AN: Hopefully this is a reasonably satisfying conclusion!

Thank you to all of the readers who stuck with me and had to wait longer than usual amount of time between chapters!

Thank you also to Janice, beta extraordinaire.

* * *

Sam felt trepidation as Dean reached for the door. Dean didn't have a weapon in his hand, nor was he shielding Sam, which meant whatever he was about to see wasn't dangerous. He wasn't happy, though, that much was clear. And he hadn't been willing to tell Sam ahead of time what was in there, neither of which boded well. Sam didn't try to stop Dean from opening the door, though.

Despite feeling like he'd been flattened by a steam roller then tumbled around in a cement mixer for good measure, Sam felt surprisingly lucid. He didn't feel like he'd been sick. He felt like he'd been in a fight. It didn't make a lot of sense, but he filed it all away for evaluation later. He was sure that there was plenty that Dean hadn't told him, so he'd have to push him to find out what the last three days had been like to give him some more data.

Sam braced himself as Dean finally opened the door.

At first, he didn't see anything except some clothes on the floor. Then he heard a soft rattle, and his eyes were drawn to a figure lying on the bed. It was Chet, and he was completely nude and covered in drawings that resembled the cave drawings about the lapsae. He was diligently working on another sketch near his left shoulder, muttering to himself, not all of it in English. He was disheveled and wild-eyed and looked nothing like the unflappable kidnapper he'd been.

"I told him that his whole little family is dead and all of the mothmen too," Dean said softly. "He, uh, didn't take it well."

Sam noted that there were three pairs of handcuffs hooked in a row with one end around the frame of the bed Chet was on and the other end around one of his ankles. They jangled lightly when Chet moved, which was the sound that had drawn Sam's attention.

"No shit, Sherlock," hissed Sam under his breath, shocked at Chet's condition. Dean had tried to prepare him, he realized, with the talk about obsession, but Sam had been so busy thinking about their upbringing that he'd missed it.

"I gave him the Sharpie because he was scratching those into his skin," Dean admitted with distaste in his voice.

"Yikes."

Chet's head shot up at the sound of Sam's voice. "Ngueneavis," he breathed reverently. "I am not afraid. Transform me!" He stood, uncaring of his nudity. "I am prepared!"

"Cover yourself up, dumbshit," Dean snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, Sam's human. He didn't change. All your ngu – nunev – new vane moths are dead. All the people you kidnapped and fed them, all your family members who followed you in your whackadoodle crusade are dead for nothing."

Chet began to laugh, a grating sound. "He's not merely human," he practically sang. "There's no cure for the nectar of the Ngueneavis. The only way he wouldn't change is if he wasn't human to start with!" He laughed again, long and high.

Sam flinched and knew Dean caught the motion. Dean growled. "Shut up and put your damn clothes on, psycho. There is nothing wrong with Sam!" He stepped protectively between Sam and the other man. Sam felt a flood of warmth toward his brother. Though he really didn't need Dean's protection, he wouldn't contradict Dean in front of a man like Chet. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, not surprised to find the muscles there hard as a rock with tension. They relaxed marginally under Sam's hand, so he left it there. He hoped that if Dean could feel him shaking he'd attribute it to the physical toll of everything he'd been through.

"Look at me, Chet," Sam said calmly, taking strength from Dean. He met Chet's gaze over Dean's shoulder. "Really look at me. You saw the way my skin was changing color, but it's back to normal. Dean cured me." He involuntarily tightened his hand for a second. He was pretty sure that the only reason that he wasn't a lapsae was because there was something wrong with him, something monstrous inside him that didn't allow a different kind of monster to have him, but he'd let Dean hold onto his optimism as long as possible. He knew that every time he got hurt Dean took it as a failure. If he could spare him a little of that through blissful ignorance, he'd do it. It was the least he owed his big brother, and not just for the last three days. "The lapsae are dead."

Chet stared at him and for a moment Sam thought he'd gotten through. Then sanity retreated from his face again. "The Ngueneavis will never be dead!" he exclaimed. "They are our past and our future! Higher forms of ourselves, beyond all human feelings and failings!" When he continued in the same vein, Dean unceremoniously closed the door.

Sam turned away, walked back to the bed, and sat down heavily. Chet's "not human" comment felt like a gut punch. At the same time, he pitied the man despite the fact that many, even most, of his troubles were of his own making. Turning into something "beyond all human feelings" must sound pretty inviting to someone whose actions had led to the deaths of the remainder of his family.

"Sammy?" said Dean a little cautiously, making Sam realize he'd been sitting in silence for a few minutes.

"What are we going to do about him?" Sam asked. They didn't kill human beings, even when they deserved it, but Chet was an admitted murderer, not to mention bat-shit crazy.

"I think we make an anonymous call to 911 once we're a ways out of town," Dean suggested. "Say that someone's yelling threats and shit from that room. When people see his condition, they'll discount anything he says, and he won't be roaming the streets. Plus, someone's bound to find all the stuff they blew up eventually, which will point to him being a dangerous nutcase."

Sam nodded. It was a fairly neat solution, all things considered. "After we both get some sleep. I mean, I've been fighting a supernatural virus for three days and you look worse than I do."

Dean glanced at the door to Chet's room and frowned. With a sigh, Sam stood up and walked back to the door. He opened it again to see Chet still standing there in all his middle-aged, naked glory, looking vacant. "Chet," Sam announced authoritatively. "If you try to leave or make any trouble or too much noise, we're out of here and you'll never see me again." He noticed the untouched food and water near the bed. "Eat and drink something and get some rest."

Chet brightened considerably. "Yes, yes, I need to be strong," he muttered.

With a nod to himself, Sam closed the door again. "There. Now you can sleep too," he told Dean as he limped back to the bed. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

The corner of Dean's mouth curled up. "Playing on the whack-job's fears to keep him in line?" he asked sardonically. Then he grinned. "I'm so proud."

Sam snorted and literally fell onto his bed. The sheets were scratchy and not incredibly clean, the mattress sagged in the middle, and the frame creaked, and it felt heavenly to Sam. Still, he forced himself to keep his eyes open until Dean started getting ready for bed too.

"You good, Sammy? You need anything else? Maybe we should figure out how to get new x-rays on your arm," Dean asked in the gruff tone he adopted when he was being especially caring, like that would keep Sam from calling him on it.

Sam had no intention of teasing his brother for his care, deeply grateful for it even when he didn't show it lest he be called a girl. He flexed his fingers, finding there wasn't a lot of pain. Another day probably wouldn't matter. "Nah, I'm good," he mumbled back, sleep pulling at him. Then, into his pillow, he added, "Thanks, Dean." For just a second, there was a hand on his shoulder. Sam smiled as he fell asleep.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Sam was pulled from a dead sleep by a pat on his leg.

"Sorry to wake you, man," said Dean with real regret as Sam rubbed the sleep from his eyes and tried to orient himself. "We gotta move."

Sam sat up, feeling like there was lead in his veins instead of blood. A mental assessment of his condition revealed that, besides wishing he could go back to sleep, he felt surprisingly good. "Okay," he answered, starting to look for clothes. He wanted a shower almost as much as he wanted more sleep, but if Dean was willing to wake him up when he was still recovering, he had no doubt that the situation was serious. "What's going on?"

"I've been keeping an eye on things at the cop shop." Dean waved toward the laptop. Sam had hacked into the very poorly-guarded computer system before he'd been nabbed by the lapsae apologists. Dean must have used the back door Sam had opened to watch for anything that might spell trouble for the Winchesters. "People are starting to put together that something weird went down. Actually, we're listed among the 'potential missing,' and though their descriptions of us are kinda pathetic, they have Baby's make and model."

Sam nodded his understanding, finishing dressing. Even if none of the police records said it explicitly, strangers were often immediately considered people of interest. He could see that Dean had showered and shaved at some point. He also had the room nearly picked up.

"We'll have to come back some time to look through Linda's storage unit before it gets seized for non-payment," Dean mused, disappearing into the bathroom to collect any items still in the tiny room. "Or if there's too much heat, Bobby would probably do it."

Sam glanced toward the door to the adjacent room. "Um. What if I…"

Dean popped back out and used his shaving kit to point at Sam. "Don't. I don't want to do this now. Or, you know, ever."

Sam gave him a dirty look. Yeah, he wanted to ask Dean what he'd have done if Sam had actually turned into a mothman, but he knew that his brother wouldn't answer him. Besides, that wasn't what he'd been about to inquire about. "What if I threw my car keys on the roof of the other motel?"

Dean froze, looking horrified. "Baby's keys are just...out there, begging someone to steal her? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that you'd be more pissed if the kidnappers took your car than if I tossed the keys out of reach," Sam answered, knowing he'd scored a point when Dean just scowled and went back to packing. Sam pulled on a boot. "Now that I know better, I'll make sure to turn the keys over to the next people who come after me."

"I'd say the moth spit killed your sense of humor," Dean practically growled. "Except that you didn't have one before, either. You better believe you're the one climbing up there to get them."

Sam grinned as he got up to use the restroom.

When Sam emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, Dean was holding the handcuffs he'd used on Chet and the bags were all gone from the room. "You ready to go?" Dean asked in his impatient-but-trying-not-to-sound-impatient voice.

Sam nodded and in just a couple minutes, they were on the road.

The motel they'd first stayed in was shuttered, a crude, hand-written sign stating Closed Til Further Notise. They were still edgy, partly because of what had happened there before, and partly because there was every chance someone had noticed the car.

Despite Dean's words, Sam knew he wouldn't expect him to do the climbing with a broken arm. However, Sam was feeling restless and wanted to get Dean to stop (silently) fretting over him. And maybe he wanted to mess with his big brother a little bit, a sure sign he was feeling at least a bit better. So, as soon as the car stopped, Sam got out, walked to the right spot, and jumped, easily grabbing the edge of the roof with his left hand.

Behind him, Sam could hear Dean. "Sam, wait! I didn't – son of a bitch!" Ignoring it, he pulled up far enough to hook his right elbow over the edge and work to get a knee up next.

"You moron," Dean scolded from practically below him, and Sam half expected to be pulled down. Instead (after a put-upon sigh), there were hands under one foot, helping him. Sam was grateful, since he'd forgotten just how much his leg hurt. "You're gonna fall and break your arm. Again," Dean grumbled.

"You've been saying that my whole life," Sam answered, panting lightly as he shimmied the rest of the way onto the roof, which was luckily a very shallow pitch. "And I have never fallen and broken my arm."

"So you're wearing a cast as a fashion statement?!"

"No, the zombie chick broke it, remember." Sam spotted the keys. He could almost reach them from his spot.

"Well, when you were a kid –"

"I jumped," Sam interrupted. "I didn't fall. I never fell out of trees or – hang on." The last was because his phone had started ringing.

"Don't you dare answer that," Dean warned ominously, but Sam once again ignored him, feeling secure in his perch.

"Hey, Bobby!"

"Oh, look, idjit number two remembered what a phone is for. You two yahoos call to ask about lapsae viri, then don't return my calls for days on end, and all I get is a 'hey, Bobby'?!"

Sam winced a little. He'd hardly been conscious the last few days and hadn't checked his messages yet. He could imagine why Dean hadn't wanted to talk to Bobby, or any other Hunters, for that matter. On the other hand, Sam was still feeling a little mischievous.

"Sorry about that. We're fine." He stretched for the keys but could only just barely touch them. "The kidnapping attempt didn't work. Well, not for very long. And they didn't manage to feed us to the lapsae or turn me into one. Dean blew up a few things, but he's fine too."

Based on the sputtering and swearing that came over the phone, Sam wondered if steam was coming out of Bobby's ears. He knew that he'd pay for his flippancy sooner or later.

"You better explain all o' that right. Now," Bobby enunciated carefully. "And then get your asses here so I can tan 'em for making me worry."

Sam grunted as he finally managed to snag the keys. "Actually, I can't right now, because I'm on a roof."

"What in the name of Beelzebub's asshole are you doing on a roof?"

Sam tossed the keys over the edge, as expected, not hearing them hit the ground. Dean had excellent reflexes. "Getting the car keys back." Sam figured it was the post-hunt euphoria making him push his luck so much, and just maybe a good bit of relief at not having been turned into a mothman no matter the reason.

There was a pause, then Bobby said, "Naturally." so dryly that Sam was surprised the phone line didn't crackle.

"And, uh, the police are probably gonna show up soon, so I gotta get going," Sam continued. He scooted to the edge of the roof and prepared to jump down. "Dean will call you when we're far enough out of town to be sure we're in the clear. Talk soon."

"Don't hang up on m –"

"Don't even think about jumping –"

Sam ignored both directives, hanging up the phone, tossing it to Dean, and pushing himself off the roof. Landing hurt his cut leg like a son of a bitch and he thought he might have torn a stitch, but the look on Dean's face made it almost worth it.

Dean's eyes promised retribution, but Sam hadn't been kidding that they were on a time crunch. "You need to call –" Sam started.

"Shut up." Dean punctuated his answer by getting in the car and slamming the car door.

Sam climbed in, hiding a smile and stretching his leg as casually as he could. Dean noted but didn't say anything , possibly because they spotted a police car and he ended up darting up and down side streets until they were sure he wasn't following them.

They finally relaxed when they reached the major road out of town. Waiting for a red light, Dean fiddled with Sam's phone, which he was still holding. "You...took a picture of naked Chet?!" he demanded. "Some kink I don't know about, Sammy?"

"I thought I should research the symbols," Sam protested.

"Suuuuuure. The symbols. Not Chet's wrinkly old man junk."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Ew, Dean!"

Dean's eyes lit up with an unholy glee. "Since Bobby's pissed at us anyway, I'm texting this to him. No explanation, nothin'." He began to push the buttons to do just that.

Sam couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. He really should complain, especially since it would show as coming from his phone, but it hit his funny bone. "He'd so gonna kick our asses," he said when he could talk again.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, smirking as he turned onto the road they wanted. "Then I'm kicking yours again. You are such a dipshit."

The phone rang and they both snickered, more amused than they should have been, probably. Dean flipped it open. "Hey, Bobby."

Sam tried to swallow another snicker.

"You two got a death wish or somethin'? And why the devil are you sending me nekkid pictures of some guy? You tell me what's goin' on right this second and then git your sorry selves to South Dakota or I'm trackin' you down, takin' you both behind the woodshed, then getting the first witch I can find to curse you with permanent jock itch!"

Sam knew better than to look at Dean, but he did anyway, and they both burst out laughing. They couldn't help it. Bobby's ranting was so familiar, and they knew he wasn't really angry or even all that exasperated, just worried. The laughter precipitated a whole new round of very Bobbyish complaints, from "yapping hyenas" to "sendin' the wrong kinda dirty pictures."

Sam wiped his eyes, wondering how long it had been since they'd laughed like that and grateful to Bobby for prompting it. When the older man took a breath, Dean said, "Sorry, Bobby. Just a case of the after-hunt stupids. You know how it is." (Bobby had coined the term 'after-hunt stupids' many years ago to describe the goofiness they often displayed as teenagers right after a successful hunt.) "Listen, we're gonna stop in like an hour and stay the night, then get Sam's busted arm x-rayed again, and we'll be at your house tomorrow afternoon. It's better to hear it all in person, anyway. We'll bring the beer."

There was a pause and some indistinct grumbling that they all knew was just for show. "You know my doc friend will look at that arm in exchange for some o' that beer you're promisin'. Just get here. Idjits." He hung up without another word.

The brothers both chuckled once more, then Sam opened his mouth to say that he didn't think he needed a doctor but yawned instead.

"Just so you know, I didn't forget all the shit you pulled today," Dean warned as Sam slumped lower in the seat. "If you busted any stitches, you're on laundry duty for a month. Climbing on a roof when you already have a broken arm has to be one of the stupidest things you've ever done, and trust me, that's a long list. You always do that. Did you know you starting climbing shit before you could even walk?" He'd hit his stride now, warming to his subject.

Sam leaned his head against the back of the seat, knowing that the purr of the engine and the hum of his brother's voice would soon send him to sleep. "Don't forget to call 911 for Chet," he interrupted when Dean paused. "And you sound like Bobby."

"I won't forget," Dean carped. "And Bobby can go on and on like a nervous grandma."

"Exactly," Sam mumbled, smiling and closing his eyes. With that parting shot, he fell asleep.

* * *

AN: We made it! Whew!

Chiiva: Ha! Are you familiar with my love of plot twists or something? It really was a fairly simple ending in this case. I messed with them enough along the way.

Christine: I know I didn't exactly say what kept Sam from turning, but the implication is that it's like the Croatoan virus and the demon blood didn't let it "take." Hopefully that was a good solution!

ncsupnatfan: I made you wait a long time to find out what was behind the door. (If you guessed it was a completely crazy naked guy, you win!) I didn't explicitly say why Sam didn't turn...just hinted that it might be the demon blood.

muffinroo: LOL! Thank you for playing supernatural roulette! For our next category, would you like Pairing Pie with Classic Rock, Reasons Sam's Dates All Die, or Bobby Colloquialisms and Insults? *g*

Natylop: Dean finally got some sleep! And you were right about the demon blood. So, you like a little Dean whump too, huh? I'll be sure to remember that. Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments!

Colby's girl: You are so nice! I'm so happy that last chapter worked for you. I had trouble with timing and POV, but it's wonderful to hear that the finished work was adequate.

Guest (Kathy, I'm guessing?): Yeah, poor Dean with all the waiting and stress -- then Sam kind of picking on him here. I kind of channel the Sam who played tricks on Dean and the ghostfacers.

stedan: Maybe I did write it for you! :-) In any case, I'm so happy you liked it! I picture my writing like a movie or TV show in my brain -- maybe that's why it plays out like that for you too. You give such lovely compliments. Thank you!

MewWinx96: Thank you very much. I'm happy you're reading and enjoying!