Thanks to TXKimsonFan, Celtic Knot, DearHart, Persephone Lupin, and freetobescary for reviewing, and thanks to everyone for sticking with this story! :) Hope you enjoy the next installment!

Still don't own Supernatural, but it's only a week and a half until episode 13x10!

For the last five minutes of the drive, Sam could tell that Dean was itching to get out of the car. He kept looking out the window, a silent 'are we there yet' almost slipping past his lips too many times. Whether it was the motion of the car, the confines of the space, or everything else going on inside his head, Sam had no idea. He did, however, get an idea of how badly Dean needed air when the car stopped and he practically flung the door open and stood up. Dean did his best to not make a scene, and turned so that his forearms rested on the roof of the Impala, as if he hadn't just made a ditch out of the metal interior of the car.

"You good?" Sam asked carefully as he extracted himself from the other side of the vehicle, Cas doing the same in the back.

"Yeah, yeah, just motion and, you know, you got no better at driving her in the past-seven years." It was a decent attempt at a cover up, and it almost worked until Dean's breath hitched for a split second at the mention of the time that had passed.

The three men stood around the car for a moment before Cas spoke up. "I should probably run to the diner, get some food for later," he said, and gestured for the keys. Dean, of course, eyed the movement with a frown that even he couldn't hide. Right, he had no idea Cas had practically been the sole driver of the car for the past month. "I could walk too, it's only a mile. The…vessel could use some exercise," Cas corrected when he saw Dean's look, which afterwards resumed its state of general, overall spent-ness.

"Sounds good. You got a phone and cash?" Sam checked, just to be sure.

Cas nodded back, and Sam gave him a few things to order (Dean didn't even ask for a burger, which was seriously saying something), and Cas went on his way.

"Head inside?" Sam suggested next and jerked his head towards their motel room door before he got their bags out of the trunk.

Dean looked between the door and Sam for a moment before he shook his head ever so slightly. "Think I may take a walk around the motel, be back in ten," he said a bit slowly, as if he was still making up his mind.

"You're…sure about this?" Sam asked, eying his brother carefully. He wasn't exactly loving the idea of his recently more alive brother going on a walk by himself…but it had to happen sometime, right? Give Dean some space to think away from the hospital and both himself and Cas. Sam eventually found himself shaking his head and handing Dean his phone. "Ten minutes," he reminded.

Dean took the phone with a halfhearted smirk and nod, and then began walking down the rows of rooms towards the back of the motel. Sam watched him until he disappeared from view.

Physical therapy had obviously paid off, and they had some exercises to do while at the motel and on the road. Dean still moved just a bit slower, but that was only because Sam knew how he usually moved. There wasn't a…purpose behind his steps, a quick means to get from point A to point B, so they were slower, more unsure than Sam was used to. His speech was better, which Sam was immensely happy about, but they still had to keep an eye on, well, everything.

He shook his head again and went to unlock their room, placing the duffel bags down as he did so. The bed closest to the door had remained untouched for weeks, and it took Sam a moment to realize that the empty mattress would soon have an occupant. It was strange, but a good strange.

Sam carded a hand through his hair; he really needed a shower, but he didn't dare get in while Dean was off by himself and Cas was running an errand. It could wait until Dean was asleep or at least Cas was in the room. Dean would probably make fun of him for worrying, but Sam thought he had a reason to after all that time.

Instead, he got the bags set up and decided on swapping out his plaid shirt for a fresher one that didn't smell like a hospital, which would be a major improvement. He was in the middle of buttoning it up, facing the door, when he heard it open and Dean stepped inside. He went to smile at his brother, but was met with an expression that bordered on horror and confusion.

"Sam?" was all Dean could ask as he carefully closed the door behind him, his eyes not leaving Sam's barely exposed chest…and the barely healed bullet scars that lingered on it.

Halfway through his walk, Dean was pretty sure it had been a bad idea. It was good for clearing his head (as if it hadn't already been cleared of seven years of memories, thanks universe) to a degree, but not much else. He hadn't done a ton of walking for "long" distances recently, it was more strengthening and all that other helpful nonsense. He got around to the manager's area of the motel and could see their room up ahead when he let out a sigh and a small wince where nobody could see.

It wasn't even the walking and the hospital and all of that…his joints ached where they hadn't before. Not a lot, he wasn't an old man for cryin' out loud, just little ticks here or there. If he rotated a knee wrong, there was a pinprick of pain right below it where he didn't remember there being before. Little things like that, little injuries that had never quite correctly healed in their line of work.

Maybe that was a good way to start the conversation: "So, over the last seven years, how badly have I been beaten up so I know where to take it easy and where to not get hit as much?" Yeah, that'd go over well. Or "hey, was this scar from a bar fight or a werewolf?" Again, he was absolutely positive it would be an easy conversation. Not.

He sighed again when he saw he had finally reached their room at a bit under ten minutes. Dean paused for a moment before he opened the door, allowing himself to be under Sam's well meaning scrutiny once again. He opened his mouth to say something, but found Sam on the other side of the room, swapping shirts.

A well meaning joke about not changing in front of strangers was at the tip of his tongue, but it faded as soon as he saw the scars on his brother's chest. Two round, somewhat pink circles stood out amongst everything else. Dean knew they were remnants of bullet wounds, and they certainly hadn't been there before. Hell, they were still pink, they were relatively new.

"Sam?" he asked, wracking his brain for anything about his little brother getting shot twice in the chest in recent memory, but just like everything else, there was nothing but a blank slate there. Could he have prevented it? Was he there? What the hell had happened? Sam was sitting in a hospital waiting for Dean to wake up after he had been shot?

"Those aren't…what I think they are, are they?" he asked ever so slowly, praying that maybe it was a trick of the light, or Sam had something removed or hell, burned himself making bacon…whatever. Anything but the fact that he had been shot. Twice. In the chest. Which couldn't have been easy to get through. Hell, by the placement, Sam was probably lucky he survived.

Sam looked down at his chest and sighed before he finished buttoning up his shirt. "I'm fine, Dean," he deflected easily. "They're healed, good as new, nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Dean asked, and took a few more steps into the room before he sat down on the corner of the unmade bed closer to the door. It was easier than standing, and Sam immediately followed, sitting down across from him so Dean wouldn't have to crane his neck to look up. "How long ago?"

"Dean-"

"How long?" he cut out again.

Sam looked to the floor for a moment before he raised his gaze back to Dean. "About a month."

"Jeez," Dean whispered before he closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "You got shot…twice…in the chest a month ago? The hell? I don't-I can't-" Dean cut himself off.

"Hey, I know. You don't remember, and it's fine, not exactly a great few days," Sam tried for a smirk, but it fell flat.

Dean was about to ask what happened, had his mouth open and everything, but the question wouldn't come. It would be like asking Sam to relive it all over again, and he couldn't do that to him. But Sam started talking before Dean could stop him.

"Werewolf case up in the woods. They had guns, I got shot, you got me out, I was fine, end of story," Sam said simply. Well, obviously, it was the very beginning of a very, very long, twisted story.

"That's it? Just…" Dean pursed his lips. In his incredibly screwed up timeline, Sam was just back from hell. He was still getting used to the fact that Sam had been by his side, watching him get better. And now he found out Sam had been shot and probably nearly died? Again?

"That's it," Sam shook his head back. "Dangers of the job, Dean. I'm fine, we need to focus on getting you fine."

Dean let out a low laugh at that and the motel room lapsed into silence. "What about the hand?" His question was quiet and unsure if it should even be uttered, but it was, and Sam looked to him in surprise. "You rubbed it a few times, unconsciously. Don't do that without a story."

A story that Dean should probably have, one that he needed to have, but didn't. Sam looked down at his palm and thumbed over the scar that was barely even visible anymore, as if he had forgotten that it still existed at all. "Piece of glass five years ago." The explanation started off simple, but the specific time let Dean know that it was anything but simple. "It, uh…I don't know. Unconscious tick I didn't realize I still had, I guess. Just helped me remember a few things over the years."

Yeah, as if that helped Dean at all. "Look…I get the whole…dancing around painful stuff, I got the same doctor lecture you did, but Sammy, I need to know some of what happened. I got a giant blank, man, I can't fill it. It's certainly more than a-a gimp hand if you're doing that with it," he said. Dean didn't mean for it to come out so accusatory, but it did, it just slipped out. He didn't know what he was trying to fill in, and it was hard on them all, obviously, but he needed something to go off of.

Sam sighed again and shook his head, as if weighing his options. "I was in a bad place," he said eventually, "and you took this," he raised his hand a little, "and used it to anchor me. You're my stone number one to build on, Dean, and I guess now…I gotta be yours."

Dean hummed a bit and tried to quirk a smile. "Role reversal, huh?"

Sam looked at him, confusion written over his features. "What do you mean? It's always been like that, Dean, we've got each other's backs no matter what, we look out for each other, we're family."

"And family just lets their brothers get ridden into hell with the Devil?"

Dean looked back to his brother, who was older and had long hair and had new scars Dean didn't remember him getting and didn't have Lucifer riding shotgun and wasn't in the Cage with them. But underneath all that, Dean could still see his younger brother, who, only a few months ago (it seemed) had said that it was okay and maintained eye contact with right up until he got dragged into the pit. And Dean had just watched. Sam was gone, like that, and now he wasn't. Things had apparently been fine for a while, but Dean didn't remember them making it fine.

"Last I remember, Sam, you're in a pit with archangels and now you're here with still healing bullet wounds trying to take care of me," Dean shook his head again. "I can't…I don't know what to make of it, man, any of it," he admitted and looked back to Sam, who was nodding, although his mind was very obviously in a different place at the moment.

"You didn't let me get ridden into hell," Sam countered eventually, voice wavering as he did so. Had they had this conversation years ago when Sam finally made his return? "You fought tooth and nail, and at the end of the day, it was the only option, you know that. But now I'm here and I'm fine, but you're not, and you need to let me take care of you for a change. You just spent days by my hospital bed, Dean, and you don't remember it, and you've been taking care of me. All this…Lucifer stuff…it isn't your fault, it never was."

Dean let the words sit for a moment. He started all of it, it was his fault, and he was about to say so to Sam, but when he looked back up, all he saw was utter forgiveness and longing in Sam's eyes, as if he was begging his brother to understand. Sam needed Dean to understand that Lucifer, everything with that was fine now, and it had been for a little while. But Sam also understood that Dean didn't recall any of that, and he'd be with him any step of the way.

"Whatever…rebuttals you have for that fact, Dean, lay them down, I told you it wasn't your fault and defended it once before, and I'll do it again," Sam added onto his previous statement.

They sat in silence for a few moments, but the unspoken words on their lips and gears grinding in both their heads said enough for each of them. Eventually, Dean nodded ever so slightly. It didn't help the guilt he felt over everything, and he still needed to ask about Lisa and Ben and what had happened with Cas. "Must be some pretty bad deja vu, huh, Sammy?" Dean asked with a faint smirk, raising his eyes to his brother. He was more tired after their little conversation, probably because it wasn't quite so little and he'd done a lot in his day out of the hospital. A lot was, of course, relative, and he hated it.

"Oh yeah. But whatever you need, Dean, I'm here for you," Sam reminded sincerely. "Just maybe…memories in moderation."

Dean nodded again. "Don't want to fry what's already been scrambled," he commented and vaguely pointed at his head.

"Not funny," Sam quipped back with a bit of a 'really?' look on his face that made Dean smile. He simply shrugged a little and shifted his position on the bed, as their conversation was over…for now…and rested up against the pillows and the headboard. He reached for the remote and turned the volume down low. He stayed away from news stations for now until he could get caught up at his own pace, and the few shows he sometimes tuned into as a guilty pleasure were already seasons from where he last remembered.

He eventually settled on some random old western rerun, only to notice that Sam had disappeared from the room. He came back a moment later with a bottle of water and a few pills for Dean to take.

"Meds," he passed them off to his brother, who took the pills without question and set the water on the table in-between their beds. "Cas says he'll be back in like thirty," Sam reported and took up his spot on the other bed, though he was fairly close to the edge of the space that separated the two mattresses. "Western?" he asked, looking at the screen.

Dean 'mhm'd in affirmation and affixed his eyes to the screen. Ten minutes later, one of the gunfights was over and he decided to close his eyes until the talking was done.

Eventually, he vaguely heard voices around him and thought the room got darker, but he didn't care enough to open his eyes again. Sometime later a blanket was placed over him and even in his mostly asleep haze, he could feel both Sam and Cas' gaze on him from around the room, which he would have remarked on being borderline creepy…if his weariness didn't run so bone-deep and if the gazes weren't so comforting.

Told you the scars would be making a reappearance! Next chapter Dean 'rediscovers' the Bunker...and maybe a memory or two as well, we'll see! I'm trying to get an update on schedule, but I've got three major exams coming up this week that have to take precedence, so if I miss a week, I'll see you back here right after the new episode! Thanks to everyone for reading, I really do appreciate it!