Title: Now I Know My ABC's
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A hurt/comfort romp through the alphabet, one letter at a time from A to Z. Each chapter is a stand-alone one shot. There is hurt, comfort, angst, humor, feels and all around fun.
Author's Note: Now that I've gotten whumping Dean out of my system, back to my comfort zone. Ooh, Sammy. My poor, beautiful whipping boy. Heh heh heh This one is set loosely in season 2. *shrugs* The story wanted to be there. Lol Enjoy!
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
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N is for Nukekubi -
Jerry stopped walking and leaned wearily against an obliging building. He let his head hang and took deep breaths to calm the spinning in his head. He tugged his jacket closed against the wintry air once he felt a little steadier and started walking again. He looked up and nearly sobbed in relief at seeing his apartment building so close by.
"Hey, Jerry! You alright?"
Jerry groaned as his neighbor Gary jogged across the street to meet him and rolled his eyes when the man snickered.
"Dude." Gary grinned and gave Jerry's shoulder a light punch as the man stumbled. "How many have you had?"
"I'm not drunk, jackass." Jerry sneered and kept walking. "M'sick. Been feeling like shit for days. Please go away before I cough on you." He scrubbed a hand over his face and forced his legs to keep walking when all he wanted to do was fall down and sleep.
"Damn, dude. Uh... sorry?" Gary awkwardly patted Jerry's shoulder as he moved passed. "Feel better."
"Yeah." Jerry was glad his neighbor jogged away rather than try to start a conversation. Talking sapped his strength almost as much as walking did. If he didn't manage to kick this flu soon, he was going to have to start skipping work and lose his job.
"Dammit," Jerry groaned and climbed the stairs of his building. He let himself in, and the warmth in the hall after the frigid air outside was almost enough to knock him over. He used the wall to brace himself and staggered to the elevator, flipping his middle finger at the stairs as he went by them. He shambled slowly down the hall to his apartment and let himself in. He didn't bother turning the lights on once he got inside and closed his eyes in the blissful darkness now that the glaring lights in the hall were behind his closed door.
"Thank God," Jerry moaned. He shed his jacket on his way through the living room, leaving it in a pile on the floor. He braced himself on the wall in the hall and kicked off his shoes before finally going into his bedroom. Jerry collapsed on his bed with a whump, face down, and done.
"Never moving again," he muttered into the comforter and didn't even care that it was half smothering him. His whole body felt heavy and spent. He wasn't sure he could move again even if the building were on fire. Sleep quickly stole over him.
Jerry knew he was sleeping in that way you do just before you wake up. He thought he must be dreaming. He felt as though something heavy were pressing into his back. All his limbs felt weighted. His hands and feet tingled, but it was the sensation of something suckling at his neck that finally dragged him all the way into consciousness. He came awake with a gasp and couldn't move. The exhaustion that had plagued him for days now hung over him and pressed him down, paralyzed. His limbs barely twitched, and, with growing horror, Jerry heard something breathing in his ear. He could feel sharp teeth sunk into his throat and the pull of his blood being sucked from his body. His heart pounded in his ears as his mouth opened soundlessly. The fabric of his comforter muffled his gasped cries for help, his barely audible pleas for mercy. And the beat of his overtaxed heart quickly began to stutter and fade.
He could do nothing but lay there while something sucked the life out of him and listen to the sound of his own heart steadily slowing and then going silent as it ran out of blood to function with. He stared into the darkness, seeing nothing but black, while a soft voice crooned in his ear.
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"Dean." Sam's voice rose with exasperation. He looked over at his brother as yet another peanut M&M hit him in the side of the head. "Knock it off."
"Can't eat the brown ones, dude." Dean grinned over at Sam, completely unrepentant, and tossed another one, hitting his brother between the eyes. "They're like little candy turds. You eat 'em."
Sam groaned and started picking the small army of M&M's off his lap. He tossed them over the back seat one by one. "You're annoying."
"And you're cleaning out the car if you keep tossin' those little turds in the back seat, moron." Dean reached across and slapped the back of his brother's head.
"Stop throwing them at me then." Sam tossed the last one he could find at Dean's head and smirked when it bounced off into the back seat with the others. "You think you could try for serious by the time we get to town? Or are you planning on acting like a giant five year old while we hunt vampires?"
"I can do both." Dean rolled his eyes but did stop flinging M&M's at Sam. "Are you sure it's vampires?"
"As much as I can be." Sam was almost sorry to lose the humor of the moment. It was rare to see Dean acting so lighthearted since their father's death, and though he complained about it, he'd been enjoying it. "The bite marks definitely look like vampires, from what I can tell. The autopsy photos are crap. We'll have to go to the morgue and take a look for ourselves to be sure."
"Blood-sucking freaks." Dean shook his head and took the exit for Carthage, Missouri. "Don't they have anything better to do in winter? Gotta freeze our rocks off tracking these bitches down when we could be in Florida soakin' up rays."
"You know, it's cold in Florida too," Sam said and smirked over at his brother's dirty look. He leaned back and slid down his seat enough to rest his head on the back. It was getting late and he was tired. "Wake me up when we get there."
Dean snorted but he still reached over and turned the music down enough not to keep Sam awake. He figured he could give him a break for a while. The last few hours into Carthage passed slowly for Dean as his only companions were his M&M's and his brother's soft snores from the passenger seat. He had looked over more than once and considered screwing with him, only to change his mind and let the kid keep sleeping. He shook his head at himself. He didn't even begin to understand what the hell they were going to do about Sam's new-found psychic radar thing, and it scared him. He was afraid of what it meant for Sam to be connected to the demon like that; not that he could let Sam know. His little brother would stupidly think Dean was afraid OF him rather than for him, and that was a whole kettle of angsty crap he didn't want to even think about.
Dean drove through the outskirts of Carthage and easily passed the first motel. There was no way he was staying at a place with an exterminator's truck parked by the rental office and two flat tires he could see from there. He rolled his eyes and kept driving and finally nodded when he found the Moonlight Lounge motel. It was a little seedy looking, but all the letters were lit in the sign and that was pretty much four stars for a Winchester.
"Hey." Dean reached over and gave Sam's shoulder a shove, breaking him off in mid-snore. "We're here."
"Huh? Where?" Sam rolled his head off the seat and groggily pushed himself up. He looked out the windshield and quirked a brow. "You sure we can afford this place? The sign works."
Dean chuckled and parked by the rental office. "Go get us a room." He smiled over at his brother and stretched in the seat. "'Cause when I get outta my car, I ain't gettin' back in for a while."
"Yeah, yeah." Sam climbed out of the Impala and patted his pocket to make sure he had his wallet. "Room on the end?" he asked. "Or do you want one upstairs?"
Dean scrubbed his hands back and forth through his hair and shrugged. "Whatever's open. I don't care as long as it's got a bed." He watched Sam walk away and vanish into the rental office and leaned his head on the steering wheel for a minute, letting the vibrations through the wheel from the idling engine half lull him into sleep. He jerked upright when Sam's door creaked open and looked over in surprise as his brother got in and held up a key. "Whoa. More tired than I thought."
Sam laughed and pointed. "We're down at the end on the second floor. She said it was that or a king-size bed under a couple of newlyweds."
"Hell, no." Dean pulled out and headed down the building. He looked sideways over at his brother. "So... she? How hot was she?"
"Borderline granny hot." Sam waited for Dean to park and shoved his door open again. "She's at least sixty."
Dean sighed and climbed out of the car. So much for his half-formed thought of some easy fun when the job was finished. He stretched his arms over his head and went to the trunk where Sam already had it open. "So, she went all mother-hen on you, didn't she?" He grinned at Sam's disgusted face. "The mothers and grandmas always go soft on you, dude."
"Shut up." Sam pulled his duffel out of the trunk along with Dean's and left him the heavy weapons bag as revenge.
Dean crowed and pulled the heavy bag out of the trunk. "She DID hit on you! I knew it! Let me guess, she tried to feed you." The way Sam turned his back on him without a word told him he was exactly right, and he laughed loudly as he closed the trunk and followed Sam up the narrow stairs. The humor gave him the last burst of energy he needed to trudge up the flight of stairs, and, once Sam opened their door, Dean stumbled to the nearest bed across the room and flopped facedown on it without even really looking at anything else or getting his boots off. "Nigh', S'mmy."
Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah. Night, Dean." He closed the door and set their bags down before he went to his brother and stood over him. He sighed and bent down, tugging his brother's boots off and let them thump into the floor. He yawned wide enough to crack his jaw and then wrestled Dean out of his jacket as well before pulling the red comforter out from underneath him and covering him.
"Better bring me coffee..." Sam yawned his way to the weapons bag and pulled out a container of salt to ward the room. "... in the morning." He just barely found the energy to drag his own shoes and jacket off, along with his flannel before dropping into the other bed. He rolled himself into the comforter and fell asleep listening to the sound of Dean snoring softly into a pillow.
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Dean leaned over the body of the latest victim and wrinkled his nose. "Well, that's certainly distinctive," he said. He pointed to the bite mark on the man's throat and looked up at his brother meaningfully. Sam gave him a nod.
"There are more," The coroner said cheerfully. "If you just grab hold of his shoulder, I'll get his hip."
"Huh?" Dean leaned back up and saw a pair of blue gloves being held in front of his face. "Uh, sure." He took them and pulled them onto his hands, flicking his gaze over to his snickering little brother. "Shut up, agent."
Sam watched Dean and the coroner roll the dead body to its side and then onto its stomach. He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning tiredly against and moved in for a better look. "On his back?" There were four bite wounds identical to the one on the man's neck, littered across his back."
The coroner nodded. "It's odd though." He frowned. "Usually, wild animals actually take some meat from a body. They were just nibbling this poor man, though." He patted the dead man's hip absently. "He might have lived if not for that bite at his throat. That one severed the carotid artery and he bled out."
"He died where you found him?" Sam asked curiously.
"We assume so. There was heavy rain that night, so not a lot of evidence left at the scene." The coroner grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to cover the body once more. "But the detectives seem to think so. The rain washed most of the blood away."
"Right. Thanks." Dean shook the man's hand and stripped off his gloves. He grabbed Sam as his brother yawned and pulled him out into the hall. "Dude, what the hell? Do you need a nap, princess?"
"I'm beat," Sam confessed. He scrubbed a hand over his face and couldn't shake the weariness that had settled into his bones. "Coming down with something, I guess. I slept hard last night."
Dean snorted a laugh because that was certainly true. "Gotta say, I enjoyed draggin' your ass out of the bed onto the floor this morning." He chuckled and elbowed his brother. "Remember when you were twelve and you hated that school? Used to try and hide under the covers."
"You were, and are, the biggest jerk on the planet." Sam elbowed Dean back and ignored his continued laughter. "So, it's definitely a vampire, nothing else we know leaves bites with radii like that."
"Radii," Dean said and grinned. "Nerd. Only you would know the correct plural of radius."
Sam looked sideways at his brother and smirked. "You knew I used the right word. What's that say about you?"
"Shuddup." Dean gave him a shove toward the stairs and then snatched Sam's left shoulder to steady him when he staggered.
"Crap. Sorry." Sam rubbed a hand over his face and started down the stairs slowly with Dean a solid presence at his side. "Got dizzy for a sec."
"Don't you give me your damn flu," Dean warned.
Sam chuckled. "I get sick, you get sick."
"Family friggin' curse," Dean groaned with a roll of his eyes because Sam was right. All their lives, whatever one of them caught, the other would always come down with it later, a nearly unavoidable outcome considering the close quarters they were in pretty much all day every day. "You know, there is such a thing as sharing too much."
"Whatever." Sam put a hand to the back of his neck as it began to ache and rubbed it. "We need to find out what all the victims have in common, see if we can figure out where the vampire..."
"... or vampires."
"Are nesting." Sam scowled. "Hope it's not a whole nest."
"If it is, we got this." Dean gave him a cocky smile and jogged down the stairs ahead of him. "Come on, plague boy."
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Sam leaned forward over the library table and rested his forehead against the cool wood. He was exhausted. His flu or whatever the hell he had was sapping all of his energy. Dean had dosed him with cold medicine the night before, and Sam had once again slept hard and sound. But rather than wake feeling better, he'd woken feeling even worse than the day before, more wasted and spent.
"Dude, don't get snot on the city maps." Dean tapped the back of his brother's head, but he frowned worriedly. "This bug is takin' you down hard."
"I know."
Dean smirked as Sam's voice came up muffled, his little brother refusing to even move his head. "Lift your melon. I need that map." He tugged on the paper beneath Sam's cheek and chuckled as he lifted his head just enough for Dean to pull it out. He shook his head fondly and checked another victim's address on the map. He sighed and sat back. "Think we can safely say where all the victims lived or worked has nothing to do with how the vamp's picking them off. They're all over the damn place."
Sam groaned again and slowly lifted his pounding head up from the table. He rubbed his eyes and dropped his hands to the wood with a thump. "So it has to be something else. Maybe somewhere they all shopped?"
"Dude, you are pale," Dean observed with the harsh fluorescent light above them shining down on them. "Like, back-from-the-dead pale. How you feelin'?"
Sam gave him a dirty look. "Like I kinda want to puke on you right now." He leaned back and stretched his legs out under the table. His head felt a little foggy, and he really wanted to sleep some more. "We can, uh, talk to their families. See where the victims liked to hang out, friends, that kind of thing."
Dean nodded. He gathered up the papers they'd brought in with a careful eye on his brother. "I'll go talk to the first couple on the list. You're gonna go back to the motel and get some damn rest." He raised a finger when Sam opened his mouth to argue. "Nope. You look like hell. No one's gonna buy a federal agent on their doorstep who looks like a stiff wind is gonna knock him over."
"Fine." Sam didn't want to admit it, but falling into bed for a few hours sounded like bliss to him. For form's sake, he scowled at his big brother as he stood and then had to make a grab for Dean as the floor suddenly spun dizzily beneath him. "Whoa."
"Hey. Hey." Dean wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and held on until Sam's eyes stopped rolling in their sockets. "Yeah, you're done for the day. Come on."
Sam didn't have enough energy to even argue when Dean put a palm over his forehead, shoving his hair aside to check for a fever as though he were a child. He just slumped into his brother's side and let Dean lead him outside and pour him into the car.
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Dean pulled up outside their motel. He climbed out of the car and saw the woman who owned the place pushing a cart along the second floor balcony. He answered her friendly wave. He wondered if she'd cooed over his sick brother while bringing them fresh towels. Dean smirked, closed his door, and dug his phone out when it began to ring. He saw the number of the coroner's office and quirked a brow.
"Agent Crosby," Dean said easily and leaned against his baby.
"Ah, Agent. Glad I caught you." The coroner's voice was friendly over the phone. "I found something a little odd on the last two bodies. I'd have checked the others but they've already been returned to their families."
"What did you find?" Dean asked curiously.
"Well, the marks on the last victim's back were actually older than the one on his neck that killed him."
"How much older?" Dean knew it would make a difference if the vampire had been snacking on his victims before he actually killed them.
"Few days, from what I can determine," The coroner told him. "They run a course over several days. It looks like whatever animal killed them actually harried them for several days prior to their deaths, but there are no defensive wounds on the body. It's very strange."
"Yeah. Very." Dean shook his head. "Thanks. We'll look into it." He snapped the phone closed and jogged up the stairs to their motel room. Dean opened the door and found his brother where he'd left him, planted face first into a pillow. "Dude." Dean went over and gave his shoulder a shake under the blanket. "Hey, Sammy." Dean frowned worriedly as he put a hand to Sam's neck. His brother's skin felt cold and clammy. He was somehow even more pale, and, as Dean watched his eyes flutter open, Sam began to swallow convulsively. "Uh oh. Ok, hold on. Not in the bed!"
Sam was barely able to help as Dean quickly and expertly rolled him up out of the bed and dragged him into the bathroom. He held on to it just long enough to get his head over the toilet and then heaved for all he was worth.
"Yech," Dean groaned in sympathy and supported Sam while his brother puked up what little he'd eaten that day. "Breathe, buddy." He rubbed his free hand across Sam's shoulders, offering him comfort, remembering all the times he had done this very same thing for his little brother when he was sick as a child, wishing he could magically make him feel better. He startled when he felt something warm and wet under his hand. "What the..." Dean lifted the neck of Sam's t-shirt while his brother gagged uselessly into the toilet, and his eyes went wide in alarm. "Sam, you're bleeding."
Sam jerked in surprise. It took him several long moments to push back the nausea, and he slumped into his brother's grip once he had. "What... bleeding where?" he asked breathlessly.
Dean reached up and flushed the toilet. He closed the lid and then carefully maneuvered his pliant brother up to sit on it. "Gimme your shirt." Dean pulled and tugged and had to help his uncoordinated brother get his shirt off over his head. Once he did, he leaned Sam forward and peered around at his back. His blood ran cold.
"Dean?" Sam asked when he felt Dean's arm tense across his chest. "S'goin' on?"
Dean looked down at the marks on his brother's back and tried to make sense of it. "Sam... you're being munched on." He moved a little so he could get a better look and shook his head. He used his free hand to take his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and took a quick picture. "Here." He handed it down to Sam.
Sam stared at the picture in shock. There were three bite wounds on his back, one of which was still trickling blood. Each of them looked exactly like what they had thought were the vampire bites on their victims. His head swam with confusion. "Dean, how..."
"I don't know." Dean took his phone back and tucked it into his pocket. "Come on. Let's get you lying down." He eased Sam up from the toilet and took him back out into the room. Dean settled him in his bed on his stomach. "I need to clean these."
"Call Bobby," Sam said into the pillow. He had felt an ache across his back but had chalked it up to sore muscles from his 'flu'. "How did I not feel that? I don't understand."
"Neither do I, but I'm going to. And it explains a lot." Dean said darkly. And he would enjoy ganking whatever had been snacking on his little brother. "You're not sick. It's blood loss." He wanted to slap his forehead for not seeing the symptoms for what they were sooner - the dizziness, confusion, headaches, nausea, pale and clammy skin. Of course it was blood loss. He had been watching Sam slowly be drained dry and had nearly let it happen.
"Not your fault," Sam mumbled, easily reading the tension in his brother's hand on his back.
Dean snorted fondly. "Dude, get outta my head. Stay put." He went and grabbed the first aid kit, taking out the holy water and the peroxide. He set the peroxide on the table between the beds and uncapped the holy water, hating what he had to do considering what was probably coming. "Deep breath. This might suck."
Sam nodded wearily and braced himself. The first drops of holy water on the bite marks felt like battery acid being poured into his skin. He shouted out the pain and would have twisted away from the well-meaning torture if Dean hadn't planted his free hand on his shoulder and forced him to not move.
"Hold still. Breathe. Just breathe through it." Dean glared down at the marks as the holy water bubbled and sizzled in each of them. He grimaced in sympathy as Sam continued to jerk and shout into the pillow. It seemed to go on forever before the water ran clean and was no longer smoking gently up from his skin. "Ok. Ok. It's over. Hey, it's done. You're good." He set the holy water aside and grabbed the peroxide. "That's the worst of it."
Sam was close to hyperventilating and might have if not for the steady thrum of Dean's voice over his head, and he was grateful the pillow hid the tears of pain that had escaped despite his best efforts to hold them back. He twitched while the peroxide stung into the wounds, but it was nothing compared to the pain the holy water had caused. When Dean was finally finished, Sam slumped bonelessly into the bed, too weak to even turn his head out of the pillow.
Dean taped bandages over each of the three marks and then just sat with a hand resting on his brother's bare shoulder. "Hey, you still with me?" Sam gave him a low grunt of assent and Dean nodded. "Turn your head before you suffocate, dumbass." He nodded when Sam slowly did as ordered and patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna call Bobby, cause if this isn't a vamp, I don't know what the hell we're after."
"Me'either," Sam slurred, never opening his eyes.
Dean got up and sighed. "Need to get you some juice, maybe some oreos." He smirked at Sam's groan. "We need to counteract some of the damn blood loss, dude. Don't move. I'll be back in ten." He went to the door, opened it, and then scowled. He closed it again and turned to look back at his brother while a bad feeling skittered down his spine.
"Dean?" Sam managed to roll to his side and then sluggishly sat up a little so he was propped against the wall. It hurt his back, but he could ignore the ache. He looked curiously at his brother while Dean just stood there and stared at him. "What is it?"
Dean stepped away from the door slowly. "You've got three bites on your back. We've been here for three days." He took another step closer while the tumblers clicked into place in his mind. "And you've been sleepin' like the damn dead for the last three nights in this place and wakin' up feelin' even worse than the night before."
Sam's eyes went wide in shock. "But the door and the window are salted. And, we'd know! We'd wake up!" He raised a shaking arm and let if fall back. "You'd wake up if someone... something came into the room."
"Yeah, maybe." Dean shrugged his coat off and tossed it on his bed. "But I'm not leavin' you alone here." He grabbed Sam's laptop bag, pulled out the computer, and set it on the table. He sat down and dialed Bobby. "I'll order out somewhere and get juice and shit delivered."
Sam nodded and let his head drop back against the wall. He shivered, cold and exhausted. His entire body felt heavy, weighted down, and even opening his eyes was an effort. He startled badly when he felt a blanket settle over him.
"Dude, I can see you shaking from over there." Dean said it with a smile as Sam crumbled back into the bed. He sat back down and smiled again when he heard they're adoptive father's voice on the phone, feeling reassured just by the older hunter's presence on the other end of the line, knowing they were not alone in this. "Bobby, we got a problem."
"Thought you boys were after a vampire?" Bobby asked with a scowl.
"Yeah, so did we. We were wrong." Dean quickly outlined what they knew. He lowered the phone and sent off the picture of Sam's back and put it back to his ear. "Bobby, whatever it is, it's been drainin' him dry."
"You learn anything from the victims' families?" Bobby asked and he was already at his wall, looking through his collection of books with the image of Sam's wounded back in his mind.
Dean shook his head. "Not much. One guy said he was on the outs with his wife; she wasn't even living at the house with him anymore. Last victim's girlfriend said she thought maybe he was cheating on her, but she wasn't sure."
Bobby nodded. "That ain't much. Look, gimme some time. I'll find something."
"I know you will." Dean looked over at his brother and swallowed. "Bobby, I think this thing is getting to him in our room while we're sleeping."
Bobby stopped and closed his eyes. "You'll keep him safe."
"Damn well haven't so far," Dean grumbled. "Sorry. Yeah, I will. Thanks, Bobby." He ended the call and set his phone down. "Sammy?"
"Mmf," Sam groaned. He forced his tired eyes to open and twitched a hand under the blanket. "Still here." He swallowed hard. "Thinkin' about throwing up again too."
Dean ran into the bathroom and grabbed the trash can. He brought it out and slid an arm under Sam's shoulders, lifting him up just as his brother's stomach revolted again. "My least favorite symptom of blood loss."
Sam nodded in agreement but couldn't spare the breath to speak. When it finally eased, he slumped back into the bed with Dean's help. "Thanks."
Dean set the trash can aside with a grimace. "Don't mention it. Ok, juice and food for the hemoglobin impaired." He grinned when that got a chuckle out of his brother and grabbed his phone again. He checked the salt lines at the door and window while he ordered some take out and looked back at Sam worriedly. "This bastard ain't getting to you again, Sammy."
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Dean jerked his chin up from his chest, pulling himself out of the light doze he'd slipped into. He looked across the room at his brother in the light from the open bathroom door and sighed. Sam's skin was still pasty white where the light hit him. He was sleeping easily at least. Dean shifted his legs on the chair across from him and resettled his ass in the seat, slumping a little lower tiredly. He reached out and picked through the pile of empty cookie wrappers until he found one still full and smirked.
"Nice," he whispered. Dean eased the package open with the slightest crinkle of plastic and popped the Oreo in his mouth with a satisfying crunch. He shook the two bottles of orange juice but they were both empty. He knew he'd need to get more for Sam or they'd end up in a hospital soon. He wasn't sure they shouldn't be there already, but Sam had out-stubborned him on that one so far. If they could keep whatever it was from getting to him again, Sam's blood count would gradually recover on its own, so he had given in.
Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair again and sighed. He got to his feet and crossed over to his brother's bed. He put his fingers gently to Sam's neck to feel the not-strong-enough thud of his pulse, but at least it was steady. Dean shook his head and sat on the other bed, leaning back against the wall. He looked at the clock, seeing that it was nearly two in the morning, and wished Bobby would call him back with his customary stroke of genius insight since Sam was temporarily down.
Dean felt his eyes closing again and let them. He rested his head against the wall and let himself drift without slipping into actual sleep. He wouldn't feel safe doing that until he knew what was after his brother. He'd checked the salt lines and they were intact. Still, he'd poured them thicker and added cat's eye shells to bump up the level of protection. He shifted slightly to make room for the pistol at the small of his back.
As he reclined there, drifting, and listening to the slightly too fast sound of Sam's breathing a few feet away, a new sound made him tense. It was faint, so faint it nearly went unheard and would have if Dean had been asleep. He heard it again and forced himself to remain still. Dean cracked his eyes open just the barest sliver. His long lashes blurred his vision as he looked around the room. The light from the bathroom was just enough to make out Sam's bed, the table, the chairs, the window, the door, and the closet beside it. He started to pull his eyes back in another circuit of the room when he caught movement in the closet.
Dean's heart began to thunder in his chest. He couldn't imagine how something was in the closet. He'd looked in there. He'd even checked under the damn beds. Yet as he let his hooded gaze rest in that direction, he saw movement again. It took all his willpower not to leap to his feet and start shooting, but he damn well wanted to know what they were dealing with. However, a few moments later, Dean couldn't help the way his eyes shot open or the low gasp of surprise that gave him away as a head with long, black hair floated out of the open closet door. And only a head. There was no body.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean cussed and rolled agilely to his feet, drawing his gun. The head swooped toward Sam's bed, and Dean fired a round at it. It screamed, and the sound was distinctly female. Dean put himself between Sam's bed and the head and fired two more times. He squinted his eyes, trying to get a clearer look in the dim light, but before he could turn on the room lights, the head screamed back into the closet and out of sight.
"Dean?" Sam's voice came hoarsely from the bed.
Dean turned around and found his brother holding his Taurus out in both shaking hands, trying to back him up. "Hey. You good?"
Sam nodded. He lowered his gun and used a hand to try and push himself up higher in the bed. "What happened?"
Dean went over to the door and turned the lights on with his gun out. "It was here." He moved cautiously toward the closet.
"It's still in here?" Sam asked in surprise and brought his gun back up. "What did it look like?"
"A head," Dean said and moved so he could see into the closet. "The hell?" It was empty. He moved in further and scoured the interior. He let his eyes rise up the wall and he ground his teeth together in anger when he saw it. "There's an attic hatch in the closet. DAMN it! That's how it's been getting in."
Sam tried to steady his shaking hands and keep the gun steady but it was a losing battle. "A head?"
"Yeah, like the thing we chop off vamps. A damn head!" Dean backed away from the closet. He swallowed hard and grabbed the salt, pouring a hasty line in front of the closet door. "Ok, we're outta here."
"We don't know what it is," Sam protested, but he still managed to find the energy to pull the blankets off his body. He slowly slid his legs off the side of the bed and sat up.
"We'll figure it out, but not here while the damn thing's tryin' to use you for a slurpee." Dean looked over at his brother and Sam's gun that was still pointed toward the door. "You watch it?"
"Yeah," Sam said firmly and kept his eyes on the closet.
Dean moved methodically around the room, packing them up. He had all three of their bags on the bed in no time and turned to look at Sam. "You keep your gun on that closet while I load the car."
Sam nodded and braced his gun hands on his knee. "Go. I got this."
Dean grabbed up all the bags and opened the motel room door. He stepped out, careful not to disturb the salt line and jogged down the stairs to the Impala. He had the bags in the trunk in record time and was running back upstairs to their room when he heard a gunshot. "Shit!" Dean jumped the last few steps three at a time and skidded into the room to find Sam standing shakily and aiming carefully into the closet.
"Heard a thump." Sam slid his gaze over to Dean with a rueful smile. "Figured better safe than sorry."
Dean smirked. "Good thinking. Whoa." He leaped forward and caught Sam as his brother sagged on rubber legs. "I gotcha. Ok, let's go."
Sam kept his gun out while Dean helped him down the stairs. He was panting for breath at the bottom but nerves kept the gun firm in his grip until Dean eased him down into the passenger seat. He looked up at their room while Dean dashed around the car and slid in behind the wheel. "Where's my phone?"
"Uh..." Dean looked around for a moment as though he would see it and then rolled his eyes. "In the pocket of your jacket... in the bag. Here." He took his out and gave it to his brother, knowing who he wanted to call.
Sam dialed Bobby while Dean burned rubber out of the parking lot and away from the motel. He wrapped his free arm around his bare chest and wished he'd thought to put a shirt on before they left. "Bobby."
"Cripes, Sam. You sound like hammered crap." Bobby cringed hearing the weak, hoarse quality of the kid's voice. "You alright?"
Sam gave a breathless, annoyed huff. "I've been better. Dean saw it. It came for me again."
"Did it get you? Either of you? You boys hurt?"
"Bobby, we're fine," Sam told him and then rolled his eyes. "Well, Dean's fine. I feel like I don't have any blood left, but Dean said it was a head. Just a head."
Bobby's eyes blew wide. "Holy shit. He sure?"
Sam looked over at his brother. "Bobby wants to know if you're sure about what you saw?"
"Am I... gimme that." Dean snatched the phone irritably out of Sam's hand and put it to his ear. "I know what I saw, Bobby. It was a damn floating head! Female, long black hair, and lookin' to make another snack of my brother. Do you know what it is or not?"
"Don't get your panties in a bunch," Bobby said with a short laugh. He sat at his desk and opened one of his books. "Now I know what it is, and I'm not surprised you mistook the kills for a vamp either. It's a..." Bobby paused and chuckled. "How about you give the phone to Sam?"
"Bobby." Dean growled into the phone. "Now is not the time to screw with me."
Bobby rolled his eyes and smirked as he found the page he wanted. "Alright. Sounds like you boys found yourselves a nukekubi. Japanese nasty. Used to be exclusive to Japan, but then the bastards started migratin' around the damn world a hundred years ago, and now they pop up everywhere."
"A nuke-a-what?" Dean asked.
Sam's mouth dropped open. "A nukekubi?" He let his head drop and covered his face. "Of course. I should have seen it."
"Ok, someone start talkin'." Dean glared over at Sam since he couldn't glare at Bobby. "What is it?"
"These things can detach their heads from their bodies and go free roamin'." Bobby quickly scanned the entry in his book. "Usually women, though there's a couple cases of 'em bein' dudes, but that's rare. Anyway, you can't kill the head. You gotta find its body, move it so she loses her connection to it, and kill that while the head's off somewhere else."
"And that kills it." Dean grinned. "I can do that."
"No. The sun rising after you kill the body will kill the head." Bobby leaned back in his chair. "So until first light, you're gonna have one pissed off, immortal, blood-drinkin' head on your hands."
"Awesome." Dean sighed and looked over at Sam worriedly.
"Did you see her face?" Bobby asked. "They don't change when the head detaches. If she's after Sam, then odds are you already met her somewhere. They latch onto men that attract them."
"Men that..." Dean stared out at the road, shocked. "Son of a bitch. It's her!"
"Who?" Sam asked curiously and looked at Dean's stunned face. "You know who it is?"
"It's the..." Dean waved the phone at him. "... little old lady runnin' the damn motel with the gramma hots for you! Damn! I thought that head looked familiar!" He hadn't gotten more than a fleeting glance at her twice, the last time when he'd seen her walking away from the direction of their room.
"Mrs. Pittman?" Sam shook his head. "Dean, she's like seventy and harmless. It can't be her."
"It was her," Dean said firmly. He slowed the car and turned around, doing a wide u-turn in the road before parking on the shoulder. He checked his watch. "Bobby, we'll take care of her. Thanks for the intel."
"You boys be damn careful. And don't let her get her fangs in Sam again." Bobby warned. "She'll probably drain him dry the next time."
Dean put his phone away and looked at Sam. "We gotta go back."
Sam groaned and nodded. "Yeah. If it is her, she'll be scared now. She might even run." He shifted in the seat, feeling the wounds beneath the bandages on his back pull painfully. "We can't let her kill anyone else."
"Alright." Dean started the car moving again and truly hated the plan he knew they were going to have to go with. "You're gonna have to be the bait, Sammy." Dean glared out at the road like that would change anything. "We already know she's hot for your blood, so while you keep her head occupied, and I'll go find her body and toast it. And for the record, I hate this idea, but I can't think of any alternative."
Sam nodded and tried to push the exhaustion borne of blood loss aside. "She's gonna be pissed once she realizes what you're doing."
"I know." Dean couldn't see any way around it. "You'll have your gun. Gonna give you one of the machetes too. You can use the bitch for batting practice."
Sam managed a smirk but it quickly faded as the motel came back into view. He shivered, not entirely from the effects of blood loss. "Be fast."
"Damn right I will," Dean assured him. "I'll gank the body and come back and help you keep her busy 'til the sun comes up. We got this." He sounded sure of himself for his brother's sake, but he certainly didn't feel it. He hated the idea of leaving Sam alone with the monster, one that had already sucked far too much of his blood away without either of them knowing.
"I'll be alright," Sam said into the silence, not needing to be psychic to know exactly what his brother was thinking and feeling, as Dean approached the motel and turned into the parking lot.
Dean nodded but said nothing. His eyes raked the darkened rental office as he drove down the building to the stairs next to their room. He parked and climbed silently out, meeting Sam's eyes over the roof. "Sammy..."
"No choice, Dean." Sam gave a wan smile. "Let's do this."
"Yeah, ok." Dean went to the trunk and pulled out two machetes. He handed one to Sam, and then slipped under his arm to help him up the stairs. Every huff of exertion from Sam drove the wedge of guilt deeper that he was giving his little brother to the monster with a damn bow on him. They reached the top of the stairs and Dean looked at the door of their room. It was still open. He moved away from Sam, took out his gun and went into the room. It was as they'd left it, including the bullet holes in the closet. "Alright."
"Don't let her see you." Sam walked into the room and gave Dean a smile. "I've got this." He understood the hesitant, almost haunted, look on his brother's face as Dean backed out of the room, and Sam closed the door, then locked it. He went to the window and made sure that was locked as well. He wanted to be sure that the nukekubi would have only one way to come after him or to escape - the closet.
Dean ran back down to the car and climbed in. He backed out of the space and revved the engine loud enough to draw attention before he left the motel and drove out of sight. He ground his teeth together as he drove far enough away to park and hoped the creature bought that he'd left Sam behind.
"Alright, you bitch." Dean got back out with his machete in hand. He jogged at a near run back toward the motel. He ran up along the back and slipped between two buildings. There was no telling how long they would have to wait, but he knew he only had to listen for the sound of Sam's gun going off again. It struck Dean then that no one had called the police after the first round of gunfire. There should have been cops all over the motel.
"What the hell?" Dean broke from his cover, now determined to find out exactly why none of the other motel guests seemed to care about guns being shot off. He crept around the side of the building toward the rental office and ducked low into a bush when he heard several thumps coming from inside. Dean raised up just enough to peek in the bottom of the window above him and his brows flew up. Inside, the woman who owned the motel was sitting in a chair. He could just see her through a crack in the curtains. Her arms rested in her lap with a crazy, multicolored quilt covering her. One of her feet kicked out, thumping into the table in front of her, and then her body went still. The silver hair that hung around her face gradually darkened to black from the bottoms up to the roots, and the head rose from her shoulders to float in the air. It was probably one of the strangest things Dean had ever seen, and that was saying a lot.
Dean ducked back down out of sight, afraid to let her spot him and ruin the plan. He was just happy she was taking the bait so fast. His hands itched to go in firing right then and there, before she got a chance at Sam again, but he knew he needed to wait. He could almost hear his father's voice in his ears telling him to bide his time; not to jump the gun and ruin a good opportunity. He swallowed around the sudden lump of guilt and pushed it away. He moved toward the front of the motel and looked around the corner. There was no sign of the nukekubi, but there were three cars parked in the lot still. He frowned. The same three cars that had been parked there for three days, now that he thought about it. He hadn't seen any of them come, go, or even move since they'd checked in. He got a bad feeling about the owners of the vehicles, but checking it out would have to wait for later.
Dean's head jerked up as he heard the sound of Sam's gun firing three times. "Showtime." He got to his feet and went to the rental office. It was locked, but Dean easily kicked it in. He strode into the front office and looked around but there was nothing to see other than the desk, the wall of small mailboxes and keys, and a couple green overstuffed chairs that had seen better days. He moved quickly, aware that every moment he wasted, his little brother was fighting the nukekubi alone.
"Gotcha," Dean said with a satisfied grin when he found the woman's body right where she'd left it, sitting in the chair and completely helpless... and headless. Dean shuddered, looking at the stump of her neck where her head should have been. "That is just wrong."
He leaned down and grabbed her under the arms, pulling her up from the chair. Distantly, he heard the muffled sound of a scream. "Crap." Dean tossed her body to the floor and took his gun back out. He fired three times into her chest, destroying her heart. Blood quickly pooled under the woman's body, spreading out across the wood-paneled floor. "Rest in pieces, bitch."
Dean turned and ran for his brother. A quick glance at his watch told him they had two hours still until dawn; two hours with the creature's pissed off head no doubt doing her level best to get some revenge before she died. "Hang on, Sammy," he panted as he ran and two more shots rang out.
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Sam sat on the side of the bed closest to the closet and kept his gun trained on it. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew she was coming. He could almost feel it, almost sense that she wasn't able to walk away with Sam so temptingly close once more. He shook his head and wished he didn't feel like he was two minutes away from passing out where he sat. He had that uncomfortable floating feeling that only came with losing too much blood. He shook his head and straightened his back.
He checked his watch and realized it had been nearly ten minutes since Dean had left. It didn't feel like it had been that long. Sam jerked his head up when he heard a soft thump from the closet and stood. He trained his gun on the open door and waited. A few moments later, the macabre floating head appeared, sinking down from the hatch in the ceiling, and his eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't truly believed it was the nice old woman who ran the motel until that moment. Despite the fact that her gray hair had turned black, there was no mistaking her face. It had looked so kindly before, but now there was nothing but malice in her cold blue eyes as her head floated free and came toward him.
"Stop," Sam warned her and aimed between her eyes. He knew he couldn't kill her, but he could make her hurt. She hissed and came closer in a fast swoop. Sam fired. His first shot went wide as she ducked, but the next two hit, one in the left temple and the other between her eyes. Blood sprayed out behind her as her head flipped end over end, hit the far wall, and slid to the floor. Sam ran to the closet and slammed the door closed to cut off her escape.
He turned back to shoot her again and yelped to find her head a mere foot away. Before he could fire again, she slammed into his chest. Sam crashed into the room's door with a grunt. "Crap." His head was spinning with the impact as he tried to get his bearings. Between the blood loss and the bizarre nature of the creature he was fighting, the whole scenario had taken on a surreal quality. He felt his gun still in his hand and brought it up as her head floated near him once more.
She hissed at Sam again and, as he looked in her eyes, he felt a sudden lethargy steal over him. His arms began to tingle and went weak, and the arm holding the gun dropped to the floor with a thump. "What..." he groaned, trying to move. His eyes began to feel heavier even as the nukekubi's head came to rest against his chest. He moaned in pain when he felt sharp teeth slide into his skin over his collarbone but was unable to fight back.
Sam began to understand how he hadn't woken up any of the times she had fed from him; she was using some form of magic to subdue him. It was why none of the other victims had had defensive wounds. It had been impossible for them to fight back. He felt her drawing his blood in gulps, could feel the muscles of her mouth and jaw shifting against his skin, her tongue lapping the blood as it pooled. It was sickening, and his urge to throw up returned in full force. He'd have gagged if he could have moved.
The nukekubi reared her head back suddenly and screamed. The sound was shrill and piercing and seemed to drive a spike of pain straight through Sam's skull. It had to be Dean, he thought; his brother had found her body and moved it, killed it. As her scream echoed into silence, he felt her hold over him weaken. Sam fought to bring his right hand back up as the creature turned maddened eyes to him and screamed again. He fired into her mouth and had the satisfaction of seeing several of her razor sharp teeth break off and spin away. She darted toward him, and Sam fired again, blowing away a chunk of her cheekbone that left the creature howling.
Sam tried to lift his arm higher to follow her movements as the head rose up into the air defensively but he had nothing left. His tank was almost literally on empty. His arm fell back to the floor again as his head lolled to the side, and this time he wasn't sure if it was blood loss or the creature's power making him helpless.
"Dean," Sam gasped and could only watch the nukekubi while it grinned, hissed, and dove for his neck. He knew, this time it would kill him. Dean wasn't going to make it in time. He felt a wave of grief sweep over him at the thought of leaving his brother alone so soon after losing their dad. He could feel the darkness swimming around the edges of his vision as unconsciousness tugged at him. "I'm sorry, D'n" he murmured, feeling his eyes closing for what he fully expected was the last time.
Sam flinched as the door behind him rattled in its frame. The movement knocked him sideways and he toppled to lay on the floor on his side, knowing it was his brother trying to get in.
Dean heaved his shoulder into the door once he realized it was Sam's body that was blocking it. He could see his brother's arm stretched across the floor inside the room. "Sam!" Dean shouted fearfully. He braced his hip into the door and shoved hard enough to slide Sam across the floor and give him room to squeeze through.
He saw the nukekubi's head settling against Sam's neck and Dean snarled. He kicked her loose to fly across the floor and into the bathroom. Dean ran after her and pulled the door shut just as she slammed into it and rattle it in the frame. "Shuddup!" he yelled at the door and then turned and went to his brother. "Sammy?"
Sam moaned softly and managed to turn his head and force his eyes open enough to see his brother. He gave a weak smile while the room seemed to spin around him. "Hey. Got... got her."
"Yeah, I see that." Dean knelt down and gently rolled Sam up from the floor, supporting his head and shoulders against his knee and the crook of his arm. He looked over as the creature screamed and the bathroom door rattled with each heavy thump of her head. "That might actually hold her ass... head... until dawn. How you doin'?" Dean grimaced when he saw fresh blood high on his brother's chest and at his throat. "Ah, hell, Sammy."
Sam nodded and let his head roll into his brother. "S'not so good."
Dean put his fingers to Sam's neck, sliding through the blood there and could feel the faint, too-rapid flutter of his pulse. Sam's skin was like ivory, his eyelids and lips becoming a faint shade of blue and Dean swallowed. "Think we're gonna risk a hospital this time, buddy."
Sam wanted to argue but he didn't have the energy. It was taking everything he had simply to stay awake. "Kay."
"Shit." Dean pulled Sam in tighter and considered. He couldn't exactly call an ambulance with a pissed-off, flying head in the bathroom. "I'm gonna have to carry your ass down to the car. I... shit." Dean groaned, remembering he'd left the car two blocks away.
"Can... I can... walk," Sam said weakly and finally managed to open his eyes to prove it. He smirked. "Look drunk but... s'good."
Dean wanted to argue with him, but as the alternative was leaving Sam alone in the room with the creature again, it wasn't even a decision. "Alright, let's go." He sat Sam upright and slowly dragged him to his feet.
"What... can't leave her." Sam let his head droop, unable to hold it up. "Other guests... if she gets... she could kill them."
Dean steered Sam's rubbery legs to the door and pulled it open with his foot. "Hate to tell you this, Sammy, but I think she already ate the other guests." He nodded when Sam managed to look up at him in surprise. "None of those cars out there have moved in three days. Pretty sure there ain't anyone here but us. No one called the cops either."
"No," Sam breathed, horrified for the other lives lost that they hadn't even known about. "How... how long?"
"No idea." Dean all but carried Sam down the stairs and then propped his brother heavily against his side to start the walk to the car. "I'll make an anonymous call to the cops once the sun comes up and fries the headless bitch and they can check it out."
Sam felt a wave of guilt. "We... we should have noticed."
"Hey, we had no way of knowing we were staying at the monster lunch buffet, Sam." Dean pulled him along as fast as he could. His worry over his brother was growing with every passing moment, and the ever more shallow breaths panted against the side of his neck where Sam had let his head roll. "We didn't know to look." Dean looked down at Sam's lolling head, wondering how he could keep him awake. "Hey, how'd that thing get the drop on you anyway?"
"She..." Sam huffed out a breath and felt his face flush with embarrassment. "She, uh... head-butted me in the chest."
"Head-butted." Dean started laughing and tightened his arm around Sam. "Oh, man." He heard Sam's soft snort of laughter and then his brother suddenly went a lot heavier against him, and Dean grunted as Sam's legs gave out. "Sam? Sammy?" He stopped and shook his brother. "Come on, dude. Stay with me. Sam!" But there was no response. "Dammit! Ok."
Dean bent and drew Sam's limp body across his shoulders. He groaned with the effort and started into a fast walk toward the car, only half a block away now. "I gotcha, Sammy. You stay with me. You're ok."
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Dean strolled through the hospital hall toward his brother's room, sipping his steaming cup of crap coffee. He'd scouted out the best exit to sneak Sam out and avoid the few security cameras and the one lone, very bored guard; just as soon as Sam woke up anyway. He reached the room and looked over at the nurse's station. It was empty, as it always was at the top of the hour, and he nodded. He liked it when everyone had a set routine he could work around. He pushed open the door to his brother's room and stepped inside.
Sam lay in the bed looking impossibly small and young for someone his size. He wore the white gown of a patient after they'd cut his t-shirt off of him, and he was still attached to a bag of fluids and a dwindling bag of blood, transfusing some of the massive volume he had lost twelve hours ago. Dean went to the window and tugged the curtains closed more securely to keep out the bright, late afternoon sun. He went to the bed and set his cup down on the tray beside it.
"Hey, sleepin' beauty. Anytime you wanna wake up and rejoin the land of the living." Dean hitched a hip on the side of the bed and brushed Sam's ridiculous bangs off his forehead since he wasn't conscious to bitch about it. Dean blew out a breath, relieved to see more color in his face and hear the steady beep of the monitor beside the bed. He'd had a moment in the emergency room to live out his worst nightmare when the heart monitor they'd hastily attached to Sam's chest had started screaming out a single tone. He had felt his own heart practically give out at that moment and wondered if it would ever restart if Sam's had not. Dean rested his hand lightly over Sam's heart to feel it thump-thump against his palm comfortingly.
"That was a close one, dude," Dean said softly. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a slight frown appear on his brother's forehead. "Sammy?" Dean leaned over him and rubbed his knuckles firmly against Sam's chest. "Hey, Sam. Come on. Wake up now. Sammy."
Sam followed the sound of Dean's voice out of the quiet place he'd been floating. He felt an annoying pressure rubbing his chest and cracked his eyes open. "Knock'i'off," he slurred tiredly up at his big brother's face that was looming over him.
Dean grinned and patted Sam's chest. "About time you showed up. How do you feel?"
Sam frowned. He licked his lips and swallowed. His mouth was painfully dry. "Thirsty."
"Ok, I can fix that." Dean grabbed the cup of water off the table and put the straw to Sam's lips. "Slowly, dude. You do not wanna throw up again."
Sam gave a slow nod and sipped gratefully at the cool water in the cup. When his parched mouth and throat felt less like a desert, he let his head drop a bare inch back to the pillow and looked up at Dean again. "Hospital?"
"Oh, yeah. You were running on empty." Dean held out his left arm and showed Sam the band aid there with a smirk. "Donated a couple pints of liquid awesome to you myself."
Sam snorted softly. He raised a hand to his face and scowled at the energy it took just for that simple gesture. He brushed his hair away from his eyes and groaned. "We breakin' out?"
"Soon." Dean promised. He put the water down and shrugged. "Once the last transfusion's done, I'll wheel you outta here. Found us a monster-free motel ten minutes away." He smiled. "You can rest up until I think you can make the drive to Bobby's without pukin' in my baby."
"Bobby's?" Sam asked, confused. "He need us for something?"
Dean rolled his eyes and got up. He didn't go far and dropped into the chair he'd pulled next to the bed. "Yeah, he needs us to take a break while you recover. You're not doing anything more stressful than lifting a coffee cup for a week." He raised a hand when Sam got that stubborn look on his face. "No bullshit, Sammy. You lost way too damn much blood and you're gonna feel like hammered crap for a while. We're takin' a break."
Sam relented and sighed. "Kay."
Dean grinned. "Good. Go back to sleep for a while." He watched Sam's eyes fall closed and his head tilt toward Dean as it always did. "Hey, Sammy?"
"Hmm?" Sam wasn't even able to open his eyes, he was so tired.
"You finally got some head, little brother." Dean grinned and laughed at the loud groan that earned him, though even that didn't get Sam's eyes open again.
"Jerk," Sam mumbled.
Dean nodded and leaned back in his chair; relaxed at last. "Bitch."
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The End.
Next Chapter: O is for Obelisk
