A/N- Have you ever tried to write a chapter, and the words just aren't coming to you? That's kind of how this chapter was for me. Granted, it was filler, so I kind of expected that, but I also didn't expect for this chapter to be such a struggle. So, it's definitely not one of my favorites. But oh well, all stories have necessary evil. Just because I didn't enjoy writing it doesn't mean you don't have to enjoy reading it :)

Chapter 12

The car ride to Bobby's was a blur to Sam. Everything seemed oddly out of focus, like he was using a microscope with the wrong lens. He was aware of the trees and the road flying by, almost as if at supersonic speed, and he was aware of his hands gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles were white. His body was tensed like a wire, ready to snap at any moment, at any catalyst.

The only thing that was keeping him grounded and sane was the sound of his brothers breathing. The shallow breath coming from the back of the car tethered him like a steel cable to the ground, better than gravity ever would. That was the sound he'd grown up with – that was the sound he'd heard since he could remember, since he would crawl into his brothers bed when he was scared and listen to his brothers breaths to lull him to sleep. It was a sound that told him he was safe, that nothing would harm him because his brother would protect him. The sound he was hearing now was a perverse version of that, stilted with pain, but it still meant the same thing.

Bobby stayed silent, and for that Sam was glad. His surrogate father seemed aware of the fact that Sam didn't want to talk, didn't want to be reassured or lied to. The only one to bring Sam down when he was like this was currently unconscious in the back seat.

The yard loomed ahead, and Sam rolled in front of the house, wincing when they ran over a pothole and his brother let out a low moan in response. Ellen's car was in front of theirs, and no one was in sight – apparently they were already inside with Sara.

Making their way inside with Dean was no easy task. Getting him out of the car was one thing, but carrying him inside hurt Sam both physically and mentally. There was nothing they could do to share his weight; Bobby didn't exactly have any stretchers lying around, so Sam had to carry his brother like he did before. If it was possible, it felt like his brother had gained weight since Sam had gotten him out of the basement. Or maybe Sam was just exhausted. Mentally, it wrecked him to see his brother so white, so helpless. So dependent on Sam in a way he only saw when his brother was this hurt.

Heading inside, he could see that Ellen and Jo had set Sara up on the couch, and brought out a cot for Dean. Medical supplies were strewn on the floor in various kits, and Sam started gathering various things he needed after he gently laid Dean on the cot.

As he did, Bobby entered the living room. He looked back and forth between the two patients. "Well. Aren't these two quite the matched set? How is Sara doing?"

Ellen turned to face him, and Sam got a glimpse of Sara behind her. The blonde was as still and pale as Dean, her sallow skin contrasted heavily against the blood red couch beneath her. Sam could see bandages covering her thin torso. An IV and blood bag hung near her head. "She's unconscious but stable. She's got a possible concussion, and bruising on her arms and legs. We're stitching up the leg now. I think she'll be fine, she's just gotta get some blood in her."

Bobby nodded, and turned his attention to Sam, dropping down next to him on the floor. His eyes, almost hidden behind bushy brows, were full of concern. "And Dean?" His voice had more gravel in it than usual.

Sam turned back to his older brother. "I… I haven't looked yet." Bobby's hand rested on his shoulder, firm and reassuring, but Sam shook it off. "I'm okay Bobby." He could feel Bobby's eyes on him, searching and inquisitive, just waiting for Sam to break, but he didn't want his pity. All he wanted was for his brother to be ok.

In silence they got to working on Dean. Just lifting his brothers shirt made Sam want to hurl or punch something. His brothers chest was a motley of bruises, all making themselves apparent in a medley of yellows, purples, and blues. He tenderly felt along his brothers ribs, and winced when his brother gave a sharp intake of breath. He was right – his brother had at least two broken ribs, possibly three. He got to work wrapping the ribs tightly to keep them in place.

He almost felt wrong for thinking this, but this wasn't how their relationship was supposed to go. Dean was the older brother, and Sam knew that's how he identified himself. Dean was his protector, his role model, and everything else Sam needed him to be. Dean had stitched Sam up more times than he could count, and now, it felt wrong for him to be the one stitching Dean up.

Seven year old Sam had climbed about two branches up the thick oak tree. Some of the branches were as thick as his torso, but he just wrapped his skinny legs around them like a monkey. Sunlight filtered through the thick foliage, dappling the limbs around Sam with speckled golden light.

Higher, he thought excitedly. I can climb higher. "Hey Dean! Look at me!" He sat, back against the trunk, legs straddling the branch as he waved excitedly at his older brother. Dean was throwing knives against a cedar tree not far from where Sam was and he looked up, grin wide on his face.

"You're such a monkey Sammy!" His voice carried up the tree and Sam snickered.

"I'm not a monkey! I'm Superman!," He yelled back. Carefully, he planted both his feet on the branch and stood, feeling the breeze against his face. This was so much better than being cooped up in a motel room waiting for their dad, who'd been gone for the better part of two weeks. They'd been given strict instructions not to leave unless it was for school or food, but after begging and using his best puppy dogs eyes, Dean had finally relented and took them to the nearest park. Sam had held his hand and Dean had made funny faces at him as they walked across the emerald green grass.

"Oh yeah? If you're Superman, I'm Batman!," Dean shouted. As Sam watched, his brother threw another throwing knife at the tree, crowing as the knife hit dead center on the target. Sam watched his brother with admiration. Sam may not be able to fly like Superman, but Dean was the closest person to Batman Sam had ever known, other than his father. Dean was the good Batman though, the type that always listened to what Sam had to say and always let Sam sleep with him if he was having a nightmare. When Sam grew up, he wanted to be just like Dean.

Sam shifted his weight from both feet to one, and suddenly he was sliding down the side of the sturdy tree. "Dean!" Branches whipped past him and he scrambled to something, anything, to catch hold of and break his fall. He only fell for seconds before making a solid and unforgiving return to earth. In an instant, a crack sounded under him as his leg crumpled, and he fell.

"Sammy!" Sam heard his brother call his name, heard the frantic quality of his voice as vibrations under him confirmed his brother streaking toward him. Dean's hands were suddenly all over him, checking his forehead, running over his chest, inspecting his head. "Sam! Sammy, are you hurt? Tell me, tell me right now! Please, please, you have to be ok Sammy…"

"Dean…" Sam's heart was pounding, and he suddenly felt pain blossoming in his leg. Looking down, he could see crimson starting to stain his jeans. "Dean, my leg…"

Suddenly Dean was shirtless, and a wadded t-shirt was being pressed against his leg. Dean's face came swinging into Sam's view. Eyes wide, he commanded Sam's attention. "Everything's going to be ok Sammy. You're going to be alright. I've got you." One hand still pressed on Sam's leg, he took out his emergency cell Dad had left, and dialed 911. Sam could hear his voice shaking. "Hello. My brother fell out of a tree and might have broke his leg. Yes. Yes, we're at Crescent Park. Ok. Ok." Sam watched as Dean hung up and dialed again. His brows were in a tight v, tighter even than when he called the paramedics. "Dad? Yeah, yeah, calm down, we're ok. Well, kind of. We were at the park and Sam might've broke his leg…Yes sir. I…yes sir. I'm sorry Da-. Ok. Ok."

Dean hung up the phone and bit his lip. Sam didn't know what Dad had said, but clearly it'd upset him. He took Dean's hand in his and squeezed. Dean looked at him in shock. "It'll be ok Dean. I have you."

Sam could remember that day like it was yesterday. They'd been taken to the hospital, and Dean had held his hand in the ambulance, all the way to the hospital. He'd had surgery, and afterwards Dean had stayed by his side like a magnet attracted to its opposite charge. He read to him each night, and everyday he brought a new gas station candy bar for Sam.

Their dad had come eventually, of course. He had taken Dean out to the hall, and Sam could hear the timbre of their voices from his hospital bed. When the two returned, Dean was much more subdued, and it took Sam's best puppy dog eyes to cheer him up. His father sat in the chair on the opposite side, silent but worried. When they left two days later, Sam knew the reason his father didn't leave for longer than a few days.

Dean gave a large gasp of pain, and Sam was whisked out of his thoughts. His brother's eyes were fluttering open, and a quick glance showed why – Bobby was a quarter of the way done with the stitches on Dean's gaping gash. His eyes popped open and his mouth gaped, and Sam found himself fighting to keep his brother flat as he struggled to sit upright.

"Whoa, hold your horses boy! Jesus Sam, calm him down before he hurts himself," grunted Bobby, his hands holding down Dean's flailing legs. Sam was trying – he had as much weight as he could put on Dean without hurting him further. He wasn't totally sure his brother knew where he was, or what was happening, but he obviously knew he was in pain.

"Dean," exclaimed Sam. "Dean, everything's going to be ok. You're going to be alright. I've got you. Dean, calm down." Slowly but surely, Sam's voice seemed to be coming through to him. Dean's movements became slower and less frantic, finally slowing to stop. His breathing, at first loud and verging on hyperventilation, returned to its shallow rasping.

"Son of a bitch," came Dean's rasping reply, and Sam couldn't help but let out a strangled laugh. His brother was awake, and his brothers crude words were sweet music to Sam's ears. Sam didn't realize it, but those were the words he'd been hoping for – the words to confirm his brother was still his brother, and nothing had changed. He was hurt, yes, but he was still Dean.

"Obviously you're in pain," Sam said bemusedly.

His brother shrugged and then winced. "Thank you Captain Obvious. I knew we kept you around for something Sammy."

Sam couldn't help but chuckle as he shook his head in bemusement. His brother was awake for a minute and already he was cracking jokes to mask the pain. But that was what he thought Sam needed, and sometimes, Sam just couldn't help but play along. "Please. Someone's got to be the attractive one around here."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm on the verge of death and I'm still 500% hotter than you."

Sam snorted his disagreement. "Ok Dean. Whatever you say. I'd say on the verge of death is exaggerating a little, but you do certainly seem to have a death wish." At that he fell silent. In truth, he was still angry at Dean for this whole stupid situation.

"I don't have a death wish Sam. It was my fault Sara got involved in this mess, and it was my responsibility to find her. She wouldn't have been a target if I hadn'tve walked into that bar."

At this Bobby finally made a sound from beside Sam, and he was surprised to hear the older man let loose a low growl. "Boy, are you stupid? No, that was insensitive, my bad. I asked you to stop being stupid without realizing how incredibly difficult it must be for you. If you would've waited one measly hour for me to actually do something with the info you found me, you would've gone in with a weapon against Achlys and not had your ass handed to you! Why in the world do you think we research?"

Dean furrowed his brow and glared at Bobby from the cot. "Achlys didn't hand my ass to me. A demon and Eris did."

Now it was Sam's turn to look confused. "There was no one else there Dean. Achlys was the only one we saw."

Dean's intense green eyes swung to look at him. "Achlys was the only one when you guys got there. Eris and her demon bitch boy musta smoked out of there when she heard you guys stomping around."

"Yeah, and if you idjit hadn'ta bailed and decided to fly solo, maybe you wouldn't have been bitch's boys bitch," Bobby ground out. Sam waved his comment away with his hand – what Dean said was starting to sink in, and he didn't like the sound of what he was hearing.

"So Achlys didn't hurt you? Dean, who's Eris, and why did she hurt you? What happened down in that cellar?"

Dean sighed heavily. "Like I said, Achlys didn't hurt me. She just stood off the side, didn't hardly even talk. Eris was the goddess who was working with Achlys, apparently. She got the victims for Achlys, in the bar where I met Sara. And she didn't really hurt me, that was mainly the demon."

At Dean's words, Bobby turned thoughtful, the anger seeming to ebb out of him. "Eris, you said? I've heard of her. One messed up, old chick. She's one of the ancient Greek goddesses, been around a little shorter time than Death. From what I hear, she was locked up tight in Tartarus for the last, I dunno, 200 some-odd years."

Sam stared at Bobby. This was almost too much to wrap his head around. "Eris? So she's loose now? Why exactly is she so dangerous?"

Bobby fixed Sam with an exasperated look. "Eris, goddess of discord? Supposedly caused the Trojan war with the Apple of Discord because she wasn't invited to a wedding. Apparently she's right up there with War, the horseman."

"I don't know about all that. You probably don't remember her Sam – she was the woman in purple, in the back," interjected Dean.

Sam didn't remember, but then, he had other things on his mind at the time, namely how pissed he was at Dean. That seemed to be a common trend during this case. He was more concerned with Eris and the implications behind her. "Dean, why didn't she kill you and Sara like all the others?"

"God, I don't know Sam, maybe she just wanted to get in my pa—wait, Sara. How is she? Is she ok?" At the mention of Sara, Dean started struggling to get up again, his head swiveling around the room to get a glimpse of the blonde. Both Sam and Bobby's hands were already pushing down as he struggled against them.

"Dean, calm down. She's fine. She's still out, but Ellen said she's doing great."

"How badly is she hurt?" Dean calmed down marginally, letting their hands press him back into the cot. Sam could see the pain of just moving taking its toll on Dean – he wouldn't admit it, but the tightening of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, and the tension in his body belied his true condition.

"Not too badly. About the same as you." Sam was keeping it light, keeping the injuries nondescript and the details withdrawn from his older brother.

Dean groaned. "Well that's super positive. Because I feel like I've just rolled in a field of daisies." Sam exchanged a meaningful look with Bobby. Dean even alluding to the fact that he was in pain was far more significant that it might be with other people. He wasn't denying the pain like he usually did, which Sam took to mean the pain was mounting to inhuman levels. Bobby casually walked away, and Sam quietly sighed as Dean didn't question it.

Sam was trying his hardest to keep the banter out of the maudlin range, but he couldn't help but slip a little in. "Man, one of these days, you're gonna get really hurt, and I'm going to have to say I told you so."

Dean gave a little wave of his hand, as if to brush away the semi-sensitive comment. "Haha, you wish. Someone's gottta keep you on your toes Sammy." Typical Dean.

Sam sighed. "There's a difference between keeping me on my toes and giving me a heart attack."

Bobby meandered back, trying to look casual as he slipped the morphine into the IV. Dean angled his head. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Bobby's whiskered face twitched as he suppressed a grin. "Just a little something to give you a little shuteye."

Dean's eyes were already starting to flutter as the drug slipped into his veins. "You…son ofa bishhh…" Sam could visibly see all his tensed muscles relaxing as he slipped under. The hard lines on his brothers face vanished, and Sam was suddenly looking at a face that looked at least 5 years younger. His older brothers face never looked so relaxing, so peaceful as when he was sleeping. It pained Sam to visibly see the stress and the burdens Dean let himself carry around, like weights pulling him down.

Bobby patted him on the shoulder, his eyes on Dean too. "He needed it. Rest is the best thing for him right now, even if he fights it every step of the way. I'd drug him more often if I could." Sam could hear the underlying affection under Bobby's gruff words.

"Me too. At least he seemed alright," Sam mused. Dean really did seem lively, awake, and himself, which was more than Sam could hope for.

His thoughts wandered to the new problem they now dealt with – Eris. Now that he'd thought about it, he'd heard about Eris in one of his Greek mythology classes, but as a hunter, it wasn't something he'd come across. Which made sense, if she'd been hidden away for the past 200 years. But now…the Apocalypse and the rising of Lucifer had apparently shaken her loose from Tartarus.

This was his fault. If he hadn't have listened to Ruby and killed Lilith, his brother wouldn't be lying next to him, broken and bruised.

TBC- Please read, review, favorite, follow... :)