Author's Note #1: This chapter would have been done and posted days ago if my muse hadn't whispered in my ear that we needed a bit of hurtSam. And really, who amongst us doesn't enjoy that, right? So...I had no choice but to listen. Don't worry, nothing too serious. But instinct is everything when it comes to the Winchester boys watching each other's backs...and will override common sense every time.

There are at least two more chapters to this story, perhaps more. Three weeks is alot of time to play in sandbox, whose knows what kinds of ideas the muse will find.

Author's Note #2: Thanks again to Riathe Mai for editing and bailing me out with her terrific ideas and saving me from scraping the entire freakin' chapter when the boys decided they were just not going to cooperate, all the while juggling a thousand different things that are on her plate. Thanks a million.

Author's Note #3: Thanks again to all of you who have read, reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story, it means a lot. And as always, the same disclaimer's apply.

oooOOooo

He was a moment too late.

A moment he was hoping wouldn't happen—but one he should have been expecting.

Waiting. Ready. Prepared.

Because a moment is an eternity in the chaotic, anguish of hell.

Now all he could do was head it off. Hope he had reacted in time to prevent further agony or torment.

He heard the rustle of blankets, the fumbled scratch of metal as Sam's breathing sped up—and he cursed himself again for falling asleep and not hearing sooner that Sam was close to waking up—as he tried to bolt to a sitting position, struggling on the makeshift bed he was lying on and his bum leg in an attempt to get closer to his brother.

The stillness and quiet grabbed his attention and broke through the haze of dread that had enveloped him, and his alarm ratcheted down a notch. He quickly realized that what he was hearing wasn't the thrashings of a nightmare or the panicked, distressed breathing of the torturous flashbacks that he had feared.

It was the controlled, barely-restrained alarm of a hunt gone wrong; the need to get away, whatever the cost.

This he knew. This was something he could easily fix.

"Sam, I'm safe," Dean commanded, aware that the very first concern either of them had when waking up in an unfamiliar place, in pain, and seemingly alone was never for themself; but for the other.

"We're good," he assured his brother, wrapping his hand gently around Sam's wrist, preventing him from releasing the restraints holding him down. Dean brushed his thumb lightly back and forth across the back of Sam's hand in an effort to calm him and to nonchalantly stem the flow of blood from the torn out IV line.

Sam stilled instantly beneath his touch and confused, disoriented hazel eyes locked on his older brother's face.

"Dean." It wasn't a question, but a statement infused with pure relief.

Sam sounded like he had swallowed glass, and Dean's name had emerged on a raw whisper. Dean had never been so glad to hear it. However fractured his little brother's psyche was, he had already successfully crossed the two bridges that Dean always feared; his little brother was in the correct reality and—more importantly—had recognized Dean immediately.

"Everything's fine," Dean soothed, keeping up the slow, gentle movement on the back of Sam's hand. He kept his explanations simple; basic phrases that held the most meaning to the both of them, knowing that there was a very good chance that Sam wouldn't even remember what he was saying and he'd have to repeat himself again anyway. "We got away. We're all safe."

Sam's breath was still coming in short pants, and Dean watched as his gaze shifted away from him and darted around the unfamiliar vehicle, knowing he was taking in as much as he could; any hidden danger, every possible escape route.

"Relax, take it easy." He placed his hand on Sam's chest, feeling his heart hammering too fast beneath his fingers. Dean patted his brother's cheek with his other hand, drawing his attention back to him. "Hey, look at me. Right here. Slow, deep breaths."

Head injuries were always a bitch. As if the pain, dizziness, and nausea weren't enough fun, memory loss had to jump in and join the party. So Dean kept his eyes locked with his brother's, reassuring him without the need for words that they were all fine; giving him the time he needed to find and reconnect all the dots. Letting him know that big brother would be right beside him until he did.

Sam blinked his eyes a few times while he took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. Dean could feel his brother's muscles gradually unwinding beneath his hand as his eyes cleared of their earlier confusion and awareness set back in.

"Yeah…okay…yeah, um, I remember. I'm…yeah, I'm good."

Relief surged through him. The agonizing, grief-stricken moments that Dean had feared hadn't happened; all it had taken were a few mere words and a gentle touch to bring his brother around and calm him.

Maybe they had caught a break after all, and Lady Luck had decided to hitch a ride with them.

Dean blew out his own breath as he patted Sam's chest. "You really need to get a new floor show, little brother," he snarked.

"I'll talk t' my agent," Sam rasped, watching as Dean silently cleaned the small amount of blood from the back of his hand and expertly inserted another intravenous line.

Sam's eyes once again roamed the interior of the van. "I realize I've been a bit…out of it," he gestured weakly around the van with his hand, "but I'm…positive this isn't an ambulance."

Dean slapped Sam's hand away from his face as he readjusted the nasal cannula. "Give the man a gold star."

"How 'bout a beer? "

"Water," Dean drawled, grabbing the bottle from beside him and giving it a shake. "Nectar of the Gods."

"That's 'does a body good'," Sam stated gravelly. "An' not even close t' bein' the same thing."

"So true, little brother, so true, but…that's all you get." He leaned the bottle against the cast covering his leg as he considered his next move. "Alright, kiddo," he advised, "we're gonna do this real slow, alright? You ready?"

Sam huffed out a mirthless laugh. "Guess we'll see."

"Here we go then." Dean reached down towards the top of the gurney and extended the crank that had been folded underneath. Very slowly, he started to turn the handle clockwise, little by little raising the bed to a more upright position. Dean kept his eyes on Sam's face the entire time, carefully monitoring his brother for even the slightest change.

After a couple of turns, Dean stopped. He'd raised the bed only about ten degrees, but even that little bit had paled his brother considerably. "Sammy?"

"'m good. Lil' more," Sam murmured, his lips set in a tight line. He had his eyes squeezed shut and was breathing deeply through his nose.

Dean shook his head, "Stubborn bastard."

"Learned from th' best," Sam muttered.

"Oh sure, blame me for that one."

A few more turns and Dean pulled rank. He could see the fine sheen of sweat coating Sam's forehead as the change in elevation became too much. They had come across spooks with more color than his brother currently had.

"Alright, tough guy. Enough's enough."

"Yeah, I think ya might be right f'once," Sam wheezed out.

"Oh, for once, he says," Dean grumbled, but the concern in his eyes betrayed his feint at anger. "I'll let that slide this time, only cuz' your marbles are rolling around like a pinball machine and you can't remember the awesomeness that all my plans always are."

Sam's face relaxed a bit and he blinked his eyes open, the world around him no doubt returning to its proper axis and spinning at a rate that, while far from normal, Dean was sure was a bit more manageable.

"You mean like that awesome plan you came up with in Santa Fe," Sam said with a tired smirk. "Or Tucson, maybe? No. No, my personal favorite, Amarillo; 'We pull the pin, toss it, and then run like hell.'"

"That was a spectacular explosion, wasn't it?" Dean beamed. "You know, we still have those landmines in dad's old storage locker. We should-"

"Dean." He knew from the scowl on Sam's face that his younger brother had been trying for stern admonishment, but the effect was lost on the tight lines of pain that creased his forehead and the rigid, unmoving posture that he held himself in.

"You have no sense of adventure," Dean complained lightheartedly, wishing there was more he could do ease his brother's pain. He held up the bottle of water. "You ready to try some of this?" he asked. "Your Harvey Fierstein impression is getting kinda old."

Sam's soft chuckle came out as a rough, scratchy cough, and Dean winced in sympathy at just how painful it sounded. "Yeah."

"Small sips," Dean said as he unscrewed the cap. "The last thing we need is for you to blow chunks all over the place."

"Nice Dean," Sam remarked. "Anybody ever mention your bedside manner leaves much to be desired?"

"Mindy," Dean said with a wide grin. "She said I was very desirable." He tipped his head in thought. "Or was it Cindy? Sandy, maybe? Candy…mhm…with the red hair. That's right, cuz' she had this cute little tattoo on her—"

"Dude." Sam held out his hand. "Too much information. Shut up or I will puke on you out of sheer spite alone."

"Killjoy." Dean held the bottle of water out for his brother, silently wrapping his hand around Sam's in support when trembling hands and skewed vision conspired against his attempt to grasp it on the first try.

Dean watched as his brother took a slow, tentative sip from the bottle. "Better?" He asked with a smile, as some of the deep lines of discomfort that had furrowed Sam's brow eased as the cool liquid soothed his irritated throat.

"Much," Sam said after clearing his throat, and Dean was happy to note that his younger brother's voice sounded a bit stronger. "So, um…New ride, huh?"

"Yeah. Bobby called in some markers," Dean explained as he recapped the water bottle and put it aside. "He said I didn't need to know the who or the how of it, and quite frankly, I'm surprisingly okay with that."

"They gave you morphine, didn't they?" Sam remarked.

"Concussed and still a bitch."

Sam laughed, and then winced. He closed his eyes, the skin pinching between his low, tense brows. Though clearly in pain, he managed a half-hearted, "Jerk."

Dean winced in sympathy. He'd had his fair share of concussions, so he knew how utterly unpleasant they could be. Even something as seemingly unstrenuous as talking could cause the relentless pounding and pressure to build inside you head until you swore your skull was going to explode.

In Sam's case, Dean still wasn't convinced that it wasn't a real threat. He gave Sam's shoulder a gentle squeeze by way of support and said nothing, giving Sam the chance to ride out the wave in silence.

When Sam's face relaxed and his breathing resumed a more level tempo, instead of that hitch-and-click act he'd had just minutes before; Dean picked up the conversation as though nothing had happened. "So one of Bobby's unnamed markers stashed us this van in some abandoned back lot and then crawled back un—"

"Watch it, boy," Bobby warned from the front the seat.

Dean spared him a quick glance and continued unfazed,"—derground."

"That's better."

"You wanna tell this story, Bobby?"

Bobby groused and mumbled under his breath, but fell silent. Dean smirked then looked back down at Sam. Sam's eyes were still closed, his face peaceful, but he was smiling, clearly enjoying the familiar banter. Dean couldn't help it. He gave Sam's shoulder another quick squeeze.

"Anyways, we ditched the ambulance; after stripping it, of course."

"Of course," Sam approved.

"And moved you, Sleeping Beauty, stretcher and all."

"Who moved him, Gimpy?" Bobby questioned.

"Fine, we only had one dwarf. That would be Grumpy. Happy?"

"That's two, jackass."

Sam craned open one eye and squinted at Dean. "Dude, you're crossing your Disney."

"You're such a girl, Samantha."

"Hey, girls dig that r'mantic, 'happily ever after' stuff. Comes in handy."

"It's like I don't even know you sometimes."

Sam chuckled softly, his easy dimpled smile remaining as he settled himself the best he could on the gurney, and Dean made a mental note to make sure that smile made more appearances. "Close your eyes and get some sleep, Romeo."

"Where we goin' anyways?" Sam asked as his eyes slid closed.

Dean opened his mouth to answer, his lips moved but no sound came out as he suddenly realized that he had been riding for hours and had not once thought to ask where they were going. As much as he'd like to blame it on the morphine, he knew that it had nothing to do with it.

"Dean?"

Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands down his face. He had no clue as to their destination, and if that didn't tell him just how utterly wrecked he was….

"De'n?"

But Sam didn't need to know that…wouldn't know that if he got his way.

"D'n?"

It wasn't so much his name, but the slurred voice behind it that snapped Dean from his thoughts. He raised his head, and shot his arms out to catch his brother as he tumbled forward into his arms.

"Whoa! Whoa, Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Whatever grit and determination his little brother possessed had obviously been used up in the simple act of unbuckling and sitting up—and how the hell he'd managed that—Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, slowing the motion as he pitched forward.

"Wh'ts wr'ng?" Sam's head had come to rest in the crook of his neck and Dean was just barely able to decipher the words that Sam had managed to force out around the harsh breathing and gritted teeth.

"Come on, Houdini, ya gotta lay back down." Dean ignored the question. Adjusting his grip on Sam's shoulders, he leaned them forward slightly, not wanting to jostle Sam any more than necessary.

And almost lost his balance when Sam gripped his shirt tighter and pushed against him in resistance.

"No." There was absolutely no need for Dean to decipher that word. It came out loud and clear and full of defiance.

"Pain-in-the-ass, pigheaded, gigantic little brothers," Dean mumbled through gritted teeth of his own as he worked to regain his balance so the two of them wouldn't end up on their asses. "Sam—"

"D'n," Sam's quiet voice stopped Dean. Only his brother was capable of inflecting so many different emotions into his name; worry and anxiousness being at the forefront, and Dean had no doubt whatsoever as to whom those emotions were regarding.

This is what they did, pushed themselves to the very ends of their endurance—and beyond—if they thought for even a moment that the other was in trouble. It shouldn't have surprised him that even as severely concussed as Sam was, a part of him was still aware, still watching his big brother's back and had caught his moment's hesitation.

And instinct had overridden common sense.

"'M sorry…f'…wareh'se…sc'd ya…," Sam rasped out. "Shou'da known n't you…'m sorry f 'sc'rin' ya." Sam breathed out a mirthless laugh. "Sc'd m'self…'m sorry..."

"No, don't you even..." Dean stopped as Sam worked his fingers tighter into his shirt and let out a frustrated breath.

"Y'…'kay?"

Even with the great effort it had taken Sam just to push out those two words, Dean heard the demand behind them. He grasped the back of Sam's neck; his hair was damp with sweat, and Dean could feel fine tremors running through his body from over-exertion.

"You're like a dog with a friggin' bone, you know that." Dean blew out an exasperated breath, knowing that once Sam got this way, short of him passing out—which was probably a given at this point—he wasn't going to let it drop.

His brother could read him like an open book; and even now, after all these months, Dean still had to remind himself that he had his little brother back. Sure, he had a few more quirks than usual—to add to the hundred or so he already had—but he was alive and whole…and Dean wouldn't deny him anything.

He never could.

Chick-flickery be damned…He was already well over his monthly limit anyways, what was one more.

"You scared the hell outta me, little brother," Dean admitted, his voice husky. "But it wasn't me I was scared for." He squeezed Sam's neck lightly as the still terrifying images from the warehouse came back. "It was you. I've been protecting you my whole life. But this…this I can't fight, man. I can't even see it. There's no fugly I can go and hunt down to make it better for you.

"This…," Dean held his brother tighter. "This right here is real. You and me. Stone number one. Remember that."

Dean carefully lifted Sam's head, more than a little concerned that he was supporting most of its weight. Blown pupils looked back at him through pain-filled squinted eyes, and Dean hissed out a breath, vowing to end the Leviathans and everybody else that had messed with his brother.

"I'm good, Sammy. We're good. We'll get through this together. None of this…not even close to being your fault, you hear me?" Sam made a low mumble in the back of his throat that Dean took as agreement and that he was still, somewhat, following the conversation. "So don't you go apologizing or I'll…well, I won't slap you upside the head that's for sure, 'cause I'm fairly certain that if I let go, it's gonna roll away."

"Pro'bly." Sam slurred out as what little strength he'd had gave out. He squeezed his eyes shut and a moan escaped his lips as his head slumped in Dean's hands.

Dean gripped the back of Sam's neck and rested his head once again on his shoulder. The minute tremors had given way to all out trembling as Sam's body fought with itself against over-exertion, pain and injury.

"All right. Ride it out, Sammy," Dean said as he squeezed the back of Sam's neck. He tried to keep him as still as possible, knowing that if the death-like grip Sam had on his shirt and the continued low moans that escaped through clenched teeth were anything to go by, then the world around his younger brother was spinning at a pretty fast clip.

"You gonna puke?" Dean asked softly.

"Mhm mm," Sam murmured.

Dean regretted what he had to do even before he did it, and his heart clenched at the thought of causing Sam any more pain. The kid was just about at the end of his endurance, and any movement would very likely send him toppling right over the edge; and he was the one that was going to push him.

Dean knew it had to get worse before it got better. Hell, it always did. It was the story of their lives, but it didn't bring any comfort or make him worry less.

"Sammy, I'm gonna lay you back down now, okay?" He hadn't expected an answer, and didn't receive one as he slipped his hand around Sam's fingers and loosened the grip he still had on his shirt.

"Here we go." He kept his voice gentle and soft, offering quiet reassurances as he lowered Sam back onto the gurney.

Sam's hands went immediately to his head, gripping it as the change in position increased the pressure pounding inside. Dean kept one hand securely on Sam's chest and slowly began to crank the handle to lay the gurney back down flat.

"D'n!" Sam's cry was indistinct and pained-filled, a call to his big brother to fix things and make the pain go away.

"Shh, Sammy. I know. I'm sorry."

Dean slowed the gurney's decent, hoping to lessen the impact, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Sam had the palms of his hands pressed against his forehead, his fingers clenched in his hair as he drove his head as far into the pillow as he could.

Dean kept up the litany, hoping his words offered his brother some measure of comfort, his gut wrenching at the sight of his brother in so much pain. "Shh. Breathe through it. Nice and slow. Almost there." Then, finally, he folded the crank back in place; and still he continued the steady flow of words. "There you go, Sammy. You did good. Just sleep, now. I'm right here. We're safe, Sam."

Sam's face went slack—asleep or unconscious, Dean wasn't sure and he almost didn't care as long as that terrible rictus of pain was gone from his brother's face. Sam's hands fell away from his head, and Dean caught them and carefully tucked them by Sam's side. He checked the IV—it was still intact—and then let his fingertips rest on the pulse point at Sam's wrist. The beat was steady, albeit a little fast, but strong.

Reassuring.

"He okay?" Bobby asked.

"For now," was the only answer Dean could give.

"He just needs to sleep, Dean," Bobby said reassuringly. "A bit of rest and he'll be right back to being same ole' sasquatch-sized, little brother who lives to drive you mad."

A ghost of a smile crossed Dean's face despite himself—yup, that about summed up his brother—he appreciated Bobby…well, just being Bobby. Dean knew he would be lost without his surrogate father's continued support and unique brand of gruff love.

"Twelve plus hours of healing under his belt, Bobby," Dean sighed frustratingly, "and he goes and pulls a dumb-ass stunt like that. He's back at the friggin' starting line again…hell, I don't think he's even on the board anymore."

"Dumb-ass is the Winchester family's middle name, for pete's sake," Bobby grumbled, "and that brother of yours don't hold the record, you know that as well as I do. You know why he did it, Dean. You would'va done the same exact thing. It's a never ending circle with you two."

"Can't do it any other way, Bobby," Dean said quietly, knowing he was answering for Sam as well. Watching each other's backs, sacrifice…whatever you wanted to call it, it was ingrained to their very souls. They couldn't change that even if they wanted to. He looked up and caught Bobby gazing at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes a mixture of frustration and caring.

Bobby shook his head, and Dean knew that the old hunter had resigned himself long ago to the fact that there was no way he could change the two of them. "Well, anyways, it's probably just as well that Sam's out. We'll be hittin' the mountain soon and those roads leave much to be desired, let me tell ya."

Dean's eyebrow rose in puzzled curiosity. If he didn't know where they were going before, he sure as hell didn't have a clue now. He glanced down at Sam. His face was relaxed and pain free and Dean adjusted the blanket a bit higher around him. Suppose I should find out the details behind that, huh? Consider what you just put yourself through and all, Dean thought.

"Ah, Bobby? Where exactly are we headed anyways?"

"About as far from civilization as you can possibly get without leaving the damn planet," Bobby griped.

"Okay," Dean said slowly, digesting that information as he rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands hang loosely. "Care to elaborate for those of us who don't have a clue as to what you're talking about?"

"Scenic Whitefish, Montana. Pretty little place surrounded by nothing but mountains and lakes. Rufus has an old hunting cabin in the woods there." Bobby shrugged his shoulder, "Didn't think the old coot would mind us hidin' out there for awhile. Remote doesn't even begin to describe its location. Nothin's gonna even get close without us knowing it."

Bobby turned his head and looked back at Dean. "Why don't you lie down and get some rest awhile. We're still a few miles out, an' I'm gonna need your help getting Princess over there into the cabin. Last I checked, stretchers weren't made for off-roading."

Dean huffed out a laugh as he laid down, looking over once more at his brother. "Great. We're gonna be like the Weeble family doing the high wire act at the circus."