Disclaimer: I am playing with Kripke's creations. I own nothing – well I guess in this case I own Bob….

Dedication: This story is dedicated to sylia91 who won me in the auction organized by K H Korossy to raise money for a fellow writer and publisher. In the end due to sylia91's generosity and the generosity of a whole bunch of other authors and readers, the auction raised over 1600. We truly have a fandom to be proud of!

A/N: It took me a while to find the inspiration for this story. It is based very, very loosely on a true story which I will share at the end of the fic. It took me even longer to find the time amongst my real life to put pen to paper. So, sylia91 deserves huge thanks for being so patient in waiting for this. Takes place in Season 2 after Nightshifter.

"It's nice to meet you Sam, though I can think of better circumstances. You ready to get Dean out of here now?" Bob smiled at Sam and rose to his feet.

"Definitely," Sam acquiesced.

"Ok. Hang on two minutes. I've got an emergency kit in the car. We should probably do a little triage before moving your brother." Bob moved quickly to his SUV and returned with the kit.

Bob crouched down beside the two brothers again, opening the kit and retrieving some pre-packaged antiseptic wipes. Bob ripped one open and moved to wipe Dean's face.

Sam instinctively drew in a breath and clutched Dean a little closer to himself.

Bob paused. He sought and held Sam's eyes with his own.

"I only want to help, Sam," he reassured.

Sam smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "It's just that it's been just us for a long time."

"I understand, son," Bob said quietly. He waited until he saw Sam's body relax in permission and then reached forward to gently wipe the worst of the dirt and grime from Dean's face, the better to assessed the damage.

Dean had a cut above his right eye and would be lucky if the eye didn't swell completely shut. He'd been a sitting duck as a punching bag as he clung to the driver, trying to stop them from taking the Impala. He also had a split lip and various other bruises, but he'd been lucky that his face had managed to escape a lot of damage when he was flung through the gravel.

Dean was disturbingly still throughout Bob's gentle cleaning of his face. Bob repeated Sam's previous check of Dean's extremeties. He determined that Dean probably had a nasty sprain of his left wrist and some damage to his ribs. In general, Dean's torso had faired reasonably well because he was wearing his leather jacket. Dean's jeans hadn't provided the same level of protection for his legs, however. There was blood soaking the waistband of his jeans near his right hip and the knees of his jeans were completely shot, revealing bloody knees beneath.

Bob determined that the injuries could wait until they had Dean back at his house. He was concerned that the young man had stayed so unresponsive, however. The obvious beating his face had taken didn't really explain it, so Bob moved his examination back to Dean's head. Sam had propped his brother up to lie against him slightly.

"Sam?" Bob refocused Sam's attention on him. Bob noticed that there was a trickle of blood just showing under Sam's bangs. "Are you ok? Were you hurt?"

"Uhn? No. Well. I bumped my head. They threw me in the ditch. But I'm ok. No big deal."

"Ok," Bob wasn't convinced. "Is it possible that Dean banged the back of his head?"

"Oh shit!" Sam's memory came crashing in. "That asshole we stopped for pulled the hood of the car down on top of him!"

Sam immediately pushed Dean forward off of himself. Only then discovering that the warmth that had been comforting him was actually his brother's blood. The back of Dean's head was matted with blood, and it was still seeping.

Bob immediately reached forward to examine the wound. As soon as he touched it, Dean gasped and his eyes flew open. The best defensive posture he could muster was to scoot back into Sam.

"It's ok, son," Bob soothed holding both hands out in a non-aggressive gesture. "I just want to help."

"It's ok, Dean," Sam jumped in simultaneously, clutching his brother to him as gently as possible, both to steady him and for reassurance. "It's ok, Bob's ok."

"Huh," Dean managed to grunt out in obvious pain. He tossed his head around, eyes rolling.

Bob attempted to touch Dean's leg to steady him, but it just seemed to agitate him further.

"My car! Where's my damn car?" Dean demanded suddenly, increasing his struggles against his brother.

"Dean! Calm down, would you? You're hurt," Sam urged.

"Sammy! Where's my car?" Dean shoved his brother with strength he shouldn't have had at that moment, pushing away from him in his increasing panic.

"Dean," Sam pleaded.

"MY CAR! They took her, didn't they? Sonuvabitch," Dean spat out as realization crashed back into him.

Bob was relieved that Dean's short term memory seemed ok, but the agitation could also be a sign of severe concussion.

"Son, listen to your brother. You're hurt. Stay down," Bob's voice urged.

"Have to get my baby," Dean muttered. He finally succeeded in pushing himself fully off of Sam, and before Sam could stop him, he'd shoved to his feet.

Sam and Bob watched stunned as Dean swayed on his feet. Dean's breath came in wheezing shallow pants, interspersed with pained grunts. Dean looked a little like a Florida palm tree in a hurricane – of course, given Dean's hatred of that state, Sam would never share that particular simile with him.

Sam quickly rose to his own feet and had to take a deep breath himself as the world spun around him. Bob's gaze darted between the brothers, not sure who was going to stay standing and who was going down for the count.

Dean seemed to have gained some equilibrium and started to stagger off in the direction that he had last seen his car. Sam felt the world come back into balance and realized that while he did have a pretty significant headache, the dizziness had just been a momentary head rush.

"Dean!" Sam tried to stop his brother's pursuit. "Dean. Stop. Dude," catching up to his brother Sam caught Dean's arm both to halt him and to steady him.

Dean swung around to his brother and the look of devastation on his face just about broke Sam's heart.

"They took my baby, Sammy," Dean whispered as his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the ground again.

"Shit! Dean!" Sam managed to break Dean's fall by pulling him to him as he fell. Luckily, Bob had followed the brothers and helped to catch some of Dean's weight.

"Shall we try this again?" Bob caught Sam's eye.

"Yeah. Let's get out of here if you don't mind," Sam responded. He was worried that a cop could come along and would want to know what they were doing on the side of the road.

"That wound on the back of his head worries me a bit. It really needs stitches…." Bob trailed off.

"We have a first aid…aw, shit," Sam realized that all of their belongings had left along with the Impala. Their weapons, their clothes, the few keepsakes they had, Sam's laptop, and of course, the first aid kit.

"I have a towel you can keep pressed to the wound to stop the bleeding, but your brother really does need professional help," Bob urged.

"Funny. I keep telling him he needs professional help," Sam said with a lopsided smile. Bob returned the smile.

"It's a really long story, but we just can't. We aren't the bad guys, Bob. We really aren't," Sam said earnestly, capturing and holding Bob's eyes with his own, willing the stranger to see past what looked bad on the surface.

"Son, I'm not here to judge you. I want to help. Someone helped my wife once, and well, I want to return the favour. Let's get your brother to my place. At least it's warm there, and we can get a better sense of what he needs."

Between the two of them, they managed to lift Dean as gently as possible and manoeuvre him into the back seat of Bob's SUV. Dean remained steadfastly unconscious. Just as Sam was about to climb in with his brother, he spotted John's journal where he'd dropped it when he first tried to go to his brother's aid. Sam quickly retrieved it and climbed in, settling Dean's head on his lap. They'd placed Dean on his side, so Sam could press the towel to the back of his head. Sam's other hand rested lightly on Dean's chest to steady him on the seat. The steady thump of Dean's heart against his hand helped Sam to ground himself.

Bob's house was no more than ten minutes down the first dirt road they came to. It had a long driveway flanked by trees and pastures with a few horses. The house was neat and modest and considering the horses, it wasn't a surprise to see a large barn behind the house.

The SUV crunched to a halt on the gravel driveway as close to the front door as Bob could get. He jumped out and immediately came and opened the back door.

"Should you tell your wife before we come in?" Sam suggested.

"No need," Bob responded, quickly glancing down at Dean. "She's actually away this week. Girls' week away." He smiled fondly as he looked back up at Sam. "Let's get your brother in and settled."

As Sam was slipping out from under Dean, Dean moaned and his eyelashes fluttered as he attempted to resurface into the land of the conscious.

"Easy, there big brother," Sam soothed. He knew what Dean could be like if he was waking up and was disoriented. Sam gently restrained his brother with the hand on his chest. He could clearly feel the increase in the heartbeat under it.

Dean grunted as he fought the restraint and the darkness.

"Smy?" Dean slurred as he forced his eyes open. He closed them again almost immediately as the bright light of day assaulted his senses.

"Right here Dean."

"K?"

"Yeah, Dean. I'm ok." There was never any doubt in Sam's mind about what his brother's first words would be, and he was pretty sure he knew what was coming next.

"Where?"

"Bob's house. He's going to let us get cleaned up here and come up with a plan."

"B…..b?" Dean managed. Sam had obviously overloaded Dean with information.

"Hey Dean. We met on the highway," Bob peered in to make eye contact with the fallen hunter.

"Highway?" Dean was obviously disoriented now though he had appeared fine earlier. Also not uncommon with concussions. At least not uncommon with a severe concussion.

"Just relax, Dean," Sam soothed. He'd been through this with his brother too many times. He'd seen Dean do this before with a particularly nasty concussion. After seeming not too bad after the initial accident, Dean had deteriorated. Sam knew that was what was happening now. He looked earnestly at Bob, trying to convey that fact with just his eyes. Bob raised his eyebrows in response but seemed to understand.

"Let's get him inside," Bob urged. The day had turned cool and cloudy, even though Dean's concussed brain's eyes thought it searingly bright.

Dean's eyes were fluttering closed again, and Sam knew that was not a good thing.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam gently slapped Dean's cheek and was rewarded with an annoyed grunt and accusing eyes. Well, the annoyed slit of one eye.

"You gotta try to stay awake for me. You know the drill."

Again, Sam got an annoyed grunt. He wasn't sure if the annoyance was from the order itself or whether it was from the fact that Dean knew all this.

Together they managed to get Dean out of the car and wedged between them. Dean tried to help, to be a little less than dead weight, but it was taking all his concentration just trying to stay awake.

Dean's head rolled on his shoulders as he tried to scan his surroundings – a habit that was just ingrained in the hunter: always know the territory.

Dean frowned. Something was missing. He focused on the vehicle he'd just exited. Wrong colour. Wrong make. Wrong model.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah?" Sam was right there.

"That's not the Impala," Dean stated the obvious in a barely audible whisper.

"No. it's not," Sam responded quietly, giving his brother's shoulder a quick squeeze and pat. "Let's get you inside."
Sam knew that he could manipulate and distract his brother when he was vulnerable like this. He didn't want to see that look in his brother's eyes. His baby was so much more than a car to Dean.

And Sam wasn't fooling himself. The car meant the world to him too. The car was his dad and Dean and safety and home. It's why Sam hadn't tried too hard to convince Dean that she was a liability when it came to staying under the radar. He'd just gotten the new plates and surprised Dean with them. The old plates were still in the trunk though.

Bob watched the boys' exchange in silence. He was supporting one side of Dean while Sam guided from the other. The three of them staggered up to the porch and Bob propped Dean completely against Sam while he fished out his keys and opened the door.

It was a typical old farmhouse. Neat and functional with lots of windows to let in the natural light. The door opened onto a living room, which Bob moved them through past the kitchen and what looked like a small office to a small main floor bedroom.

They gently laid Dean down on the single bed. He groaned and his eyes fluttered shut, but Sam could tell by his breathing that he was still awake. Dean was carefully controlling his pain through his breathing, something else that experience had taught Sam about his brother. Too much experience. It was one thing to get hurt in the course of their job, but to get hurt because of some slime bags that they'd tried to help….

Dean cracked an eye and fixed it on which of the several figures in front of him he thought was his brother.

"Smy? You 'k?" Dean slurred. Even concussed Dean was also in tune with the sound of his brother's breathing, and Sam sounded like he was a kettle about to boil over.

Sam huffed and grinned despite himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But if I catch up with those bastards..."

Dean snorted softly back, but didn't even attempt to reply.

"Sam? I'm just going to gather the medical supplies I have," Bob's soft voice interrupted. "It's really not much I'm afraid…"
"I'm sure we can make it do," Sam smiled his gratitude.

"There are plenty of clean towels in the bathroom and a basin that you can use to bring hot water in here with,' Bob indicated a small powder room.

"Thanks Bob. I don't know how we can ever repay you."
"No need, Sam. I'm happy to help. I really am," Bob insisted and left the room.

Sam turned to the daunting task of getting his brother out of his clothes so that he could assess, clean, and treat his numerous injuries.

"Dean?" Sam murmured. "I need to get your clothes off."
"There is no universe in which that sounds right, Sammy." Dean muttered back without really opening his eyes. He did raise his arms slightly in Sam's direction, however.

Smiling again, despite the situation, Sam grabbed his brother's arms and lifted him as gently as he could to a sitting position.

The change in altitude had Dean panting through the pain. It seemed to be assaulting him from every direction. And suddenly, Dean knew that he'd lost the battle with nausea as saliva flooded his mouth.

Sam had been waiting for this. Dean's concussion symptoms generally followed a consistent path. His brother almost invariably threw up from the vertigo induced nausea. Sam grabbed a trash can that he found in a corner and got it to his brother just in time as Dean doubled over and lost the entire contents of his stomach.

Sam steadied his brother as he continued to dry heave. Dean's breath hitched in between each heave as his body protested this latest assault. Gradually he stilled and panted shallowly.

"Ok, Dean?" Sam inquired gently.

"Peachy," Dean managed to croak out.

"Let's get you more comfortable then."

"I hope that means you're just gonna shoot me," Dean muttered, letting Sam more or less support his body and letting his eyes slide shut – the better to keep the skull piercing light beams out.

Grimacing, Sam tried to focus on the task at hand. He slipped Dean's leather jacket off. Dean's flannel went with the jacket. Sam debated about the T. He hated to cut it off; they had so few clothes to begin with and Dean particularly liked this one.

"Help me get it off," Dean sensed Sam's predicament and made the decision for him.

Starting at the hem, Sam rolled the T-shirt up Dean's body, slowly revealing the damage to his torso. Helping, basically meant that Sam rolled the shirt up and off while Dean grit his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, and attempted to remain conscious. He was bruised from being flung off the car, but the worst damage had been done when the hood of the car had crashed down on him, sandwiching him between the hood and the engine. There was deep bruising on Dean's abdomen. Sam could feel the damage to his brother's ribs. At least one was broken and several others bruised or cracked. None seemed to have punctured a lung or any other vital organ, however, and Sam was thankful for that. The worst though was Dean's back. The welts from the hood of the car were already standing out blackly against his pale skin. He had to be in agony.

Sam sighed. His brother was going to have a hell of a time finding any body part to lie on….

Sam propped up all the pillows behind his brother and then Sam stepped quickly into the small bathroom and grabbed a couple of towels. He spread one on the pillows and guided Dean back to lie on them. Dean's seeping head wound had already left one blood stain on the bed.

"Ok, bro. Not something I really ever like saying to you, but I've got to take your jeans off. Well, what's left of them anyway," Sam tried to keep his tone light as he surveyed Dean's ruined jeans and worried about what he would find under them. He made short work of removing Dean's boots.

Dean just grunted this time in response to Sam's comments about his jeans.

"Hey! Hey, Dean. Stay awake, ok?" Sam didn't want Dean slipping back to sleep. His concussion was obviously pretty bad and the longer Sam was able to keep him awake the better Sam would feel, especially without professional medical help hovering around.

"'M wake. Trying not to notice what you're about to do…" came Dean's quiet snark.

Sam huffed and reached for the button and zipper on Dean's jeans. Dean's hands batted him away. Flicking his eyes to Dean's face, Sam was met by glassy green slits.

"Can do that," Dean breathed as he undid the button and zip. He tried to slip his thumbs under the waistband to push the jeans down, but stopped quickly, hissing in pain. His left wrist was throbbing and sending waves off pain up his arm, but what was much worse was that his jeans seemed to be stuck to his right hip.

Sam saw the problem and reached for Dean's hands to stop him, gently shifting his hands out of the way. Sam again strode quickly into the bathroom. This time he soaked a towel in hot water, wrung it out, and returned to the bed. He laid the towel on Dean's hip.

"That should loosen it enough to get it off."

After ten minutes, Sam was able to peel the now bloody AND soggy jeans down. Dean's hip was a mess. It looked like hamburger. There was no way they'd be able to stitch it. Somehow there were bits of gravel in it too. Sam quickly pulled the jeans down and off, leaving Dean at least the dignity of his boxers. Dean's knees looked as bad as hip, possibly worse with more gravel. There were raw patches on both of Dean's thighs and bruising starting everywhere.

Dean was starting to shiver. It wasn't really that cold in the farmhouse, and Sam began to suspect the early onset of shock. Understandable in the circumstances. Sam managed to get the sheets and blankets thrown over Dean for the moment.

"I'm going to go and see what Bob's found in the way of supplies, ok?" Sam said to Dean's now closed eyelids. Those eyelids immediately fluttered open. And Dean grunted in acknowledgement, raising his chin slightly at his brother.

Sam wandered into the hallway, looking both ways. He heard the dull sound of a quiet voice coming from behind the closed door of the office. Sam didn't expect the first aid supplies to be in there. He moved cautiously up to the door. It was unmistakably Bob's voice.

"I really need you to just get here as quickly as you can. I don't know what these guys are into, but I need your help."

That was all Sam needed to hear. He pushed the door open with a bang as it hit the wall, and Bob wheeled to face him, phone held up to his ear.

"Hang up." Sam didn't have a weapon on him, but his voice contained his deadly intent.

"Please hurry," Bob said before he hung up. His eyes never left Sam's as Sam stalked into the room.

"Sam. It's not what you think…" Bob began.

Sam wasn't listening. He was looking at the gun on the table in front of Bob.

"We trusted you!" Sam raised his voice. He knew it was childish. He'd been in the world long enough to learn not to trust. To learn not to expect to be able to trust. One of his father's most basic rules was never to trust. Granted Dean had been more adept at learning that one than Sam, but Sam had tried to learn it. And yet, he'd still wanted to trust this man. And he'd betrayed him. More importantly, though, he'd put Dean in danger.

"Sam! Just calm down and let me explain!" Bob's voice kicked up a notch and he reached for the gun on the table.

"Touch that gun and it'll be the last thing you do," Dean ground out from the doorway. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, clad only in his boxers and socks. He held his favourite colt 1911 in his right hand, and it was aimed at Bob. Granted Dean was squinting through one eye and his hand was shaking, but even Bob realized that at that distance, there was no way this man would miss.

A/N2: I'm so sorry for the long wait, and I have a bad feeling about this chapter maybe being a little disappointing. The boys are telling me that the story probably has to be at least 4 chapters, so I guess I will have to listen to them…. Please expect updates at about this time frame…hides

A/N2a: There is a little shout out in here to PADavis…and her favourite state...