Okay, here it is: ta-da-da-da – the last chapter! Whew!! I worked on it most of the weekend, it went through about three rewrites and that was before hotshow read it. So, once again, BIG THANKS to hotshow. Without her, there could not have been a Lil' Sammy. I've never had a fic followed by so many people. The irony here is that I started writing this as a kind of celebration of the fact that I saw 50 people had me on author alert. I thought that was really cool and asked for suggestions on what I could write to celebrate it. Hotshow asked for a Limp!Sam fic and this is our result. (I'm still working on the other requests.) Now that 50 have been joined by about 30 others – my thanks to all of you!! I hope this chapter meets with expectations. Thanks again!!

Chapter 22

"Sam! Sammy, wake up!"

The words bounced around the salvage yard as Lion-o and Catwoman tried to team up on Dean. Sam tried to help his brother, but his feet were stuck in the ground. Literally. He couldn't move. He looked around for some kind of weapon. There was a crowbar, but it was several feet away. Sam leaned over, reaching for it. His feet would not budge and the crowbar was barely out of reach. If he could stretch just a little further…

"Sammy!"

Sam blinked his eyes, staring straight up into his brother's worried face. "Dean? You okay?"

Dean glared at him for a moment. "You were dreaming." Sam noticed the pressure on his shoulder when it eased, as Dean released him. "Nightmare?"

Sam sat up, feeling the pull of the staples in his side. He pressed the button that moved the head of his bed up so he could sit comfortably. "Kind of. Mostly it was just weird."

"I was afraid you'd undo some of the doctor's work, and then Doc Wayne would be all over my case." Dean threw him a smile as his brother climbed back into the other bed.

"What is up with that guy?" Sam asked. "He's pretty pushy."

"Hey, the doc is a good guy!" Dean snapped. "He's been really looking out for you."

"Us," Sam corrected.

"What?" Dean settled back into bed, looking confused.

"You said the doctor has really been looking out for me, but you meant us," Sam explained. "I mean," he continued at the odd look on Dean's face, "we're both in the hospital."

"Sam? Remember when you asked me what month it was?" Dean said softly, giving him this look that made Sam's throat dry. Sam nodded. "It's next month."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean, it's next month?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Bobby told me that you said you remembered us arguing and then you went for a walk. That right? That the last thing you remember before waking up in the hospital?"

Sam nodded, wondering where the hell Dean was headed with all this.

Dean stared at him for a long moment before speaking again. "You've had amnesia."

"What?" Sam was floored, simply put. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean shrugged, but it must have hurt his shoulder because he grabbed his left arm and pressed it against his side. "Yeah, weirdo amnesia. I gotta tell ya Sam," Dean shook his head, "for a guy who wants normal, you can be a real freak."

"Dean." Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "What do you mean by weirdo amnesia?"

Dean's eyes closed. "Nothin'. Don't worry about it."

"Dean!" Sam pushed himself upright. They were being released today. Bobby was bringing their clothes and then they could leave. It had been that pushy doctor's idea to have Bobby take their clothes away in the first place, just one of the things Sam found annoying about his doctor. That and the constant questions, which were starting to make a little more sense now.

Dean's eyes were still closed, one of his brother's tactics to avoid answering questions. Sam stood, bare feet on cold tile. He felt the staples pulling his skin, keeping the wounds closed, but it did not hurt. It was a strange feeling. Sam was used to stitches, usually by his brother or father's hand. Sam walked around Dean's bed, avoiding being on the same side as his brother's bad shoulder. He sat on the edge, staring down at his stubborn brother.

"Dean?"

Dean groaned. "Come on, Sammy. For once, can you just drop it?"

"I don't think so, Dean," Sam watched as his brother's eyes opened, heavily guarded. He knew that look a little too well. Dean was trying to protect him from something again. It pained him to think what his brother must have gone through the past couple of weeks. "How bad was it?"

"Sam…"

"Dean, I want to know. I need to know." Sam glared. "It couldn't have been easy on you. Did I forget everything? Dad, hunting, you?" He knew that would tear Dean up the most, being forgotten. Sam hoped 'weirdo' amnesia meant he did remember some things.

A thin smile flickered across Dean's face. "You sure didn't forget me or Dad." Then it was gone, replaced by a deep sigh. "You kept wanting to see Dad."

He did? "Really? So my weirdo amnesia, it made me forget the past year?" Sam studied his brother's face, hoping to see more than Dean would tell him.

Dean shifted uneasily in the bed. "We could talk about this later."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Not going to work, Dean. You know I'll just keep asking until you tell me."

Dean's eyes rolled. "Persistent bastard."

Sam smiled. That usually meant he won. "So, how much did I forget? More than a year?"

"Uh, yeah." Dean's eyes darted to the door. "More than a year."

"Here we go," Bobby burst through the door. The relief on Dean's face flooded Sam with irritation. A paper sack hit each of them square in the chest.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said cheerfully, one leg knocking Sam off the bed. With a disdainful look, Sam took his bag and moved to the far side of the room to change. Bobby disappeared into the hall while they dressed.

Sam finished dressing, anxious to get away from these stark white walls. He looked over to check Dean's progress and saw his brother fumbling with the sling. As Sam approached, he saw that Dean was trying to wrap some black cloth around the strap one-handed.

"Here," Sam took over, quickly slipping the black fabric into place and settling the strap on his brother's shoulder. "Better?"

Dean had an odd look on his face. "Yeah. Thanks."

"What?" What was that look for?

Dean looked away. "Bobby? We're ready."

"Paperwork?" Bobby asked, stepping into the room.

"Done," Dean said with a wave of his hand. "Just need that cute nurse with the wheelchair."

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Sam felt sweat trickle down his spine as he held the ancient Chevy hood in place while Dean reattached it. "Why are we doing this again?"

"It's fun, Sammy," Dean replied, sniggering. Sam rolled his eyes, feeling the strain in his side. The staples had been taken out a week ago, but the muscles there were still healing. "Besides, Doc said it's probably good therapy. Damn it!" Sam heard the clatter of metal on metal.

Sam waited, a little impatiently, for Dean to crawl out so he could lower the hood. Dean stood there fuming while Sam retrieved the ratchet. Again.

"You know," Sam said conversationally as he handed over the ratchet, "if it didn't piss you off so bad, I'd swear you were dropping it on purpose."

Dean snorted, snatching the tool away. "Come on. We don't have all day." He motioned to the hood.

"Fine," Sam lifted it again, "but after this we're taking a break." It wasn't that Sam really minded helping Dean work on this stupid car, but he could not understand why Dean seemed so driven. When it was the Impala, that he understood. Sam suspected Dean would be only half a person without that car. He knew if it weren't for Dean's shoulder, his brother would be working on this one alone, too.

"So," Dean's voice echoed dully from under the massive hood, "you ready to tell me about those weird dreams yet?"

Sam chewed his lower lip, considering. "I don't know. You ready to tell me what you mean by weirdo amnesia?"

Dean froze for a moment, casting Sam a long look over his shoulder. Their eyes met, locked in a battle of wills. "You first."

"You mean you're really going to tell me?" Sam felt the shake in his muscles as the hood became heavier. "You better hurry up in there."

"One more bolt," Dean replied. Sam waited, reminding himself that his brother really did not need a fifty, or was it sixty?, year old hood falling on that shoulder. "Okay," Dean climbed out, allowing Sam to close the hood. "Break, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam followed big brother toward the house. Dean motioned to the chairs just outside the front door before heading inside. Sam collapsed in one, his arms and torso screaming with relief. It wasn't that the work Dean had him doing was particularly difficult, there was just so much of it. It took a toll after a while. It was a really good thing Dean had a screwed up shoulder or his brother would be on his own.

His eyes traveled over the car. It was looking fairly decent now that it was covered in gray primer. There was no rust, Dean made sure of that. Any rust had been either been sanded away or cut out and new metal welded in place, from the freaking frame and up. Most of that kind of work done by him, of course, the guy who could use both hands. While he did that, under Dean's scrutinizing supervision, his brother worked on the motor and transmission and other mechanical stuff that could be done with one hand. Half the time Sam was still tempted to leave it all to Dean, but he had the nagging feeling that the sling would disappear if he was not out there to keep an eye on it.

Now that they were putting it all back together, it was starting to look like a real car. Every muscle in his body just ached. Dean was a freaking slave driver.

"Here." Two brown bottles dangled in front of his face. Sam took one, popping the top off with ease. Sam watched Dean remove his bottle cap with his left hand.

"That hand's bothering you, huh?" Sam asked, pretending not to be concerned.

"So," Dean sank into the next chair, ignoring his question, "what's with the dreams?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Even when it wasn't all about him, it was all about him. "They're just weird, Dean. I don't think it means anything."

"Good," Dean said with a nod. "Then it won't matter if you tell me."

Sam sighed. "You're just going to make fun of me."

Dean shook his head. "Only if it's really, really good."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Fine," Sam ran a hand over his head. "I've been dreaming about Batman, Catwoman, The Joker and The Thundercats. Happy now?"

Dean stared at him, not laughing. "What are they doing? In your dream?"

Sam stared back, really not understanding why Dean was so interested in his bizarre dreams. Probably to tease him about it later. "Well, the Joker keeps jumping out of nowhere to scare me." A burst of laughter came from Dean then, so Sam paused. His brother composed himself, motioned for Sam to continue. Sam steeled himself for the ribbing that would undoubtedly come. "Catwoman and the leader of the Thundercats stalk Batman. They get him cornered, start ripping into him. I keep trying to help, but I'm stuck in the ground."

"You find the crowbar in your dream?" Dean asked softly.

"Yeah, but I can't quite…" Sam's head snapped to the side, staring at his brother. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because," Dean's eyes drifted away, "that's what you used on Lion-o."

His brother's voice was so soft, Sam was not sure he heard that right. "Excuse me? And how did you know Lion-o's name, anyway?"

Dean cleared his throat, studying the ground. Sam waited, wondering if this was the moment of truth. "Because we, uh, watched a lot of cartoons."

"As kids?" Sam asked, trying to figure out where Dean was going with this. Dean shook his head. "Weirdo amnesia?" He waited for Dean to give a quick nod. "Why would weirdo amnesia have us watching cartoons? How much more than a year did I forget? I mean, the last time I was really excited about seeing Dad I was probably a kid."

"Yeah," Dean sighed, taking a long pull on his beer.

Sam waited, but his brother did not offer anything else. "I…I…" Sam struggled to put the thought together. "I thought I was a kid?"

Dean shrugged, eyes darting away quickly, but not before Sam spotted the truth. His weirdo amnesia made him think he was a kid. "How…" Sam groped for the right way to ask. "How old was I?"

"Biggest damn five year old I ever saw." The door banged shut behind Bobby. The older man pulled up the third chair to sit facing them. He held some papers in his hand. "Hope you don't mind, Dean, but I could hear you two talking from inside the house." He held out the papers to Sam.

"Not like I could stop you," Dean mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sam took the papers from Bobby. He flipped through them. They were fingerpaintings. One looked familiar. It was of a really tall Robin. Sam stared at it. As the realization hit him, he flipped through the other pages swiftly. "I did these?" He heard the quake in his own voice.

"Yep." Bobby grinned at him. "Hey, at least it got you away from that damned cartoon channel. I didn't even know I got cartoons. Uh, I expect those back." Bobby held a hand out.

Sam reluctantly handed the pages over. What he really wanted to do was borrow Dean's lighter. "Why?"

One corner of Bobby's mouth twitched. "Because you gave them to me. You should see the ones you gave to Dean."

Sam turned to face his brother. "Dean?"

"What?" Dean leaned back, refusing to make eye contact. Sam glared. Finally Dean groaned. "Fine. Wait here." He went into the house.

"Sam," Bobby whispered, "when Dean asks if you want to go out tonight, say yes."

Startled, Sam looked deep into Bobby's eyes. "Why?"

"Because he's been planning it all week," Bobby hissed. "And I'll never hear the end of it from George and Mike if he cancels."

"George and Mike?" Sam scratched his head. "Dean's doctor and the cop?"

Bobby nodded and his mouth opened but Dean came barreling out the door. Bobby studied his fingerpaintings as Dean eyed them both suspiciously. "Did I miss something?"

Sam held out his hand for the papers Dean had. "No. Come on, let's get this over with." Sam took the papers from Dean. These were worse. Several were of a house with a smiley sun overhead, one or two were of the salvage yard and one had to be of Batman. This Batman had big green eyes and Sam knew it was really Dean.

"Here." Dean held out his lighter. "I know you want to."

Sam grinned, taking the lighter. One by one he burned each page, except for Batman. He could not quite bring himself to torch that one. He handed it and the lighter back. "Thanks, Dean."

"Uh, what about this one, Sam?" Dean waved Batman around.

Sam cleared his throat. "That's yours. You can burn it if you want."

"Here, Bobby," Dean handed the lone page out to their friend, "before Sammy changes his mind."

Bobby snagged the paper and went back into the house.

"He's going to hide them, isn't he?" Sam asked, watching the broad back disappear behind the door.

"Probably." Dean agreed. "So, got any plans for tonight?"

"Like what?" Sam waited for it.

"Oh, I dunno. Just thought we could use a break. Go out, eat, a few beers, maybe play a little pool." Dean flashed his award winning grin. "George even said I could take the night off from the sling."

"So George is coming?" Sam pretended to be curious.

"And Mike. But we need a fourth for pool." Dean shrugged, leaning back casually in his chair. "You know, if you want to."

Sam grinned, looking over the car remains surrounding them. "You'll cancel if I say no, won't you?"

Dean scoffed. "Why would you think that?"

Sam rolled his head to the side, to look at his brother. "Dean?"

"Yeah, you know I will," Dean looked away, draining his beer. "Want another?"

Sam grinned. "Nah, I'm good." He watched his big brother head into the house, warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the temperature.

The rumble of a car caught his attention. Someone must be driving in, probably one of Bobby's customers. Sam was becoming a fair fill-in for the old-timer. He stood, ready to receive them, beer stuck hastily out of sight.

A shiny black car pulled up bearing in-state plates. Sam wondered what anyone driving such a new vehicle would need from a salvage yard, but there was no telling about hobbies. He moved to approach the car, but a second car pulled in behind it. It was a police car. Reid and Mike stepped out.

"Hey guys," Sam waved. "What's going on?"

Reid and Mike exchanged a look before Mike came over to stand by Sam. "You're not gonna believe this," he said under his breath.

Reid went to the door, banged on it. "Dean! Bobby! Outside!"

All four doors of the black car opened. "And I will be suing for false arrest, false imprisonment," a woman's voice screeched from inside the car, "and anything else my attorney can think up!"

Something about that voice sent cold shivers shooting down his spine. When the woman stepped out of the car, Sam saw she was tall for a woman, gray streaked hair bound up in a tight knot on top of her head and wearing expensive clothes. He hated her the instant he set eyes on her, which was very unusual for Sam. Before he had time to think about that, she pointed a bright red fingernail in his direction. "There he is!"

The door banged open, Dean and Bobby practically falling over each other to get outside.

"Reid?" Bobby's voice thundered through the yard. "Did I forget to press those trespassing charges?"

Dean rushed toward him, but stopped when Mike held up a hand. Sam had the impression that Reid and Mike were anticipating something and did not want Dean to interfere. Dean looked downright pissed.

"Easy, Dean," Bobby's voice was soft enough this time Sam had to strain to hear it.

------------------

Easy? Bobby wanted him to take it easy? Dean threw a vicious look over his shoulder. His anger dissipated somewhat when Reid gave him a quick wink. Something was up. Reid must have a plan. Dean hoped it was a good one, otherwise he was going to really screw up Bobby's nice little set-up here.

That Jeffries bitch stared at Sam like he was the grand prize in some drawing. Dean ground his teeth, trying like hell not to charge forward and knock her into next week. He hated hitting women but this bitch was not a woman, she was a demon incarnate.

"You can take that one into protective custody," the bitch pointed out Sam, "and just arrest that one," she pointed at him. Dean started to remove his sling, but Reid caught him by his good arm.

"Now Miss Jeffries," Reid began, but she cut him off.

"Doctor Jeffries," she interrupted haughtily.

Dean studied Reid as he remained composed. If he lived long enough to reach Reid's age, Dean wondered if he would ever learn that kind of self-control. He decided it didn't matter, because there was no way he would live long enough to learn that.

"Doctor Jeffries," Reid tried again, "I just don't see why you seem to think Sam here is in any danger."

"I would like to know that as well," a man in a dark suit agreed, turning dark, squinty eyes on Jeffries.

"This young man," she moved closer to Sam, "should not be living in such dangerous environs. And it's his fault!" Jeffries pointed out Dean.

Dean ground his teeth. He wanted to go stand between that bitch and his brother, knowing how Sammy felt about her. However, as he watched, Dean could tell Sam was not nearly as bothered by that woman as he was. Then Dean felt like slamming his head against a wall. How thick could he be? There was no way Jeffries could take Sam now, his brother didn't have that weirdo amnesia any more. He allowed himself to relax a little.

"Young man," the squinty eyed man motioned to Sam, "your name?"

"Sammy Mahogoff," Jeffries said quickly.

Dean recognized the look on Sam's face. "You don't get to call me that," Sam said firmly, causing Jeffries to stare at him. "It's Sam. Sam Cooper." Dean almost felt like laughing at the confusion on Jeffries' face.

"Now, Sammy," she said, smiling at Sam, "you probably don't understand what's happening here. And that's okay. We don't want to scare you," Jeffries moved slowly toward Sam, "we're here to help you."

Sam's head tilted to one side. "Lady, you do realize I'm twenty-three, right? I don't even ask for permission to take the car anymore."

She gave his brother that fake smile that made Dean's stomach turn. "Now Sammy, I know Dean told you to say that. It's all right."

"And I told you," Sam took a few steps so he could tower over Jeffries, "you don't get to call me that." The way his baby brother glared down at that bitch made Dean just, well, proud.

The man with squinty eyes spoke. "My name is Robert Fulton, Sam. I'm a representative of Judge Parker, who will be sitting this case, if there is one. Would you mind speaking with a court-appointed psychologist for a few minutes?" Squinty-eyes motioned to the thin man who was also wearing a dark suit.

Sam regarded them very seriously. "Would someone mind telling me what this is all about?" he demanded.

Dean smiled to himself. That's my boy! If they thought Sam was a push-over, well, then Jeffries didn't really brief them well, did she?

Thin man nodded at Sam. "I would be happy to, young man. Is there someplace private we can talk?"

"Kitchen," Bobby suggested. The two headed inside the house. Dean felt better having Sam away from the bitch. "Now, about those trespassing charges," Bobby rumbled, staring down Reid.

"Oh, you know what, Bobby?" Reid pulled some papers out of his shirt pocket. "I do have some paperwork for you."

Dean watched every move the bitch made, not trusting her for an instant. He knew she pretended not to see him, but that was impossible. Dean might be a lot of things, but he could never be ignored. Not even on his worst day, when he desperately wanted it, could he be ignored. He figured it had something to do with being a Winchester.

Jeffries tapped those obnoxious red nails on the trunk of the shiny black car, high heels shifting in the dirt as they waited. Dean glared. She looked everywhere but at him.

"Ease up, Dean," Bobby whispered. "Or Fulton may get the idea you know her."

Dean shook his head. There was no way he could ease up, or pretend to. That woman wanted Sam, and not in a good way. More in the 'look, the lab rat likes cheese' way.

Thin guy came out of the house, Sam trailing behind him. Sam stopped just behind Dean, to his immense relief, while thin guy kept heading toward the car.

"Doctor Jeffries, there are a few questions I'd like you to answer at my office." He turned to nod at Fulton. "I think we will be going now. It's pretty much what I suspected from the start."

"Thank you, doctor," Fulton said as Thin Guy and the driver forced Jeffries back inside the car.

Fulton turned to Bobby. "So, are these the nephews I've been hearing so much about?" Sam must have had a surprised look on his face, because Fulton said to him, "Small town. Word travels fast."

Dean glanced back to see Sam nod. When his brother thought it was safe, Sam shot him a questioning look. Dean shrugged. How he explain that one?

"And is that really my car?" Fulton headed for the classic they had been slaving away on. "Wow, it's really looking great."

"It'll look even better with a fresh coat of paint," Dean assured, catching up with the other man's strides easily.

-------------------------

"Bobby," Sam caught the other man's arm, "what's going on? Dean said working on this car was for fun."

Bobby shrugged. "I'm sure it is, for Dean. Not so much for you, huh, Sam?"

"Bobby." Sam glared. He knew Bobby understood what he was asking.

Bobby pulled him aside, out of earshot of the two cops. "We didn't know how long you two were going to be here and Dean needed some way of paying your medical bills. Happy now?"

Sam studied Bobby for a moment. The man certainly seemed serious. "How bad could it be?" he whispered. "I just had amnesia. Okay, weird, regressive amnesia, but it was just amnesia." Something flickered across Bobby's face. "Right?"

"Right." Bobby gave him a swift nod before rushing to catch up with Dean and Fulton. Sam followed at a more leisurely pace. He listened absently to the details of the car restoration so far, mulling things over. Apparently this 'weirdo amnesia' had been a bit more than just that.

Before he knew it, Fulton was shaking his hand and climbing into the squad car with Reid and Mike. Mike shouted something about seeing them later as they drove off.

"Will we?" Dean asked.

"What?" Sam was still lost in his thoughts.

"See them later? Tonight?" Dean's face was expectant.

Sam suddenly realized that Dean had probably not had a night out since his amnesia, which went a long way to explaining some of his brother's irritation. And if Dean had to deal with that Jeffries woman, Sam suppressed a shudder, his brother deserved a night out to end all nights out. "Sure," he said with a nod, "sounds like fun."

Dean's face lit up. "Then we'd better get cleaned up. We're meeting the guys at seven."

----------------------

Dean looked pretty much back to normal in a black t-shirt with a light plaid overshirt. He moved easily around the pool table, apparently relishing the fact the dreaded sling was nowhere in sight. Leaving the house without it had been a chore when they realized that Bobby did not believe them about George giving Dean the night off. It had taken several minutes of yelling followed by a call to George before Bobby let them go. What had gotten into that old man?

Sam knew Bobby had been a good friend of Dad's. Probably a really good friend considering the size of the falling out the two had. Only Dad's best friends had that kind of falling out with the stubborn old bastard. Did Bobby feel responsible for them? There was something in the way Bobby looked out for Dean that felt real and odd. Real in that Bobby truly seemed to care, and odd in that no one looked out for Dean that way. Well, no one except Sam, that is. If Dad ever really worried about Dean, their father had hidden it well. Bobby did not bother to hide it, and had shouted something about a priority list again. Dean shuddered when they were safely inside the Impala but, as usual, refused to discuss it.

Sam finally got his turn at pool. He managed to sink four balls before just missing on a pretty difficult shot. Expecting to be teased by Dean he looked at George, his pool partner, and shrugged. George grinned, sidling alongside Sam.

"Looks like your brother's in a pretty good mood tonight." George said, leaning against his cue.

"He usually is when he's kicking ass at pool." Sam felt his face twist into a grin.

"Well, it's good to see him having a good time. Brad says he's been a nervous wreck since you two arrived."

Sam watched as his brother lined up a shot that would make Paul Newman jealous. "Who's Brad?"

"Oh. Doctor Wayne."

Sam slid his eyes to rest on George's face. "Doc Wayne said Dean's been a nervous wreck? Why?"

George gave him an odd look. "Because of the strokes, I guess."

If his jaw was not attached, Sam was pretty sure it would be bouncing on the floor now. "Dean was having strokes?"

"No." George spoke slowly, as though Sam were having a hard time keeping up. "You were. He didn't tell you?"

Sam's cue hit the floor. Without thinking about what he was doing, Sam walked around the table and grabbed his brother by the shirt at the back of his neck. He dragged Dean to a secluded corner, forcing his brother to look at him.

"What's wrong, Sammy? You feeling okay?" The worried look on Dean's face was too familiar, giving Sam the impression that his brother looked like that far too often lately.

"Fine, Dean," Sam snapped, a little harsher than he intended. "Were you going to tell me?"

Dean blinked innocently at him. "I did tell you about the amnesia."

"Not that part Dean," Sam growled. "Strokes?"

Dean's face twisted into a snarl. "George," he said softly, like a swear word.

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?" Sam demanded. So it was true. Well, at least that explained why they had so many medical bills.

Dean shrugged. "Well, it's not like you remembered anyway. What does it matter? You're fine now. We'll finish with the car in a few weeks. My shoulder should be pretty close to a hundred percent by then and we'll hit the road. No big deal."

Dean tried to shove past him, but Sam stood firm. "Dean," he said with a sigh. "You shouldn't keep things like that from me."

"But it's over, Sammy. What good would it do to bring it up?" He could see that Dean honestly thought that, his brother's face was completely open right now. It was so rare to watch his brother be so honest and open.

"Because I need to know, Dean," Sam insisted softly, trying to take advantage of this rare opportunity. "It makes a difference, knowing what you've been through because of me."

"Sammy," Dean protested, "it's over. It won't happen again. I won't let it happen again."

Sam blinked a few times at that. "What's that supposed to mean? You won't let what happen again? We'll never fight again? Because I can pretty much guarantee you that's a lost cause. Or that I'll never get hurt again? Not in our line of work. You planning to quit hunting and go live in a cave?"

He could see his brother's internal struggle flash across those sunburnt features. "Come on, Sam. You know what I mean."

"No, I don't, Dean. And how did I get hurt anyway?" Funny, it never occurred to him to ask before.

Dean sighed, eyes darting to the floor. He mumbled something.

"What, Dean?"

Dean sighed again, eyes coming up to meet Sam's. That look was so submissive, it told Sam far more than words ever could. "Hit and run."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Dean, you can't hold yourself responsible for that."

"I shouldn't have argued with you like that," Dean's voice was nearly a whisper.

"Like what?" Sam took a step closer, forcing Dean into a corner. He was trying to elicit a nonsubmissive response. "Like we're brothers?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're not mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" Sam took a step back. "You should be mad at me for storming off and getting hit by a car." Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times, building a protest. "So," Sam cut in over his brother's attempts, "maybe we should just call it even?"

"Hey!" Mike shouted from the pool table. "We playing here or what?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded at him. "Even, huh?"

"Think you can do that?" Sam asked, knowing only too well how good Dean was at blaming himself for everything.

With a shrug, Dean stepped around him. "Come on. We're holding up the game."

Sam could not help the chuckle as he followed his big brother. Could anyone else, in the whole world, have a big brother like his? No matter how overbearing, annoying or obnoxious Dean could be, Sam would not trade him for anything, even if he could.

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Dean led the way back to the pool table, eyes picking out his next shot. As he rested his cue on his left hand while lining up a particularly difficult shot, the best way of handicapping himself against these amateurs, he thought about Sam. His brother wanted to call it even, huh? One pig-headed argument equaled one storming out. Okay, he guessed he could live with that. After all, this was Sam.

If the weirdo amnesia did nothing else, it certainly told Dean exactly what Sam thought of him. Batman. He laughed to himself as his shot missed, earning a worried look from Sam. Dean moved out of the way, making room for George. He stood beside Sam, bumped shoulders lightly.

"What?" Sam asked, a genuine, grown-up smile on his brother's face.

"Nothing. Just thinking about Batman and Robin." Dean felt his own grin widen.

"You know," Sam chewed his lower lip, "I'm not too sure I want to know about that one."

Dean laughed and this time Sam joined him. Finally, things were headed back to normal. Well, as normal as it got for a Winchester.