. You boys can find a small town and lay low until I'm back."

"You're leaving?" Dean's voice was saturated in displeasure.

"I have some business to take care of. Look, if you boys can't handle being alone, I'm sure Bobby will let you stay with him."

"Okay, well fuck you then," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What was that, son?"

"Nothin'" He loosened his arms from around his brother, but stayed close.

Their dad grabbed his bag, and stalked out of the hotel room, dropping the Impala keys onto the table on his way.

"Is Bobby still here?" Sam wondered uncertainly, after a few moments of tense silence.

"He went for a drive about an hour ago," Dean glanced at the room's clock for confirmation. "He'll be back." As if to prove a point, moments later the hotel door slammed open, and Bobby came barreling through. His face was set in anger.

"Get your things packed, boys," he instructed. "Check out time is in fifteen minutes and I want to be back in Sioux Falls by tomorrow."

"Are we going to Sioux Fall with you, Bobby?" Dean wondered.

"You think I'm gonna let you fend for yourselves?" Bobby sounded offended. "Just 'cause your father's an idjit don't mean I am."

"We can take care of ourselves," Dean protested.

"And I can go for a week without food," Bobby snarked. "What's your point?" Dean (wisely) chose not to respond, and instead began gathering the weapons from the table. Sam gathered his things, and they were ready to leave in five minutes.

The brother's rode together in the Impala, driving behind Bobby's Chevelle. Once they were settled on the road, Dean turned to Sam.

"Turn on some music, will you?" he asked.

"Sure," San nodded. "Uh, which cassette?"

"You pick," Dean decided.

"Really?" Sam gazed at his brother in disbelief. "What about 'driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole'?"

"I'm being an awesome brother and letting you pick the music today because I'm so cool," Dean explained.

"Oh, thanks," Sam said softly. He didn't snark back, which was concerning, but not very surprising considering recent events. He put in a Creedence Clearwater cassette, and leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the side of the car. Dean glanced at him worriedly, wondering, hoping, and maybe even praying that his brother would be all right. If Sam noticed despite his closed eyes, he said nothing. Neither of them noticed as Bobby gazed at them worriedly from the rear-view mirror of his car, wondering and hoping that his boys would be all right.