A/N: Sorry. I'm a day late and several pages short of my usual chapter length with this update. Vicious cold has knocked the sense out of me. Bear with me for this chapter, and I promise it will get better.

Chapter Five: Home Again

The drive to the motel seemed to take hours, but in reality Sam knew it had been less than ten minutes. He pulled in as close as possible to their door and ran to open it before coming back to the car for Dean. His brother's eyes were closed, but Sam was reassured by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Dean? Come on, man, you've got to wake up for a minute." Patting his face gently, then a little more firmly, Sam sighed in relief when Dean opened his eyes and looked around.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. "We're back at the motel. Let's get you inside."

Dean swung his legs out of the car, struggling to his feet without protest, and Sam reached out to him, taking most of his weight.

"We don't have much time," Dean reminded him.

"I know," Sam answered, resignedly, "but we've got time to patch you up before we go." He lowered his brother onto the closest bed and went back for the first aid kit. When he returned, Dean had removed his jacket, but was struggling with his shirt.

"Here, let me." Sam eased the shirt off gently and flinched as he got his first look at the injuries in good light. The bleeding had stopped, but the wounds were livid against his brother's skin. Two of the four claw marks on his side would need stitches, as would the bite on his neck. The damage to his arm appeared to be less severe, but probably would require that the arm be immobilized temporarily, especially considering how stubbornly Dean would continue to use it if he could.

"Clean them and sew 'em up before you pack," Dean instructed. "That should give enough time so you don't have to carry me out."

Sam half-smiled; Dean was nothing if not practical. He began to lay out the supplies he'd need.

"Give me the alcohol and holy water."

Sam complied, then went back to threading the needle with shaking hands. He couldn't look at his brother's face as Dean poured the mixture over his wounds with an unsteady hand. His hissed exhale of breath was the only evidence of his pain.

"Damn that stings." Dean managed a tight smile before motioning Sam to begin. "Have at it, Sammy."

Sam willed his hand to stop shaking as he reached toward the deepest claw mark. He hesitated – it had been a long time since he'd had to sew someone up. It wasn't the first time, of course, but he'd been away for four years and, even before that, Dad had usually handled the first aid, with Dean taking over when Dad couldn't do it. Hell, he remembered Dean sewing on a gash in his own leg to spare Sam from having to do it. He looked up to see Dean eyeing him with concern, and laughed to himself. Bet he's wishing he hadn't been quite so protective, he thought. Out loud he joked, "Just thinking I should have gone with pre-med instead of pre-law."

"I can reach most of it myself," Dean offered.

"Nah. I got it." He rested one hand on his brother's shoulder, "It's just…I hate to have to hurt you."

"It's got to be done, and we don't have lots of time here, Sammy."

Sam grinned; his brother the pragmatist. "Okay. Here we go."

He felt Dean tense up under his hands as he began, but by the time he finished with the second gash, Dean's body was limp. Sam allowed himself to relax a little as he stitched up his brother's neck and applied butterfly bandages to the other wounds. He wrapped gauze around his brother's left arm and used a wet washcloth to wipe the drying sweat off both their faces before turning away to start packing.

They hadn't spent much time at the motel before the hunt, and it took less than five minutes for Sam to get their things together and load them in the car. Returning to the room, he sat down on the edge of his brother's bed. Dean looked so peaceful lying there, if you could see past the bandages; peaceful and young.

The full weight of his current responsibilities hit Sam like a ton of bricks, and it was a struggle to keep from shaking Dean awake and demanding his help. Where should they go? How long before the cops came looking for them? Did that officer get their plate number? What if Dean wouldn't wake up? What if his wounds got infected? Sam leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He couldn't handle this by himself. He didn't know how Dean did it.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Sam glanced at the time before reaching to shake Dean gently. It had been about an hour – worst case would have the cop just realizing that he'd been played and initiating a search. They needed to get on the road. Sam shook harder, and Dean mumbled something unintelligible, turning his head away. His body started to follow, but a stab of pain stopped the movement and brought Dean back to consciousness. Pain and confusion filled his eyes as he looked at his brother, but determination replaced them quickly as he recognized their surroundings.

"Sammy," Dean rasped, "We ready to go?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I packed everything in the car except you."

Dean shot him a tight grin. "So what are you waiting for?" He struggled to sit up. "I'm going to need some help here, Sammy."

Sam eased his brother off the bed and led him, one painful step at a time, to the car. When Dean was settled into the passenger seat, pale and gasping for breath, Sam looked at him for a moment then retreated to the back of the car. He rummaged through the trunk for a minute before disappearing into the motel room, reappearing at his brother's side with two pills and a glass of water.

"Take these for the pain," he ordered, knowing that Dean would decline if he was less firm. Still, when Dean accepted the pills without argument, Sam fought another wave of panic, knowing that Dean would be asleep soon and he would be on his own. With shaking hands he closed the car door and hurried to the driver's side. As he settled in the seat with his hands tightly clenching the steering wheel, Dean turned to him.

"Sammy, we've got to keep moving until we know if that cop got our plate number."

Sam nodded, unable to meet his brother's eyes as he fought his fear.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean told him, "I shouldn't have taken the pills." His voice was starting to slur. "Get the adrenalin from the first aid kit. It should keep me awake till we have a plan." He reached for his door handle, but apparently his hand was too heavy.

"Dean," Sam snapped out of it, reaching over to turn his brother's face toward his. "I'm okay. It's under control." He forced eye contact. "Just rest. I'll take care of everything." Releasing him, Sam started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Within ten minutes Dean was asleep and Sam was alone with his fear. He knew that by now Dean would have a plan and a destination, but he had to admit that he wasn't Dean. He had no idea what he should do, and a nagging fear that whatever it was he wouldn't be able to do it alone.

Inspiration struck and he reached for his cell phone, pulling up a contact from its memory. It wasn't what Dean would do but, as he pushed the send button, he reminded himself again that he wasn't Dean.

The phone was picked up on the second ring, and he heard a familiar, calming voice, "Sam, honey, what's wrong?"

"Missouri," he choked out, struggling to keep his voice even, "we need help. Dean's hurt and the cops may be after us."

She sensed what was needed before he asked. "Sweetie, you know you boys are always welcome here. You just hang in there and I'll be right here waiting for you."

"We're coming from Netawaka," Sam told her. "It'll be about an hour."

Missouri felt his fear and got general impressions of the events leading up to his call. Her lips thinned and anger flashed in her eyes, but she kept her voice calm and reassuring for Sam's sake. "I'll move my car out, and you can pull right into the garage when you get here." She paused, sensing that he needed more from her. "Sam, you did a good job patching your brother up, and you made the right choice calling. I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Missouri," Sam told her, his voice thick with relief and gratitude.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, Missouri turned angry eyes to the man in the doorway.

"You told them to come here," the man asked, "after I told you I couldn't see them yet?"

"John!" Missouri exclaimed in disbelief. "Your boys are hurt and scared and they need help, and you want me to turn them away?"

"Missouri, I brought them up to look out for themselves and each other. They don't need anyone else." John began to pace around the room, speaking again with anger. "Dean knows better than to involve outsiders. What is that boy thinking?"

"John Winchester, if you ever call me an outsider again I will slap you and throw you out of this house! Now, for your information, Dean is unconscious. Sam called me, probably because he knows that you won't answer your phone." She searched his face, looking for concern, begging him silently to ask about his boys, but John was silent. Her eyes narrowed in anger. "How could you send them back to that place?"

John stopped pacing to look at her, his own anger obvious, "What did Sam tell you?"

"He didn't tell me anything, John. Psychic, remember? Obviously you do, or you wouldn't put so much energy into keeping me out of your head." When he took a step toward her she held her ground. "I could sense that there was something that happened there when they were younger, a lot of fear – past and present – linked to that town. Why would you put your boys through that?"

"Because they can handle it!" he roared in her face. "Don't you dare question how I take care of my family!"

Still refusing to back down, Missouri met his eyes and lowered her voice to a deadly calm. "You have a choice to make, John. You can stay here and be a father to your boys and help me reassure them and heal them," she paused and took a deep breath, "or, you can get the hell out of my house." She searched his face for an answer.

John met her eyes for a moment, and she could feel his despair as if it were her own. Breaking eye contact, he turned away, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I'll go pack my bag."

TBC