Chapter Three: Working Stuff Out

Sunlight was spilling around the closed curtains when Sam awoke. He was relieved to find that his headache was gone, and the bump on the back of his head was only a little tender under his probing fingers.

"'Bout time, sleeping beauty," Dean snorted. He was seated at the small table across the room, writing in their father's journal. Sam rolled out of bed and crossed to look over his shoulder.

"I couldn't find anything on the demon, so I'm making an entry," Dean explained. His drawing was crude but serviceable, and his written description had the same neatness and detailed precision as if their father had composed it himself.

"Nice," Sam commented, dropping into the other chair. "You been at this all night?"

There was no accusation in his tone, but Dean's head snapped up and he eyed Sam before answering. "I couldn't sleep."

Sam couldn't think of a response that wouldn't make his brother more defensive, so he nodded and reached for the laptop. "Did you find anything on the reaper or faith healing?"

Dean shook his head, shoulders slumping. "Nothing useful. Mostly just sites debunking faith healers."

Sam glanced at the time. "I'll get on the phone in a couple hours; call dad's contacts. Maybe we'll get lucky." He started typing. "If we don't I think we should go back there. Maybe some of the other people who were healed are having the same…symptoms."

Dean smirked. "Symptoms. Right."

A knock on the door interrupted them. They exchanged a glance – who would be knocking at 9am with the Do Not Disturb sign still out – and Dean moved to the .45 on the nightstand while Sam approached the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"It's Kevin," was the reply.

"One second," Sam told him through the door. He turned back to his brother. "Go get in the shower."

Dean shot him a puzzled look.

"He'll expect you to be all banged up. I don't think we should advertise this thing till we know what's going on."

Nodding, Dean disappeared into the bathroom. As soon as he heard the water running, Sam opened the door.

"Hey, Kevin. Sorry about that – Dean wasn't decent." As he spoke, Sam realized that he was standing there in boxers and a T-shirt.

Kevin gave him an amused grin, recognizing his discomfort. "It's okay. I'm sorry to come so early, but I wanted to check on you guys."

"We're fine," Sam told him as he hurried into a pair of jeans. They were a little too short in the leg – Dean's. "Just a little sore, but we're used to that." He refused to make a bigger spectacle of himself by switching jeans, instead hitching Dean's pants up as they slipped down to his hips. "We'll probably head out later today."

Kevin nodded. "As long as you're sure you're up to it. There's no rush. I'll pick up the tab here if you need a few more days."

"No. We're fine. We were just going to check in with you and then hit the road."

"No need to check in. It was quiet at the sight yesterday; for the first time in as long as I've been here. We're all grateful." Kevin pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Sam.

Accepting the paper, Sam opened it to find a check for $1,000. "Thanks, Kevin." He extended his hand.

Kevin shook hands and turned to leave. He glanced back. "If you boys ever need anything you let me know."

Sam thanked him again and ushered him out. The shower stopped running, as if Dean could sense the departure, and it was only a couple minutes before he emerged.

"Dude, you're in my pants," he leered.

Sam shook his head, trying not to laugh, as he peeled the jeans off and threw them at his brother's head.

They grabbed breakfast at the restaurant next door. While Dean paid the check, Sam ducked out to try Dad's friend Joshua. When voicemail picked up, he left a cryptic message – they were looking for some information, if he could call back. Sam was a little confused by his own reticence, but suddenly his instincts were screaming not to share too much information with dad's contacts. He felt a stab of worry over how their father would react to the news if word got back to him. He knew that Dean was still holding on to a memory of the father that had loved them unconditionally, but all of Sam's memories featured a calculating, sometimes callous, man who weighed every potential advantage without consideration for anything – or anyone – but his cause. He had a disturbing feeling that their father, given the information, would catalog Dean as some kind of super-weapon instead of a son. What better soldier to have on the front line of a fight than one that could heal from any injury?

He jumped as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and spun around to find Dean smirking at him.

"Any luck?"

Sam shook his head. "I left a message." He met his brother's eyes and tried to find a tactful way to express his thoughts. "Listen Dean, I think we should try to keep this to ourselves for now."

Dean shot him a quizzical look. "What do you mean, Sammy? It's not like Dad's contacts are gonna put out an ad."

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "I know, but we don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. I mean, we don't know the extent of this. It could be temporary, or maybe it won't work for everything. Hell, maybe it was a one-time thing. I just don't want to see you get hurt 'cause somebody acts rashly."

Dean's eyes narrowed, and Sam knew that his last sentence had been too much.

"You mean you don't want Dad to 'get the wrong idea.'" He kept his voice level, but his eyes bored into Sam's, demanding an answer.

Sam looked away. "It's not like that, exactly. I just don't think we should say anything yet." He took a deep breath and decided to go all-in. "You know how Dad gets. I don't want to see you put in danger just because he thinks you'll heal. You can still be hurt. Hell, for all we know you can still die."

"Dad wouldn't do that," Dean insisted, but now he was the one to drop his eyes, and Sam knew that he'd won. Dean had always managed to maintain his blind faith in their father, but a part of that was avoiding situations that would call that faith into question.

"You're wrong, Sammy," Dean said flatly. "But we'll do this your way if it makes you happy."

Part of Sam, a malicious part that he didn't want to acknowledge, wanted to pass Dean the phone that was still in his hand and tell him to go ahead and call Dad. Let the chips fall where they would. Instead he holstered the phone and patted his brother's shoulder. "Thanks."

"Whatever." Dean shrugged, obviously still unhappy with Sam's opinion, and started back toward the hotel.

Sam let his brother's anger roll off him, satisfied that he'd won the debate so easily. He trailed along behind, searching for something to say that would break the tension. Dean's phone saved him the effort.

As Sam looked on, Dean – his back still stiff with suppressed anger – glanced at the phone and crammed it back onto his belt without breaking stride.

Sam hurried to catch up with him. "Who was it?"

"Dad," Dean answered. "Coordinates." He picked up his pace and Sam wasn't sure if it was because of the message or if he was trying to put distance between them.

He followed silently through the hotel lobby and hallways, but once they were behind the closed door of their room he stopped holding back.

"Dean, we're not going on another hunt right now. Not until we figure out what's going on with you."

Dean didn't bother to look up as he plugged the coordinates into the laptop. "Sam, don't."

"Come on, Dean, don't you think finding out what happened to you is more important right now than chasing after Dad's monster of the week?"

"No," Dean answered, his voice flat and emotionless, "it's not." He finally looked up at Sam. "First of all, one person already died because of me and this faith healer thing. You think I want to be responsible for somebody else getting hurt or killed because we ignore Dad's message?"

Sam started to respond, but Dean waved him off and continued. "Second, every message, every hunt could get us that much closer to the thing that killed Mom…and Jessica. Even the smallest clue, the littlest step is worth dropping everything else."

Sam rolled his eyes, now fighting his own anger. "Why the hell do you have to be so selfless? Why can't you ever do anything because it's what you need or want?"

Dean snapped, pushing away from the table to stand toe to toe with his brother. "Why do you have to be so fucking selfish?"

For a moment Sam thought he was going to get hit, but Dean turned away and paced around the room as he continued to rant. "Dammit, Sam, I'm telling you what I want to do – I want to follow Dad's orders and help people. If there's time for Nebraska later that's great, but meanwhile we've got work to do. So don't try to make this about me when you're really talking about what you want."

Sam was startled by his brother's anger, but he wasn't ready to drop the argument. "This is more important," he insisted.

"It wasn't that long ago you were telling me we stick together from now on so, unless that was a line of crap, here's your choices. Either we call Dad and tell him exactly what's going on and see if the job can wait or we're on the road to…" he squinted at the laptop screen, "Florida."

It took Sam a minute to formulate an answer – he was reeling from the surprise of Dean throwing his words back in his face. It was rare for Dean to get so angry, so quickly, and he wanted to choose his words carefully. Since he still had the feeling that involving Dad would be a mistake, there was really only one choice. "Let's go to Florida," he said resignedly.

They packed in uncomfortable silence; at least uncomfortable for Sam. He wasn't used to walking on eggshells around his brother, but Dean wasn't usually one to issue ultimatums, other than that one time by the side of the road on the way to Indiana. And Sam had to admit that he'd been pushing to be left behind that time.

"Where in Florida?" he finally asked to break the silence as they climbed into the car.

"Lakeland," Dean answered. "We'll figure out why when we stop for the night." He pulled out of the parking lot and they were on their way.

Sam's Journal

I still wonder if we'd chosen differently, if we'd started looking for answers right away, if things would be different.

Dean was right – there were lives to be saved in Florida. And, as it turned out, Dean's life wasn't in any danger. We would learn that over time.

The drive to Florida started in silence, but Dean was never one to hold onto anger for long, especially when it was directed at me. By the time we stopped for the night he was calm again. When we reached our destination the following night, everything was back to normal and, after we finished the job, it was my turn to be angry.

TBC

A/N: Sorry this chapter's shorter than usual. It apparently didn't want to be written, and fought tooth and nail all the way. I promise a longer chapter with more action next time, and the next chapter is underway, so I hope for a quicker update this time!