Disclaimer: Yep. They're still not mine. You knew that already though...

Vibrations and the sensation of movement slowly coaxed him to the waking world. It was the gentle kind of motion that he so often associated with the purr of his baby and he knew, with sluggish comprehension, that he was, in fact, safely inside the Impala once again. He mentally took inventory and felt that he was propped up against the car door, his head snuggled into the corner between the door and the seat, yet his legs were completely stretched out. Sammy must've carried him to the car.

That was just freakin' fantastic. Being hauled around by his freakishly tall kid brother like he was some kind of pathetic…

Alright, so maybe he hadn't been conscious and it was probably a necessity, but it was still embarrassing.

Dean wanted to open his eyes, if only to glare at his brother, but his body was too tired to obey his commands. He fought with his memory instead, trying to track down anything that happened between where he was now and what had happened to the giant bird that had him in its talons. The more he pushed against his thought process, however, the more he found he was unable to remember.

He felt a soft groan bubbling up his throat, but he wasn't entirely sure it left his lips. His mind felt as though it was trying to sift through cotton to understand the information it was once again receiving. He hated the helpless feeling, but at the same time, he knew that once it started to wear off, he'd be in pain. Lots of pain.

What the hell had happened?

Minutes passed and his physical strength was returning; he didn't quite have the control over his body to move though. The occasional bumps from the car movements jostled him and he could feel his clothing clinging to him like a second skin. He shivered slightly, uncontrollably, and could smell the heat as it pumped in through the vents. It must've started raining again and Sam must've been trying to warm him up. He couldn't quite feel the heat on his skin and his mind slowly understood that meant he was in the backseat of the car.

He swallowed thickly and knew his face had contorted in discomfort. His throat was painfully dry, almost as if he had been screaming on a winter day after running a marathon. He felt the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile at that thought. At least he could make a good comparison. Okay, so not a good one, but at least he could still compare things. He swallowed again, a dull fire rubbing at his throat. There was no doubt in his mind that he was dehydrated.

Bit by bit, he became aware of sounds around him. There was a rhythmic sloshing and thumping which, after some processing, he came to realize was the windshield wipers running at a high speed. It was definitely raining. He could hear the soft growl of the car engine as it pushed past speeds that it didn't like, but could handle no problem. Somewhere, he was also somewhat aware of a melody floating to him in the distance and he was fairly certain it wasn't rock and roll.

C'mon, Sammy. I know I taught you better than that…

Just as the thought rolled through his mind, the first throbs of discomfort started to assault Dean's ribs and upper abdomen. He sucked in a breath against the sensation, immediately regretting his actions. He had some difficulty completely filling his lungs and the deeper he tried to breathe, the more his sore sides complained.

As his midsection pulsed in protest to the actions necessary for breathing, his head joined into the rhythmic throbbing, nearly shattering his pain threshold in the process. Dean was no stranger to pain and he knew he was roughed up pretty good this time. Traces of nausea began to coil tightly in his stomach and he suspected it was more than just the steady pain coursing through his body. He started to piece the clues together.

Exhaustion? Yes, but I haven't been sleeping well either, so that doesn't count. Memory loss? Check. Nausea? Unfortunately, but that could be 'cause everything hurts. Headache? You can say that again…

"S'nuvabch."

It was garbled, but the meaning was still clear. At least, he hoped so.

"Dean?"

The soft tinge to Sam's voice further embarrassed the eldest Winchester brother and he fought furiously to open his eyes. They fluttered open reluctantly and Dean's green eyes could only see blurred images for a moment as he turned his head towards his brother's voice. He wrinkled his brow in confusion as his vision cleared to reveal two of Sam.

And double vision. Definitely not good.

Dean blinked slowly and started pulling himself into a higher sitting position, immediately regretting the action as he flinched against the pain which only served to jar his middle even more. With a muffled grunt, he resigned himself to leaning against the door for the time being; he closed his eyes as another wave of nausea rattled his stomach, only prolonging his discomfort.

When he opened his eyes again, there was only one ceiling and one Sam in the driver's seat. He sighed in relief until he saw the monsoon crashing down on the windshield of his baby.

"The hell you doin' with my car, Sammy?" asked Dean with a voice much less gruff than he had intended.

"What the hell are you doing trying to sky dive without a parachute, Dean?" asked Sam, not taking his eyes off the road as he spoke, "Or a plane for that matter."

Dean could see Sam's concern reflected at him from the rear view mirror, causing the small seed of guilt he had been trying to fight off to sprout awkwardly in his stomach. As Sam continued the pitiful gaze, Dean rolled his eyes and allowed them to close for a moment. He swallowed dryly again.

"I'm fine, Nurse Nightingale. Just a little banged up."

Dean didn't need to see to know that Sam was scowling at him from the front seat. He could practically feel it hovering over him like a bad reputation. However, when Dean forced his eyes open again and took a look at Sam, he couldn't help but notice his brother was a little distracted.

"Just a little banged up? Have you even seen yourself?" asked Sam with a note of desperation and anxiety that Dean didn't like. A pregnant silence followed Sam's questioning, making the younger Winchester worry that his brother had blacked out again, before Dean spoke.

"How long was I out?"

Sam glanced in the review mirror - craning his neck to check at angles that made Dean think he wasn't looking for traffic - as he spoke, "Only about 4 minutes."

Not including when you were conscious but not all there…

"But who's counting, right?" Dean snarked back in his usual defensive fashion. He chanced a deep breath and grimaced a bit as his side objected. His overall pain level had diminished some and he was grateful. At least now instead of being completely weak, he could pull off being cranky. That was a huge improvement by his standards.

A dark chuckle and soft stream of cusses floated from Sam as he continued to drive. Dean knew from plenty of experience that Sam was a worry wart, though. This kind of behavior was to be expected. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that little Sammy was worried about his big brother.

"Oh, shit."

Dean looked up at Sam, not liking his tone of voice, and meant to say something sarcastic about his little brother watching his mouth when white hot pain shot through Dean's side as Sam swerved the Impala harshly.

Dean grit his teeth and glared daggers at the back of Sam's head as the younger Winchester straightened out the Impala and looked about nervously.

"Christ, Sam," he ground out, "Pretty sure she doesn't like it that rough."

And I can't handle it right now.

"Dean, shut up, alright?"

"Bite me."

Sam feigned irritation, but he was secretly thrilled that his brother was coherent enough to have a conversation. The jokes Dean threw in that crude way that only Dean could were just an added bonus. Sam hadn't lied before either. His brother had been out cold for about 4 minutes, but that only accounted for the time it took Sam to hurry him across the ghost town and into the Impala. For about 10 minutes after that, Dean had muttered, hissed and groaned incoherently until he finally, thankfully, asked something about the Impala. That's when Sam knew his brother was finally awake.

Sam swerved violently once again and ignored the muffled noise Dean was making in the back seat. Sam knew he was hurting him, but his other alternative could get them both killed. Living was definitely the better option here.

"Dean, I'm sorry, but if I don't keep swerving like this, they're gonna run us off the road," Sam said, checking the rear view mirror with a steely resolve clinging to his features.

Another swerve caused Dean's breath to hitch as he rode the wave of misery that assaulted him. He knew he'd feel much better once he was out of this car and resting for the night in his lumpy motel room bed.

"What do you mean them?" Dean asked in a croaky voice.

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by a clap of thunder right above the car. Both Winchester's found their ears ringing and Sam drove the Impala through the sheets of rain as fast as he dared. The aerial battle above the car kept pace.

Wind howled somewhere outside and Dean found himself shuddering from the sound almost immediately. It wasn't the sound of a normal wind. It was the cry of that horrible thing that had picked him up and tossed him like a rag doll.

"Sam, what did you mean, them?" Dean asked, sitting up under his own steam with his sudden adrenaline rush and looking out the window, "Is there more than one of those monsters out there?"

"Yea, Dean, there is," Sam shouted back, watching as the twin shadows fought in mid air, "but one of them is good."

Dean shot his brother an incredulous look before turning his attention to the birds outside once more. He watched as they scratched, bit and screeched at each other with heavy winds, jarring lightening and claps of thunder punctuating every movement. This whole thing would have been incredibly epic, if it hadn't been for the fact that they were getting uncomfortably close to the Impala.

"No, no, no. No. NO!" Dean started, gripping the passenger's seat in front of him as though he could save his precious car the tighter he gripped the upholstery.

Sam swerved as the aerial brawl dropped suddenly and with a violent gust of wind that buffeted the car even further to the side than Sam had anticipated. The impala bucked as the left side of the car left the paved roadway. Dean grit his teeth as he was jostled as Sam did his best to slow the car without slamming on the brakes completely.

Within moments, the car was at a stand still and the only sounds to be heard were the soft words coming through the car speakers, the heavy breathing of Sam and Dean Winchester and the screeching of windshield wipers as they slid across the suddenly dry glass of the car.

"Did they just…?" began Dean.

"Disappear?" replied Sam looking back at his brother, "Yup. Second time that's happened since…DEAN!"

The backseat of the Impala creaked open as Dean, forcing himself not to flinch as he moved so quickly, got out of the Impala and began circling it frantically. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he halted his frantic trek and gulped at the cold, damp air. He wanted nothing more than to take a deep breath, but his impulsive actions had set his sides on fire again.

"They didn't. Didn't hurt," Dean said between breaths.

"Didn't what?" asked Sam, "Hurt your car?"

"Damn straight. They didn't," Dean replied with a relieved smile gracing his features. His ribs were pulsing again and his head hadn't stopped since he had woken up in the car.

"Seriously, Dean. You were dropped and battered by a supernatural bird and you're more worried about the car than your own health right now?"

Dean turned slowly and leaned his back against the driver's side door of the Impala, gently holding his sore torso with his right arm as he spoke, "Of course, I am, Sammy! Nobody puts baby in the corner…."

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother as he watched the gears turn in his head. They were moving much more quickly than they had been 15 minutes ago, but there was still some lag. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean had at least a mild concussion.

"Or the body shop. Whatever. You get it," Dean finished with a face completely devoid of emotion.

Sam knew that look, although he almost wished he didn't. It was Dean's best defense against anything. Pain, physical or otherwise, was not something Dean liked to share if he could help it. He would bottle it up until he couldn't take it anymore. Denial was the first line of defense. If that started to crumble, deflection came next. The stoic act was a warning sign that things were getting to be too much again. Sam knew he'd be getting an earful tonight.

"Yea, got it," Sam started, snapping himself out of his reverie, "Well, your car is…"

"She," interjected Dean just for the hell of it. Sam recognized deflection, but the lack of expression on his brother's face meant it was a last ditch effort to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Um. She," said Sam motioning towards the Impala, "is fine, Dean, which is more than I can say for you. Why don't we get you to the ER and they ca-"

"No. No hospitals, Sam. No freakin' way," Dean said defiantly.

He hated those places almost as much as he hated flying. Actually, flying terrified him, but hospitals mostly just creeped him out. Not to mention the fact that the reapers that hung around in those places were not something he wanted to bump into again. He'd had his fill of reapers the first time around. The second was overkill.

Sam nodded once, "Okay."

He motioned for Dean to go around to the other side of the car. He wouldn't take his brother somewhere he didn't think he needed to go, but there was no way he was letting him drive. Not right now.

"Seriously?"

Dean couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive. It usually wasn't this easy to get Sam off his case. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought…

"Yea, seriously," Sam responded as he watched his brother get himself awkwardly into the front seat of the Impala. For all it was worth, his face scrunched during the process, but he didn't make a sound.

Sam eased himself into the driver's seat and coaxed the car back to their hotel as night began to settle into the sky. There was absolutely no trace of a storm other than the puddles cluttering the ground.

Sam waltzed through the motel door and put the keys down on top of the TV across from the beds, holding the enormous first aid kit tightly in his other hand. He surveyed the room with the eyes of a hunter, making sure nothing had changed since they had left. Placing the kit at his feet, Sam slid off his jacket and threw it on the foot of his bed just as his brother walked through the front door.

"No place like home," Dean grumbled as he slunk in through the door. His gait was even, but his stride was much shorter than normal. Sam couldn't help but notice that his right arm was still wrapped tightly around his torso, as if holding his ribs in place.

"You said it, man," Sam said, hauling the first aid kit onto his lap. He started pulling out the things he knew his brother would need as he started speaking again, "You know, I gotta do a little more research first, but I think I know what we're dealing with."

He looked up and was surprised to see Dean setting up his pillows against the head board so he could sit up for a while. Sam paused his actions and turned, tossing his extra pillow over to his brother, who took it and added it to the pile without saying a word.

"What is it?" asked Dean as he gingerly laid himself back against the pillows.

Sam continued perusing the medical supplies just looking for the bottle of Vicodin he had saved from his last trip to the ER. He could hear the pills rattling around somewhere in the box as he spoke, "I think we've got a Thunderbird on our hands."

"That would explain all the storms that start and stop suddenly," Dean replied gruffly. His arm, although more relaxed across his torso, hadn't moved.

"Yea, but I don't get why there's two of them," Sam said more to himself than anything as he slammed the first aid kit shut and laid out the few supplies on the night stand between the beds.

"I'll be right back, Dean," Sam said softly. He took one final glance at the pills, ointments and bandages laid out on the table, knowing that Dean would at least take the pain pills when he left. He probably wouldn't even consider looking himself over until Sam took a shower. In a few strides, Sam was out the door to get some ice for his brother.

Dean trembled as he forced himself to take a deep breath. It was miserable, but he knew the routine. It wasn't like he'd never injured his ribs before. He grimaced as his muscles began to spasm, but he fought the urge to tense. That would only make things worse.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered and forced himself to sit up. He took in the medical supplies Sam had left for him and was a little surprised to see antibiotic ointment and some gauze in the mix. As far as he knew, he had hit his head and nearly been squeezed to death, but he hadn't cut himself. Then again, he had also been flung through the air and, presumably, hit the ground pretty hard. Maybe he had a few scratches.

Dean grabbed for the Vicodin, smirking as he read the name on the label. Roy Rodgers. He was surprised Sam had still managed to get the prescription after pulling a stunt like that. Then again, he had run into stranger names in his time.

He popped the bottle open with little effort and emptied one of the little white pills out of the container. Sam had conveniently left a bottle of water next to the pills, which Dean grabbed and slugged down with the medicine. He took out a second pill and put it down on the night stand next to the bottle of water just in case the first didn't cut the pain. He didn't want to use it unless he absolutely had to. They were running low on high strength pain medications these days.

Dean was just rearranging himself back on the bed when the door to the room opened. He knew it was Sam just by the sound of his footsteps.

"Hey, I got you some ice," Sam said, grabbing a towel from the bathroom, wrapping the flimsy plastic bag in it and placing it in Dean's waiting hand.

"Thanks," he managed to mumble before closing his eyes and placing his left arm over them. His right held the ice steady against his right side which was the sorest. He hoped Sam picked up the obvious cues that he wanted to be left alone.

Sam stood awkwardly for a moment before speaking, "Alright, well I call first shower of the night."

Dean heard his brother's foot steps receding and the soft click of the bathroom door. He waited an extra minute and was rewarded with the sound of running water. He knew Sam would purposely take a leisurely shower, if only to give his brother the extra time he needed to look himself over.

Now that he was alone, he could get down to business. Hissing, Dean sat up again and peeled off his shirt, a little confused when he saw a few holes in the back of the fabric with just a little bit of blood surrounding each one. He thought for a moment and understood that the creature's sharp talons must've broken the skin. At least that would explain the gauze and ointment Sam had grabbed for.

The cool air in the room made Dean shiver slightly and he swallowed before glancing down at his chest and stomach. A mix of purple and blue bruises greeted his gaze and he squinted at the sight. He hesitated for a moment and carefully began palpating the area, knowing the general gist of it from previous hospital visits. He winced as he neared the darker portions of the bruises and forced himself to keep the right amount of pressure before moving on to other less bruised areas of his body.

He let out a breath with half a smile. Nothing was broken, but the muscles were definitely bruised - as if he couldn't tell just by looking at the dark colors splattered across his body right now. Dean knew the correct treatment. He should take it easy for a couple of weeks to let his midsection recover, but he wasn't willing to put off the hunts. He'd take it slow for the next few days, but he'd still be out in the field. He wouldn't leave his brother unprotected.

"Now how the hell do I see my back?" he asked himself. Fortunately, there was a small mirror mounted on the wall near the door.

Hauling himself to his feet, Dean grabbed the mirror from the wall and tossed it on his bed. He stood over it until he found just the right angle to see the little holes in his back that were already scabbed over. It didn't look bad and probably didn't need any attention, but Dean used the water left on the night stand to clean the wounds, his sides aching with the twisting the action required, before covering each with a generous amount of antibiotic ointment.

Dean didn't bother with the egg he knew was on the back of his head. It obviously wasn't bleeding, but he clearly had a mild concussion. There was nothing he could do about that except ride it out.

He was just digging through his duffel bag for something clean to sleep in when he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. He grabbed an old t-shirt, threw it over his head and was just stripping off his jeans when he brother came out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam.

"Didn't think the rest of the state needed hot water, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes and continued to towel dry his hair. Dean's jibes only meant that he was feeling better. The Vicodin must be doing its job. Sam grabbed his laptop and plopped himself down on his bed, getting comfortable while letting the machine boot up. He looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. He looked more relaxed, but something was still bothering him. Maybe he just needed to sleep.

"Dean, just go to bed," Sam said as he typed in his password and the laptop screen sprang to life, "You look like shit."

"I look better than you on a good day," Dean shot back and clicked on the TV. He was tired and knew he needed to sleep, but his guard was down and the nightmares would come more easily tonight. He didn't want to deal with that yet.

"Keep telling yourself that," Sam said quietly as he surfed the web courtesy of the motel's wireless connection.

"I heard that, smartass," Dean replied trying to fight the smile that wanted to usurp his face. He focused, instead, on the news that was occasionally drowned out by static.

"Good, ya jerk," Sam countered as he read through a promising article on the Thunderbird legend.

"Bitch," Dean countered, looking over at Sam.

The stare didn't go unnoticed by Sam, he just didn't know how to acknowledge his brother without him shutting down. Sam chose to ignore Dean's gaze, hoping his brother would just start speaking. He didn't have to wait long.

"I can't just go to sleep, Sam."

Sam bookmarked the page he had found and shut his laptop. He knew Dean was starting to open up.

"Afraid of the boogie man?"

Sam smirked and Dean's face remained unchanged.

"I see it every time I close my eyes."

"See what, Dean?" Sam asked more out of courtesy than anything else. He had heard his brother wake up panting or screaming before in the past. He knew what he was going to say next before he even said it.

"Hell," he said, closing his eyes and opening them. His gaze had darkened slightly, green turning to a slightly more hazel hue as his eyes sparkled wetly.

Sam's face softened and his heart ached uncomfortably. It was a touchy subject for the younger Winchester too. After all, his brother had sacrificed his soul so that Sam could have a second chance on earth. Sam waited patiently for Dean to continue, not entirely sure of what he should say next.

"I saw her, you know," Dean said with a choking lilt to his voice that Sam knew too well. It was the same sound that plagued Dean's voice after their dad's death too.

"Dean, who?"

Nothing could have braced Sam for what he was about to hear.

"Mom," Dean said as tears finally slid down his cheeks, "I saw Mom down there."

He looked up and to the side. He looked anywhere but at Sam, who's gaze was piercing him like a silver bullet. He didn't want to tell Sam all of this, but he couldn't keep it to himself any more.

"Dean, are you serious? I mean…Mom?"

Sam head was reeling. Their mother had made a deal with old yellow eyes to get their father back, but Sam had been the bargaining chip in that one. Her soul shouldn't have been there. It couldn't have been.

"Yea, Sam. It was her," Dean replied, "I still don't know how or why, but it was her."

Both brothers were silent for a while, not quite sure what to say to the other. The TV was a great distraction for a while, but Sam soon broke through it with relative ease.

"Dean, I have no idea what you went through while you were in Hell," he started, unsure of where his words were taking him, "But you shouldn't have had to…"

Sam started to get choked up as the guilt washed over him. It was all his fault that his brother had taken the plunge into the fiery underworld.

"If it wasn't for…for me…"

"You would've done the same for me, Sam," Dean responded without hesitation.

"Yea," Sam whispered in response.

The dialogue on TV was interrupted as Dean began flipping through the limited number of channels and the brothers knew the exchange was over for the time being. Dean would say more, but not for a while. Not until all of his other defenses broke again.

The roar of monster truck engines quickly replaced the sound of the daily news and Sam knew it was safe to start researching again. He was making some serious progress when he realized the sound had filled the room for close to an hour. Glancing at Dean, he was surprised to see his brother had nodded off, the second Vicodin still resting on the night stand where he had put it to begin with. Sam shut down his lap top before he turned off the TV. Sam drifted off to sleep within minutes and neither Winchester woke until the sun was in the sky the next morning.

It was the first night Dean had slept through the night since his return.

A/N: Thanks for the kind (if few) reviews, guys! I'm glad you're enjoying this so far. Its about to get a little more complicated...
Anyways, please, please, PLEASE review! I love your feedback!

xoTrebleMaker