A/N My trip ended up getting canceled at the last minute, so I did in fact have time to post. :) Also, sorry for any weird mistakes or inconsistencies. Endings are hard, guys, and it is waaaaay too late for me to be comprehensively editing.

I also have more stories in the works (in case you're interested, the working title of my next story is Paint Me a Monster...and it might get kinda sad at some points so, maybe bring tissues? I don't know if it's actually that sad, I guess that's up for you to decide). It's not quite done yet, but we are getting close. So keep an eye out for that!

THANK YOU to everybody who was read, reviewed, and followed this. You guys keep me motivated to write. :)

Chapter Eight

Dean pressed his makeshift compress against Sam's forehead, careful of the cut there. Sam shifted weakly under his hands, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing uneven and labored. Flipping his wrist over to check his watch, Dean tried not to let panic overwhelm him.

Bobby was due in about an hour, that wasn't that long…right?

Sam was still covered in dirt and blood from the crash, and while Dean knew that the amount wasn't life-threatening, it did complete the picture of death a little too well. His bad arm was still held protectively against his chest, and a fair amount of dried and crusted blood marred the once white bandage. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if Sam had popped some stitches, which was the last thing that he needed.

They really should have taken care of the injuries hours ago…

Resting his hand against Sam's cheek, he tested for a rising fever, before moving his hand down to check his pulse. The fever was still there, if lower than it had been right before he had given him the second dose, and his pulse wasn't dangerously high. Not yet.

"I'll be right back, just grabbing the first aid kit," Dean said softly. Sam made a small noise in acknowledgment and Dean patted his arm before standing.

He started with Sam's hands. The cuts looked pretty nasty, but they were not actually that deep and wouldn't need stitches. He settled for cleaning them carefully and then lightly wrapping them in bandages. Turning his attention next to Sam's shoulder, Dean began to dampen the bandages with water, trying to loosen the already dried blood that was gluing it down. Sam grunted, his face screwing up.

"Sorry."

Sam just feebly shook his head, and appeared to instantly regret it as his face paled. So, he was still having issues with his head and neck. Dean took a moment to grab some ice and wrapped it in a towel, sliding it behind his brother's neck. It was probably just whiplash, but if resting and icing didn't help, he would take him in.

Returning to the shoulder, Dean eased the bandage off and stared for a moment at the abused flesh. Anger kicked in, hot and strong, and he let it course through his veins. "Damnit, the son of a bitch."

"What?" Sam asked, forcing an eye open.

"That bastard Jesse, look what he—I hope that he died really painfully," Dean growled, as he bent closer to examine the stitches. They hadn't just popped, not by accident, anyway. Jesse appeared to have broken them using blunt force.

Sam stared at him a moment, his tired brain working, before realization set in, and he closed his eyes again. "He wanted a taste of my blood…"

"The son of a bitch," Dean repeated, shaking his head and pressing lightly around irritated skin. "If infection sets in, I'm going to bring him back just so that I can kill him again. C'mon, who does things like that? Animals, all of them…" His anger was getting the best of him, egged on by the worry that was boiling in his gut, but Sam managed a smirk.

"He was a vampire, so…I don't know. Kinda in the job description."

Dean shook his head again, grabbing the bottle of peroxide to carefully dab at the open wound. "Seriously, Sam, it's messed up. Civilized creatures just don't do that!" Sam didn't answer, his face screwing up and a low moan escaping him as Dean continued his administration.

Dean paused briefly, checking his brother's vitals again.

They were still okay for the moment, and he went back to work, struggling to control his emotions. Once he had finished rebandaging the limb, Sam brought his other arm up, patting Dean's.

"I'm okay," he murmured and Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was in no way, shape, or form okay. He had been coughing up blood—even if it was only flakes, it didn't bode well—and Bobby still wasn't here yet.

Dean clenched his jaw. Sam offered him that same sort of sad smile and Dean fought against the urge to get up and throw something. Rising, he strode over to the window, checking for any sign of Bobby instead.

He wanted to avoid giving Sam another dose of the supposed antidote if he could. It wasn't…it wasn't doing his brother any favors and Sam was already weak and in pain. Bobby had assured him that it wouldn't kill Sam, but Dean was no longer quite so sure.

Sam was watching him through his eyelashes when he returned. Dropping down to sit on the bed, Dean resoaked the handcloth in cold water and draped it over Sam's forehead.

"Bobby'll be here soon."

Only, forty-five minutes trickled by and Bobby did not appear. He was late, and Dean didn't know what to do as Sam's fever crept steadily higher.

Sam had gone quiet—or at least quieter than he had been before, which was an accomplishment in and of itself—his energy almost completely depleted. He simply laid there, letting Dean do as he would and that was unnerving.

Dean resoaked the now warm rag in the water and craned his neck, trying to see through the window, but there was no sign of Bobby.

It was coming down to it, he was going to have to give Sam the antidote, or get creative in lowering Sam's fever, which would probably involve an ice bath.

"And that will be just buckets of fun," he muttered to himself. Sam didn't respond, not that Dean had expected him to.

All the same, if Bobby didn't arrive in the next five minutes, he was going to do it and force Sam's temperature down himself. Resoaking the cloth, he smiled down at Sam, more for the show of it than anything because Sam wasn't looking. "Besides I've done enough lifting of your heavy ass over the past few days, I don't want to do it again, I'll probably throw out my back."

Sam's lip twitched upwards, but that was the only sign that he had heard him.

Dean pressed his lips together, trying not to panic as he half rose, glancing out the window. When he didn't see a sign of Bobby, he retreated to the bathroom to start a bath, running it as cold as he dared. He didn't want to send Sam into shock, that would only create more problems.

Sam had drifted into unconsciousness by the time Dean returned, and his heart did an odd little flip. There was nothing for it, he was just going to have to go for it.

Bobby arrived just as Dean was hefting Sam up so that he could move him into the bathroom, and he almost cried at the knock on the door.

"It's open!" he yelled, as he began to lower his brother back down.

The door swung open, revealing Bobby who looked both worried and determined.

"Help him," Dean ordered, gesturing at his brother.

"Why'd you think I drove over five hundred miles in less than a day?" Bobby growled as a hello as he dropped down next to him. "How's it looking?"

"Not good," Dean said simply, and Bobby nodded, reaching out to touch Sam's face for himself, feeling the heat on his skin and the rapid beat of his heart. His face was pinched with worry as he tugged at his beard.

"I've got…well, it's a powerful artifact and ritual. The idea is that it will clean his blood of any impurities."

"Well, that's better than whatever damn cure you gave me."

Bobby plopped his bag on the bed, rifling through the contents and pulling out various containers. They were all carefully labeled and Dean was content to let him do what he needed to do as he changed the cold compress.

When he laid a fresh one down, Sam twitched feebly but didn't wake up.

"Get me his hand," Bobby demanded as he began to set up what looked like a small altar on the floor between the beds. Dean fished Sam's hand out from under the blankets, holding it out to Bobby, who straightened with a small knife.

Dean didn't question it as Bobby turned Sam's hand palm up and made a deep cut. Blood instantly welled up and Bobby tipped Sam's hand to the side, letting him bleed into an ancient-looking and probably extremely powerful amulet.

"What is that exactly?"

Bobby didn't look up from what he was doing. "It's an amulet that belonged to Peter the Hermit, who was a priest during the First Crusade. It was said that he would use this to heal those close around him, but most dismissed it as just a legend. We did a little bit of digging a while back, and there was truth behind it. Some people think that it was given to him by a witch so that he wouldn't execute her for her pagan beliefs."

"Is there a spell to go along with it?" Dean asked curiously, reclaiming Sam's hand and reaching for his bandana to wrap around it. Bobby topped the now full amulet, placing it carefully in the middle of the alter.

"Don't put pressure on that just yet, I need more. And yeah. There's an incantation. Not too hard as far as things go, but…we're just going to have to hope that it actually works."

Dean held Sam's hand carefully, allowing the blood to collect in his palm, before Bobby turned back again. He had a small paintbrush that he dipped into the blood and then began to draw ancient symbols with it around the vile.

"And if it doesn't?" Dean asked, feeling his stomach curl a little.

"It's our best bet and all that I could come up with such short notice, so you had better start prayin' that it'll work. If not, we'll keep giving him that stuff I had you mix up earlier—"

"No."

"Boy, that thing kept him alive while I was getting' here."

"Yeah, and it about killed him too. He was coughing up blood."

Bobby shook his head, his face grim as he continued to work. "I told you that it wasn't going to be pretty. On the upside, this ritual should also clean his blood of any traces of that cure." He stood, leaving no room for argument. "Get him sitting up, dry off his chest. I'm gonna have to put these symbols on him as well."

Dean nodded, stretching behind Bobby to grab a fresh towel. He tugged Sam up and began to cut his shirt off of him. It was easier than trying to pull it off, especially with Sam's bad shoulder, and then began to do as Bobby had asked. Sam's head drifted to the side, coming to rest against his shoulder and Dean nudged it back into a more secure position. From here, he could feel the fiery heat of Sam's skin and, if he sent a silent plea out to…well, whatever might be listening, then it was for a good reason.

If he lost Sam…

Bobby went to work with the paintbrush, carefully drawing the symbols on Sam's skin with blood.

"Alright, here we go," he said, taking a step back to critically examine his work before shrugging. He knelt back down over the altar and looked at Dean.

"I'm not sure what's gonna happen, I've never done this before. All the research we did was…hypothetical at best," he said tersely and Dean nodded, preparing himself mentally as he wound himself around Sam, careful of all of his injuries. In his experience with magic, spells—even positive ones—were never easy and usually painful.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby began to sprinkle some sort of crushed herb over the alter, muttering what sounded like Latin as he did. He repeated the same thing again, this time over Sam's body, and then fell silent.

Dean held his breath, waiting. He slipped a hand down to wrap around Sam's wrist, feeling the frantic beating of his heart. Bobby reached across, gripping Dean's shoulder tightly in a silent sign of support. Whatever happened, he wasn't leaving.

"How do we know if it is working?" Dean asked after a moment but Bobby was shaking his head.

"It's working," he said sharply, pointing down at the altar. The amulet was beginning to leak Sam's blood, and they both watched in horrified fascination as a thin line of red began to spread across the alter. It painstakingly connected with the different symbols, tying them all together. Dean's heart jumped as he realized the same thing was happening on Sam's chest.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then Sam's body abruptly went rigid in Dean's arms, a strangled gasp escaping his lips as his back arched.

"Sam?" Dean's throat was tight with rising fear as Sam began to shake, his whole body convulsing. His eyes snapped open, the veins on his neck popping out as he strained against an invisible force.

"Get him on the floor," Bobby ordered, jumping to his feet and sliding his hands under Sam's knees as Dean attempted to grasp Sam's upper body. Together, they moved him down carefully to the space between two beds.

Sam continued to seize, his body shaking and his arms snapping to the side without control. Dean reached up, blindly grabbing a pillow and shoving it under Sam's head to ensure that he wasn't banging it against the floor because Sam didn't need a concussion on top of everything else.

Dean's mouth was dry as he watched Sam, checking his watch every few seconds.

The seizure only lasted for a few minutes and then Sam went completely limp, his head rolling against the pillow.

"Is he breathing?" Dean snapped out as Bobby leaned shakily forward, pressing one hand under Sam's throat and the other over his mouth.

Sam was too still, he couldn't see his chest moving. What if they had killed him?

"He's not breathing, but his heart is beating," Bobby reported briskly, sitting back and Dean felt his own heart skip a beat. He pulled the pillow out and tilted Sam's chin back in preparation for rescue breathing if needed, and to assure that his air passage was free.

"C'mon, Sammy," he whispered, one hand going down onto Sam's chest. "Snap out of it…breathe!" He waited a second longer, willing him to take a breath.

Nothing was happening.

"Damnit," Bobby muttered. "C'mon…"

And then Sam's chest was rising, air wheezing in through his suddenly laboring lungs. Dean grabbed for him, rolling him over onto his side and into a recovery position, even as his eyes begin to burn and he had to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Sam was breathing, Sam was alive, they were going to be okay.

Bobby sat back and tugged off his baseball cap as he leaned against one of the beds, running a hand through his hair. Dean grasped Sam's shoulder, watching him with wide eyes as he continued to suck in ragged gasps of air that sounded painful. He was beginning to shake, and Dean laid a hand on Sam's skin. He was amazed to find it cool, even a little cold.

The fever was broken. The amulet had worked.

Dean's heart was somewhere in his throat as he just sat there, slightly dumbfounded, and watched Sam greedily inhale.

"We should put him to bed. The poison may have been removed, but his body has still been through hell and back," Bobby finally said and Dean nodded, not trusting his voice.

Carefully, they lifted Sam and laid him back on the bed, Bobby shoving the pillow under his head as Dean began to bundle him up in blankets. Dean then sat on the edge of the bed next to Sam, one hand on his arm. There were still things that needed to be done—such as sending someone after Kate, and making sure that Sam really was okay—but for the moment all he wanted to do was sit with his brother.

#

Bobby finished washing his hands and leaned up against the bathroom door, watching as Dean cleaned the blood off Sam's chest with all the tenderness of a mother. He would never say those words aloud for fear of Dean tossing a knife in his direction to show him just how manly he was, but it was true.

Sam slept on, oblivious but breathing steadily. It had been almost three hours since they had performed the ritual and, so far, Sam's temperature was holding steady and his heartbeat was even.

Bobby sighed, and pushed off the door, heading out to his car.

He had some beer in the trunk and Dean needed something to focus on and take the edge off of his emotions. Or, at least he was fairly positive that there was some. He hadn't packed anything when Dean had called for help, he had simply gotten the address that he needed and left—he had barely even remembered to grab his wallet.

Sighing disgruntledly, Bobby dug through various junk until he found a long-forgotten six-pack and headed back inside. They had been lucky this time. There had been a lot that had gone wrong, but both Sam and Dean were still alive and that was worth celebrating.

Dean still hadn't moved from the bed when Bobby returned. His eyes were suspiciously bright, but Bobby didn't comment on it as he held out a beer. Dean reached over, taking it.

"He's gonna be alright, Dean, he just needs to sleep it off."

"I know—or at least my head knows that," Dean confided, turning to face Bobby but not leaving his place on the bed. "It's just…I can't get rid of this pit in my stomach. It was close, Bobby, too damn close."

Bobby didn't say anything, just took a deep draft of the beer. Dean followed suit, his free hand resting on Sam's arm.

"He kept trying to say goodbye. Or say stuff that he thought I needed to hear," he said abruptly and Bobby nodded.

"Does that surprise you? Sam's always wanted to talk about things, been that way since he was about two and couldn't shut up about anything."

Dean made a face, apparently not comforted, not that Bobby blamed him.

"Look, you've both been through this before. The next couple days are gonna suck for you both…I don't know, work through what happened." Dean snorted at that and Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean and his aversion to admitting that he had emotions was going to be the death of all of them "But give it a few days and you two will be back to your annoying selves."

"Glad to know you think so highly of us." Dean managed a smile, although he fell silent as he continued to clutch his beer, still looking lost.

That was Bobby's sign to take charge.

"You know what's going to help more than anything is a shower, food, and some sleep. I doubt that you have had any of that in the last couple of days." Bobby hadn't either. He had been running around with his tail between his legs and his heart in his throat, but that's what you did for family.

"Nah, I'm good." Dean glanced back at Sam's face and set his shoulders.

"No, you idjit, you aren't. So, I'm going to go rustle up some grub, and then you're gonna lay down, or I'm going to force you too."

"Like you could," Dean challenged and Bobby just raised an eyebrow.

"Don't test me," he growled, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"I need to be awake when Sam wakes up," Dean said stubbornly.

"Yeah, well, Sam is probably going to sleep for who knows how long. His body is exhausted and if you don't go to bed now, then you are going to be asleep when he does wake up. So just, do us all a favor and don't fight me on this." Bobby watched as Dean fought it for a second, before nodding.

"But you wake me up the moment—the moment—he wakes up," he requested, and Bobby lifted his beer in agreement.

Mission accomplished, at least for the moment, Bobby finished off his beer and headed back for the door, keys in hand to go find some food.

An hour later and after he had showered and eaten the sandwiches that Bobby had brought back, Dean laid down on the bed next to his brother. Bobby watched him stare at Sam for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

After that, Bobby rounded up another beer for himself and kept watch over the sleeping brothers.

It was almost four in the morning when he looked up from the book that he was reading by the light of a small flashlight to see Sam blinking dazedly at him.

"Sam?" Bobby asked, immediately dropping the book and moving towards his side.

"Dean?" Sam asked in return, exhaustion dripping from the word.

"Right beside you," Bobby promised and Sam felt behind him, apparently unable or unwilling to turn his head. His hand found Dean's arm and he relaxed. Dean snorted in his sleep, his brow furrowing, but he didn't wake up.

Bobby smiled at Sam. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like a truck hit me," Sam replied, his words thick and slow. Bobby nodded in understanding.

"Do you want any pain meds?"

Sam didn't respond, and Bobby took that as a yes. He helped Sam take them, and then he sat down again, pretending to read his book. He thought that Sam had drifted off until he spoke again.

"How am I alive?" he asked, the confusion clear and Bobby sighed, scratching at his cheek.

"It's a long story, best saved for when you don't look like you've been through the grinder."

But Sam just frowned pointedly, and Bobby gave in. He was probably going to have to repeat this all in the morning when Sam woke up again…but Sam could be a stubborn SOB when he wanted to and it was best that he just humored him. "Look, you remember Peter the Hermit's amulet…?"

Bobby watched as Sam concentrated, his face pulling into tight lines before his eyes went wide. "You got it? How? I thought that Manning was unwilling to sell?"

Bobby shrugged. "Changed his mind."

Right after John had died, he and Sam had spent some long hours together in the library while Dean finished healing up. At one point, they had gotten a bit obsessed when Sam discovered mentions of the ritual in an old book (and Bobby had a creeping suspicion that Sam's research had something to do with almost watching his brother die in that hospital and not being able to do anything about it). They had spent a couple of afternoons discussing the amulet, debating if it was even real or not, which led to further intense research until they had found an old man—Manning—who lived in Nebraska and worked in special artifacts from the Middle Ages. He had claimed to have owned the amulet, and Sam had reached out, thinking that it would be handy to have on hand but had been turned flatly away.

It turned out that Manning was, in fact, willing to sell if the proper amount of pressure was applied. A large chunk of Bobby's life savings in addition to a future favor had also been appreciated. Not that Sam or Dean were ever going to know any of that.

Sam huhed, his dimples coming out as he gave Bobby a genuine, grateful, smile and that right there made it all worth it.

He loved those two boys too damn much to let something happen to either of them.

Something else they didn't need to know. Or, at least, he hoped that he didn't have to say out loud.

"Thank you," Sam said, reaching out to weakly catch Bobby's arm. Bobby shrugged it off uncomfortably.

"Just shut up and go to sleep, idjit. I was readin'."

Sam gave him a helplessly fond look that had Bobby rolling his eyes.

And then he was asleep again.

#

"I can't believe you didn't wake me up," Dean said grumpily as he pulled his boots on and began to lace them tightly.

"I already told you. Sam was awake for about three minutes," Bobby said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"But he was lucid?" Dean asked again, looking up from his task.

"Yeah, he was. Pretty amazing actually, considering what he had just gone through."

"Sammy never misses a chance to show off that big brain of his." Dean smiled fondly down at his sleeping brother. Sam was still wheezing slightly, but his color looked better than it had yesterday.

Dean moved over to the half-full pot of coffee to pour himself some. He leaned against the small counter next to Bobby and glanced once at Sam to make sure that he was still sleeping soundly.

"I can't believe how close we came on this one. If you and Sam hadn't already done all that research…"

"Yeah, well, knowing stuff comes in handy in this line of business."

"I'll drink to that," Dean raised his glass and Bobby rolled his eyes.

"And I'll remind you of that next time you start bitching about research."

Dean grinned.

Taking his book and coffee with him, Bobby relocated to the other bed. He sat down and not even ten minutes later, began to snore softly. His cap was pulled down over his eyes, and his book rested on his chest.

Dean smiled over the rim of his cup, but he went about the rest of his morning routine more quietly. If anyone deserved to sleep, it was Bobby.

After finishing breakfast, Dean moved to stand over Sam. Pressing the back of his hand against Sam's forehead, he laid his other over his chest. His temperature was still good, and Sam's heartbeat was steady if a little weaker than normal.

That was all that mattered. Everything else would heal.

Dean began an examination of Sam's other injuries. The shoulder wounds looked irritated and Dean made a mental note to go out and buy another sling so that Sam couldn't use the arm until it had healed. His bruises were also beginning to turn brilliant shades of red and blue, and Dean went in search of more ice. He was wrapping some to put around Sam's neck—he doubted that the seizure had done the already abused muscles any good— when Sam stirred.

Dean sat up straighter, watching with some amusement as Sam slowly woke.

"Hey, you ready to finally grace us with your presence?" he asked when Sam's eyes opened and Sam made a confused face.

"Too early for that," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Early? It's almost the middle of the afternoon!" Dean took another sip of his coffee, before grabbing a bottle of pills and holding it up for Sam to see. "So, I'm guessing that you feel pretty sore. I've got the good stuff right here."

"Water. Water sounds amazing," Sam requested softly instead.

"Coming right up."

Sam attempted to help Dean get him into a sitting position, but Dean ended up doing most of the work and holding the cup of tepid water for him. Sam drew the line at the pills that Dean offered, and clumsily shoved them into his mouth without aid.

He let out a soft sigh of relief when Dean laid him flat once again.

"What happened?" he asked after a moment.

"Do you remember what Bobby told you last night?"

Sam hummed distractedly. "A little, I think? I dunno, it's all foggy."

So Dean launched into the story, watching Sam carefully as he did so for any sign that this was too much for him.

"That' sounds…vaguely familiar," Sam said once Dean had finished. His eyes were drooping a little, but he seemed determined to remain awake for a little bit longer.

"But you are feeling good, right? No new pains or anything?" Dean asked, eyeing Sam even more critically.

"I ache. All over. And I think my shoulder and head are about to fall off, but yeah. Besides that, I'm good."

Dean patted his chest in sympathy. "Give the pills a chance to kick in and they might take the bite off. But we are going to lay low for a couple of days. Give you time to get back on your feet, so you just take it easy."

"Dean tell you yet what he thinks about your research skills?" Bobby suddenly asked from the other bed and Dean looked over. He hadn't even realized that Bobby's snores had ceased.

"What?" Sam asked, attempting to look over his shoulder at their friend, but quickly changing his mind. "Bobby, I think I owe you…like a bottle of whiskey. And a thank you."

Bobby snorted, not moving. "It was nothing. Besides, we needed a test subject to see if that amulet worked. Two birds, one stone."

Sam smiled tiredly and had the nerve to look over at Dean and say, "So, what did Bobby mean? What were you saying about research?"

Dean racked his brain, but Bobby piped up helpfully.

"He was saying it was a good thing we did the research beforehand on this one. Saved everybody's hides. So next time that he starts making fun of ya for reading, you just remind him of that—"

Sam started to laugh and brought his good hand up to clutch at his now pounding head. It wasn't even that funny, but he couldn't seem to stop.

Dean sat back, looking disgruntled. "Laugh it up, geek."

Sam's laughter ended in a spluttered cough and a low moan. Dean shook his head, handing over a water bottle and helping him take a sip.

"See what happens when you laugh at me? It backfires."

Sam was still smiling when he fell asleep again not even ten minutes later, and Dean sat back, smiling a little himself. He couldn't see if Bobby was, he had buried his face in his book again, but he had a feeling that he was as amused and relieved as they were.

#

Sam took his time as he walked around the small park that was across from their motel. His arm was still in a sling, and he still had some bruising and cuts that made people stop and stare, but comparatively, he felt better than he had all week.

It felt good to be out in the fresh air instead of laying around in bed all day and listening to Bobby and Dean fight about the details of some movie that he did not know anything about because he had slept through most of it.

Not that that would be the case anymore. Bobby had left the day before, giving them both hard hugs, before complaining loudly about the drive back to South Dakota.

Sam glanced up and pretended not to notice that Dean was peeking out at him through the window as he finished his third lap around the park. He did another two laps before regretfully returning indoors. Dean was going to start following him around if he stayed outside much longer.

Dean was seated on his bed when he entered, and supposedly paying rapturous attention to the TV.

"You were gone for a while," Dean said, digging into his now probably cold fries.

"Yeah, the fresh air felt nice," Sam admitted, moving to sit down next to Dean and reaching over to steal a couple of the fries. Dean slapped his hand away half-heartedly, though it didn't escape Sam's attention that a moment later he angled his plate towards him.

Sam's appetite had been absent for much of the past week, and he was sure that Dean would quite willingly hand over anything on his plate without so much as a second thought. That was just how Dean was, despite the show that he liked to put on that pretended otherwise.

"So…you feeling better? Ready to leave tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I actually feel pretty good." And the kicker was that it was the truth. Most of the time they just carried on and licked their wounds, but this time he did feel relatively okay. His shoulder still ached and wasn't up to full strength, but that was the worst of his injuries.

"Anything come in on Robert's nest or Kate?" Sam asked as he stole another fry, more in an attempt to annoy Dean than out of actual hunger. Dean shook his head. Bobby had been in contact with some other hunters regarding the rest of Robert's nest and Kate to see if they could track them down while the trail was still hot. Sam wouldn't have been surprised to hear that Robert's nest had been destroyed, but Kate… he was sure that she had packed up and left as soon as Jesse failed to make his appointment.

She was probably long gone.

"Ellen called, though, while you were out," Dean shared a moment later through a mouthful of food and Sam grimaced, giving his brother a 'why' sort of look. Dean ignored the silent complaint.

"Does she have anything new for us?"

"Nope, but she had heard about all these vampires suddenly showing up dead. Seven vampires, Sam, not a small number. Heard that I had done it and wanted to know if that was true and, if so, where your sorry hide was at."

Sam scoffed. "What? Don't I get credit for Jesse's death? Or at least partial credit for it?"

Dean lobbed a fry at him, rolling his eyes. "Dude, I finished him off. You just had the stupid idea to drive him off the road. And, he was the one not wearing a seatbelt, so you could say all the blame lays on him. Idiot."

"Dean, you say that like we aren't the ones without seatbelts in the Impala."

"I'm not stupid enough to drive off of cliffs."

"I told you," Sam began, "I couldn't see, and it wasn't a cliff. It was an incline."

"Excuses, excuses, excuses. That's all I'm hearing." Dean grinned brightly at Sam, who shook his head, fighting off his own smile.

"You taking credit for Conrad and Robert's deaths as well?" he asked a moment later and Dean shrugged.

"That's what Amelia wanted, wasn't it?"

"I mean…" Sam began, "I think that they only wanted you to take the credit for Robert's death and his nest. Not so much theirs."

"Yeah, well, karma's a bitch, isn't it?" The TV show Dean was watching switched over to commercials and he wiped his hand down his jeans, before grabbing the remote to change the channel.

They were silent for a minute, both watching the screen.

"Dad would have been proud of you, you know that, right?" Sam asked softly, giving Dean a sideways look. "You took down all those vamps by yourself. I know we were joking about it, but that wasn't an easy thing to do."

Dean went red and quickly looked away. Sam opened his mouth again, but Dean raised a hand. "You try and get all Oprah on me and I'm going to finish the job that Amelia started. I had enough of that when you were out of your mind with fever."

Sam heaved a sigh, not surprised.

Dean was back to evading any and all mentions of Dad and emotions.

Standing, he went in search of his book, letting Dean get back to whatever was playing.

He wasn't expecting the pillow that smacked him in the head, and he looked around, glaring at Dean. "What was that for?" he asked but Dean just shrugged, his eyes back on the TV.

"It didn't feel right, you know. Not working together this time," he said softly. "We've always worked better together than apart."

Sam smiled, a warmth settling into his chest, before going back to searching for his book.

There it was, the quiet statement that they were okay, that Dean knew that Sam was sticking with him and that he in turn was going to be there with Sam through thick and thin.

"Well, I'm not working with you to eat all those fries. Seriously, how much did you order?"

"I got half for you," Dean said indignantly, waving a fry in Sam's general direction, "but you have rejected my offer and I'm not letting good food go to waste. There are children starving in Africa after all, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes but shut his mouth as Dean promptly shhed him as he leaned forward, watching the screen intently. He would have had to be blind, however, not to notice the contented look that Dean kept shooting in his direction.

Finding his book on the floor half-hidden by a pillow, Sam settled down on his bed, satisfied that for the moment they were both content with life.

THE END