Okay, having a really, really bad week so I figured I'd better post this a little early in case things get worse. Here's to hoping you all enjoy it. Hotshow, my editor on this fic, will be going on vacation soon. Fortunately, I've finished enough chapters to continue posting once a week in her absence. Have a great vacation, hotshow!!

Chapter 3

Sam glared at his brother's back. He moved to follow, but Bobby held him back. Redirecting his most intense gaze on the older hunter, Sam faced him. "What?" he demanded. "I need to go see what's wrong with Dean."

"From the sounds of it, some cracked ribs," Bobby explained calmly, not releasing his shoulder. "Which means you two will need to stay more than a few days."

"What?" Sam shoved the hand off his shoulder. "I got Dean to agree to two or three days. There is no way…"

"He'll stay longer if you want him to, Sam." Bobby sighed. "Now, Sam, I don't know exactly what's been going on between you two, but I've never seen Dean so exhausted. And I don't think it's all physical." One of Bobby's thick fingers prodded him in the chest. "I think you can use the time off, too. You boys look like death warmed over."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen. Sam broke it with a deep breath. "Did he really admit to the ribs?"

"Well, it took some persuasion," Bobby's face cracked with a small grin, "but he did."

"You may have to tell me how you did that." Sam looked him in the eye. "Especially if we're going to be here for a little while."

The small grin blossomed into a wide smile. "Ask me next week. For now, let's go check on Dean and that grill, huh?" Bobby clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder as he propelled the younger man outside.

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

He heard the door swing open, the rusty hinges squeaking their displeasure. Dean frowned at the grill. It was pretty obvious why it would not light, the gas jet was plugged.

"I'm gonna need some help here," Dean told them. "We need to take the grill apart. Bobby? Tools?"

Whatever those white pills were, they were working. Dean felt pretty good. Sure, he felt a twinge every now and then when he moved the wrong way, but nothing like before. They dismantled the grill until Dean could get down to the jets. He took them off and blew out the gunk clogging it. He took some satisfaction in reassembling the grill, making sure everything was just so. When he fired it up this time, the grill flared brightly.

"Bring on the meat!" Dean grinned at them, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

"Sit down," Sam snapped, shoving him into a chair. As he started to protest, guilt flashed across Sam's face. "I'll get you a beer."

Not one to pass up on a beer, especially one being delivered by his brother, Dean stayed in his chair. Sammy returned just behind Bobby. Bobby tossed the steaks on the grill while Sam handed over a cold beer. Dean popped the top off, flipping the cap over his head. He heard it hit the house behind him with a plink. Not exactly a satisfying noise, but a familiar one.

"Dean," Sam whined, looking behind them for the cap.

"It's a salvage yard, Sam." Dean rolled his eyes, sipping his beer. "Anyone who would walk outside barefoot would have to be crazy anyway."

Well, what did you know? Dean-logic did work on Sam sometimes. Little brother settled back, watching the grill-master prepare their steak dinner. Dean heard another ping. Surprised, he looked over at Sam. His brother's hand was still in the air and a goofy grin filled that boyish face. He held out his beer bottle to toast Sam's sudden departure from obnoxious goody-two-shoe-ness. Their bottles clinked and Dean settled deeper into his chair, the drugs and alcohol working their magic. He grinned, enjoying the moment.

"So, Bobby," Sam spoke up, "what are you after?"

"What do you mean, Sam?" Bobby did not turn around from the grill.

"The hunt. What are you going after?" Sam shot Dean a quizzical look. Dean decided to play it safe. He shrugged and looked curiously at Bobby.

When Bobby turned around he shot Dean a hard look, which was promptly ignored. "Oh, uh, possession." Bobby nodded. "Got a nasty possession about a day's drive from here. Shouldn't take too long."

Sam nodded. "Well, if you want us to stick around for a while, I'm going to need something to do."

Dean snapped his head to the side. "Stick around for a while?" he demanded. "Sam, I thought you were in a hurry to get back on the road, back to hunting." He watched Sam shrug, as though indifferent. "Saving people?" What happened to that
Sam from the hotel, who was so upset over not being able to save every single person they came across that he drunk himself into a stupor?

"Now that's a thought," Sam said with a nod. "Bobby, I could start researching hunts. See what I can turn up."

Bobby nodded over the steaks. Dean felt dread fill him. That sounded more like Sam, and the last thing he needed was Sam having some extra time to research hunts. His little brother was far too adept at finding things to hunt these days as it was. What if Sam had another ten hunts lined up for when they left in a few days? The prospect was chilling.

"When I get back, I can start lining up hunters to go after whatever you turn up," Bobby said with a grunt.

Dean looked between them suspiciously as Sam replied, "Sounds good."

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked.

Sam glared at him. "Until we know exactly how bad you're hurt, Dean, we are on vacation. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to save people." Sam took a swig of beer. "So just relax. I'm not going after anything by myself, or without you."

Dean frowned. Even though the prospect of staying at Bobby's for maybe a week or two sounded great, he was not sure about this new attitude of Sam's. Where the hell did that come from?

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

Sam watched the flood of emotions crossing his brother's face as guilt filled him. God, when did he turn into such a task-master? Had he really been that bad lately? Judging by the look of disbelief now on his brother's face, Sam decided he must have been. Okay, that needed to change. Now.

"I'm not," he repeated, staring at Dean. Dean looked suspicious, but gave a short nod anyway.

Ever since he took off in the middle of the night, Dean watched him with that weird look. It was like his brother could not decide if he was angry or hurt or just scared. The fact he could cause all of those things in his big brother was really disturbing. Not to mention frightening.

Dean was always the one who took charge and made the decisions, but not lately. No, lately Sam made all the decisions and found all the hunts and called all the shots. If he had to be honest with himself, it was downright draining. He really hoped after that incident at the haunted hotel that Dean would step back into the big brother role. Not yet.

Sam tossed his brother another grin, hoping it looked natural and carefree. Dean seemed to relax a little. Speaking of which, how the hell did he not notice his stupid brother covering up another injury? Seriously, Sam used to be the master of telling when his brother was hurt and now freaking broken ribs escaped his notice? Maybe Bobby was right. Maybe they both needed this break. Dean needed to heal. He needed some perspective.

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

After dinner, Bobby watched the Winchester boys head upstairs to bed. They both looked exhausted. He shook his head. Well, at least they came here before killing themselves out on the road with that kind of frenzied hunting. Experienced hunters like them should know better, he reasoned. Something must have happened.

Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention. Sam stood on the bottom step, studying him.

"Hey, Bobby?" Sam headed across the room, looking more worried now than Dean did when he threatened to make the boy strip in the corner. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Sam." Bobby replied with a nod. Sam could ask anything. It did not mean he intended to answer, but Sam was certainly allowed to ask.

"Did, uh," Sam shifted, eyes darting to the stairs as his voice dropped to a whisper, "did Dean call you?"

Bobby leaned in. "About what?" he whispered.

Sam swallowed hard. "About coming here?"

"Sam?" Bobby hissed. "Is there a reason we're whispering?"

Sam sighed, looking disappointed. "I guess not. Good night, Bobby," Sam said in his normal voice, heading for the stairs.

Bobby felt like he just dodged a major bullet. Betraying Dean's confidence was not a healthy occupation. He was pretty confident that Dean would not do anything to him, physically anyway. At least those boys would be staying for a while. Dean's face looked like he went ten rounds with a concrete block. No, wait, that was a shovel, right? A shovel. Bobby shook his head at the thought.

More out of habit than anything, Bobby watched Sam cross the room heading for the stairs. He spotted the crude clay pot in Sam's way before Sam did. "Watch it!" Bobby shouted, jumping up from his desk, but it was too late.

Bobby figured Sam must be distracted, because one of his huge feet slammed right down into the red and orange streaked pot as his head whipped around to look at Bobby. Sam cringed as the pot crumpled under his sneaker, causing a breaking noise that filled the house.

"Sam?" Dean's voice bellowed from upstairs.

"It's fine, Dean!" Sam shouted, bending over to inspect the damage.

The sounds of running footsteps echoed in the house as Dean bolted down the stairs, eyes wide. "What the hell was that?"

Sam sighed. "I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking." Sam lifted his foot gingerly off the remains of the pot. "I'm really sorry about that, Bobby. Was it valuable? I'll find a way to pay you back."

Bobby took in the shattered pieces. It was definitely beyond repair. "No real harm done, Sam. A friend of a friend sent it to me. He thought there might be something funny about it, but I hadn't been able to find anything. I offered to send it back a few weeks ago, but the guy said that he didn't want it back." Bobby shrugged. "You know where the broom is."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby watched Sam head toward the kitchen. The moment Sam was out of sight, he noticed Dean's hand raise to clutch at one side.

"That the bad side, Dean?" Bobby asked, peering over the top of the paper he pretended to read.

Dean scowled, arm dropping to his side. "It's fine."

"Uh-huh." Bobby's eyes dropped back down to his paper. He needed to find a likely possession subject. Sam was sure to ask questions when he came back.