The diffused light of a clouded midday sun beat down on the boys, but the air was frigid around them as they walked down the street. The only available place to park was a ways from where they were supposed to meet the doctor. Sam had tried to get Dean a big greasy breakfast, bacon, eggs, hash browns and stuffed French toast. Dean still had barely touched it, so Sam had gotten the leftovers boxed up, figuring that if this doc was as good as he hoped, Dean's appetite would come right back.

"So, what does this place look like?" Dean squinted against light which seemed to come from all sides of the grey-white sky.

"Brick, has three floors." Sam and Dean exchanged a look. So far, the majority of the buildings were brick.

"Well, it is on the corner of this street and Franklin– so it won't be hard to find." Sam said. It was a good thing they had that landmark, because otherwise he doubted they would be able to find it. Eventually they did come to the intersection, stopping outside yet another large brick house. They saw some curtains on the third floor sway for a moment, as if someone was looking out the window.

A moment later, the front door creaked and a squat elderly man with a grey Van Dyke goatee waddled out onto the sidewalk, a bright smile upon his cheerful countenance. "You Jim's boys?" He called, his voice sounding like a bellowing trumpet, smooth brass.

Sam glanced at Dean, who had his poker face up and running the moment the physician took two steps outside the door. Dean wasn't making a move to acknowledge the old man, so Sam nodded. "Yessir, that's us."

"C'mon, inside then," he beckoned with a wave of his stubby-fingered hand. The Winchester brothers followed him up a walkway littered with crunchy brown leaves, Sam lagging behind Dean to make sure he went in.

The house was eerie, not in a paranormal sense, though. People always talk about how a house will look smaller on the outside, how when you go in – it seems to gain a couple extra feet here or there. The doc's office was the opposite. Instead of the wide-open spaces you were expecting, narrow hallways greeted you. And some low-hanging doorways.

"Ah!" Sam cried in surprise, his head giving a solid thunk as it ran into wood.

Dean couldn't help but laugh, even as his face was twisting with concern and sympathy.

"Sorry about that," the short doctor muttered at Sam, "You're very tall, you know." It came out sounding almost like an accusation.

They followed the doctor single-file (as if there was another way) along corridors that wound their way to a staircase, then through the glass door to what was Dr. Darwin's office. Dean's jaw dropped as he entered. The room was flush with cheerful Disney décor.

The glare he gave Sam could have melted eyeballs.

"Just give me a moment to grab a pen, boys." The elderly man said before turning to Dean, "Jacket off, good sir. Down to just the t-shirt, you can leave the jeans. Shoes off too."

As soon as the old guy left the room, Dean started in. "A pediatrician, Sam?! What the hell?! If you wanted a lollipop that badly, you could've just said so. I'da bought you a whole friggin' bag!"

Sam leaned back, hands in his pockets. "Dean, do you really think Jim, of all people, would've sent us here if the guy couldn't help?"

"But, Sam –"

"No buts, man. Just, I dunno, picture a threesome with Ariel and Jasmine or something. "

Dean snorted and leaned over to start taking his boots off. He managed to be down to his t-shirt and jeans by the time the doctor came back in, pen and paper in hand.

"So, Jim tells me you have cluster headaches?" Sam backed away as Dr. Darwin shuffled up to Dean, otoscope in hand as he began peering into Dean's ears, nose and mouth. Of course, the doctor had posed this non-question to Dean when his mouth was hanging open, so Dean merely echoed his agreement from the back of his throat. Dean was rather surprised some random pediatrician had even heard of this type of headache.

The doctor clucked his tongue, a sympathetic look crossing his face. He pulled Dean's hands out in front of him and told him, "Don't let me push them down," and then went through the full neurological work up, which both boys were used to, what with the concussions and all.

After that he pulled up the stool and sat down so slowly you could practically hear his knees creaking.

"So, what can I do for you – exactly? Usually I patch up hunters after a hunt. Getting a look at a fairly healthy one is a new experience for me." The doctor smiled benignly and paused to clean his glasses.

Dean's eyes widened in surprise; this guy knowing about hunters made this so much easier. He visibly relaxed and began talking. "I had my first cycle last year, wasn't expecting it this go 'round. My appointment with the specialist I saw last time is tomorrow. I had some meds leftover from last year, but they are all used up now. Managed to refill the Imitrex, but…"

"You need something a bit more surefire." Dr. Darwin supplied helpfully.

"Quick-acting would be a plus, too." Sam interjected.

"Hrmmm. There is a medication which may fit the bill on both counts. Lemme contact my friend at the pharmacy and see what we can do. I just need to be sure they'll be no problems for any of us, this stuff is pretty tightly regulated."

Dr. Darwin held up his thick sausage-like index finger as he left the room to make the call.

It was obvious that it was taking everything Sam had not to boast about his great idea of bringing Dean here. Dean had to admit, the doc seemed alright, legit, and knew his stuff. He just didn't want to go nuts celebrating anything until he had meds in his hand that he knew would work. Call it not counting your chickens, in case they decided to peck your eyeball out.

After a few moments of silence, Sam began biting his nails, glancing at Dean.

"So…?"

"So what?" Dean replied.

"Aside from Disney, what'd you think of him?" It was kind of adorable how nervous Sam seemed about getting a positive opinion from Dean.

Dean shrugged, but decided he'd throw the kid a bone. "He knows hunters, knows what type of headache it is, and seems to be able to find his way around a prescription pad. Don't see how he could be much better."

Sam stood there, grinning like an idiot. With the oceanic children's mural behind his brother, Dean couldn't help but remember all the times when Sam was a toddler, getting his vaccinations, and how it was his very important job to distract Sam, to soothe away the tears, to tell him how brave he was. "I have a very special mission for you, Dean-o," his father had said, and Dean had taken it very seriously. Still did.

Dean snapped back to the present when the doctor bustled back into the room with a big smile on his face.

"Here's the scoop. I can get you a week's worth now. If your specialist gives you something that doesn't help as well as this, come back and see me before you leave town. I can set you up. It is just going to take a few days so we don't leave too much of a paper trail. Sound good?"

Dean nodded and Sam nodded so emphatically you'd swear his head was going to fall off, floppy hair bouncing every which way.

"Now…what about other symptoms?" Dr. Darwin resumed his seat on the stool.

Dean looked at the doctor blankly. "Really..it is just the pain that's the problem."

"No nausea, no vomiting?"

Sam immediately chimed in with a firm, "Yes."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Only when the pain isn't take care of. It isn't a problem."

"Does it increase the pain?" Dr. Darwin asked, his expression curious rather than probing.

"Well, yeah. Anything does, though." Dean shrugged.

"Well, how about I get you something for it just so you have one fewer thing to spike the pain up?"

Dean didn't respond to the offer, quirking his mouth sourly to the side. He hated being treated like a sick person. So what if it felt like his brain went into the ring with Muhammad Ali nightly? That didn't mean anything.

"Look, I'll write it out for you." Dr. Darwin began scrawling the prescription. "Trust me, get it filled. Even if you don't use it for this, it is always a good thing to have in a first aid kit. Then next time you get food poisoning from a gas station sandwich gone wrong, maybe you won't be so miserable, eh?"

Dean held out his hand, figuring the doctor was all finished. Instead, the man held onto the script.

"How is it impacting you daily?"

"Daily?" Dean asked. "My days are fine. When I'm not in pain I'm friggin' fabulous."

"Dude!" Sam interjected. "You haven't been eating. You're exhausted. You've even stopped driving."

Dean's eyes shot daggers at his brother. It was one thing to nag him in private, but the kid needed to learn to pipe down in front of other people. Particularly people who talked to other hunters.

"So…a large impact then?" The doctor grinned, ignoring small family drama unfolding before him.

Dean brought his hand up to scrub his face and made a small noise of frustration before flashing a tight smile. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Look, friendly advice. Your profession relies on the body being in top physical condition." The elderly physician nodded his grey-haired head toward Sam. "Your partner relies on you being in top form. The people you save do as well. Exhaustion means your reflexes are slowed. Not eating enough means you're losing muscle mass, which means losing strength."

Dean immediately closed off, his jaw tensing, his eyes narrowing. The dude did not just imply that he was slow and weak, or worse wouldn't have Sam's back.

"Don't take it so personally, son! These are simply medical facts. They apply to anyone who isn't smart enough to take care of themselves, and I'm sure you're a very bright young man." Dr. Darwin held out the prescription like an olive branch, knowing he made his point when Dean didn't rip it out his hands, but instead took a deep breath and gracefully accepted it. With a thank you, no less.

Dean swung himself off of the examining table, his boots making a solid *thunk* as they hit the linoleum.

"We'll see you, doc." Dean nodded.

"Yes, Dr. Darwin, thank you." Sam's sincerity nearly made Dean blush. With the amount of gratitude in his kid brother's voice, you'd think the doctor had just single-handedly performed brain surgery on him.

"You're quite welcome, boys. Here is the information for the pharmacy where my friend is. Cash only. This is the name you need to use."

Sam glanced at the card the doctor was handing him and made a noise that sounded like he had just swallowed a bug. "Peter Wentz?" he asked Dr. Darwin, not bothering to hide the incredulity in his voice, sounding like he might break up in a fit of laughter.

Dean eyed the card his brother was holding and quirked an eyebrow at him, not recognizing the name.

Dr. Darwin blushed. "My granddaughter, he's all she talks about."

"I don't get it." Dean said, looking back and forth from his brother to the old man.

"You don't want to know." Sam clapped Dean on the back. "But I'll tell you in the car anyway."

However pissy Dean had initially gotten about the old guy prodding him about taking care of himself, at least part of the message sunk in. So after they swung the Impala to the pharmacy down the street, the waxy white bag containing the meds clutched protectively in Sam's hands even as he steered the car, Dean pointed out a sub shop.

"You feel like lunch?" Dean asked. It was as close as he was going to get to asking to stop for a meal.

Sam knew better than to make a big deal out of it. "Yeah, sure man," he said, and swung the car into the parking lot.

"I'm gonna grab a paper, get me an Italian?" Dean nodded his head over toward a booth that was strategically placed to watch an exit. Sam nodded and turned toward the counter. Dean saw the downplayed smile his brother was sporting, clearly trying not to display his happiness that apparently the doctor's words had meant something. It was still something he was getting used to with Sam, not the being cared about – because he knew his dad did, but the fervor behind the worrying. The hundred little things Sam tried to do every day to take care of his big brother. And Dean fought him all the way on it, but he had to half-admit to himself, it caused a warm feeling he hadn't had since maybe he was four. He felt….cherished, in a completely manly sense.

Dean shoved a few quarters in the metal newspaper vendor, as always stealing a second paper for Sam to look at, and made his way to the chosen booth.

Sam was already sitting there, shoving leafy greens into his mouth. Dean plopped himself into the seat opposite his brother.

"You and your salads." Dean grinned. "Now this – this – is a sandwich." He picked up the crusty meat-heaped submarine sandwich and inhaled with relish.

"Mmm, heartburn on a roll. Think I'll stick to my salad, thanks." Sam stabbed a green pepper with his fork.

"Heartburn? How old are you again, Grampa?"

"Bite me."

"No thanks, Sammy. That might give me indigestion." Dean winked over his sandwich and took a huge bite, the kind of bite that made his brother screw up his face in disgust.

Making an effort to not comment on Dean's caveman table manners, Sam asked. "So, what's with the papers?"

"Thought we'd look for a job."

"Dean…"

"What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't…" Sam trailed off.

"Shouldn't what? Look for dad? Hunt that sonofabitch demon down?" Dean said pointedly. They both knew neither was an option, there was no stopping.

"Well, no," Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat and began idly picking at one of the corners of the newspaper in front of him. "But we don't have to take in every hunt that comes our way, we could concentrate just on looking for dad. Maybe give you some time to get on some preventative meds that might work."

Dean paused and put down his sandwich, taking moment to wipe the grease off with a napkin. He wanted to make sure his little brother understood where he was coming from on this, it was important.

"Sam…if you saw someone drowning, you'd dive in and help them, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. You know I would." Sam said slowly, not liking where he thought this was headed.

"So, how are we going to be looking for signs of dad, for signs of the supernatural…and not see people who are in need of our help. How can we just turn away, when we know that might mean someone ends up dead?"

To drive the point home, Dean gently added. "Someone's mom or dad. Someone's girlfriend. Someone's brother."

Sam sat back against the seat as if Dean had punched him, hurt showing in his eyes. "Low blow, man."

"Not meant to be. Just saying the truth."

Sam stayed silent, his gaze trained on the shiny formica of the table. God, Dean felt like he had just kicked a puppy.

"Look, I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry that I've fucked everything up. And I know this changes things, slows us down, but if dad and I can adjust and still keep working, well…you and me were always a better team. We can do this."

At that Sam finally looked up into his big brother's eyes, eyes which were clearly pleading for understanding. I need this, Sammy. I need a job to do or I'm not gonna make it through the next month. And if something happens to dad because I let this thing slow me down, stop me…that just isn't an option.

Sam did the only thing he could do after being allowed to see that kind of vulnerability. He picked up the paper and started looking for clues.