Chapter 6

Sam slumped against the wall, relieved. "So it's just cracked ribs? Nothing else?"

George shook his head. "That and a lot of bruising. There might be a hairline fracture in your jaw, Dean, but I don't see anything else. I am suspicious that you have some torn ligaments in your side with all that trauma. Just take it easy for while, huh?"

"Sure, George." Dean shrugged into his plaid shirt, buttoning it up. He slung the black t-shirt over his shoulder. Sam figured it took quite a bit of effort to pull that shirt on and Dean probably did not want spectators.

"Staying with your uncle again?" George asked, handing over a slip of white paper.

"Yep." Dean took the white paper, stared at it. "What's this for?"

"We don't tape or wrap ribs anymore. It's unnecessary and causes more pain. Now we just try to manage the pain while you heal. That's a fairly strong pain reliever." George stared at Dean. "I know you can be one stubborn bastard, but with that many cracked ribs you have to be in some serious pain. In a few days, after all that swelling goes down, come back in and we'll reassess your condition. Maybe I can put you on a lighter medication then."

Dean tried to hand the prescription back. "Do it now. It's not that bad."

Sam stepped forward, snatching the small white paper. "Forget it, Dean. Thanks, George, we'll get this filled downstairs." That reminded him. "Hey, George? Should Dean be using the stairs?"

George smiled at him. "Just so long as he takes it easy." George gave him a wink. "And yes, I realize just how stubborn your brother can be. There aren't many people around here who don't, Sam."

Dean chuckled, shaking George's hand. "Okay, see ya later, George. Beer-thirty?"

George shook his head. "Not while you're taking those. Maybe after we take you down a level. Until then, just take it easy, okay? Now get out of here. I have real sick people to see."

Sam's feet were light as he followed his brother out and downstairs. He noticed Dean took the stairs slower this time, but that did not bother him. Sam stuck to the center of the stairs, not willing to risk hanging on to another faulty railing. Just before he reached the ground floor, Sam felt the step give way under his foot.

"Dean!"

His arms windmilled crazily as Sam tried to catch himself on the next step, which collapsed as his other foot hit it. Panicked, Sam sat down, hoping that stair would hold his weight. His legs dangled freely as he gripped the steady stair, air darting in and out of his lungs at a rapid rate. Wide-eyed, Sam wondered if his brother was all right.

He looked down into Dean's too wide eyes. "Sammy?"

Sam peered down. The last two stairs were broken, split right down the center. Using one foot, Sam felt around experimentally until he found the floor. He stood slowly with Dean's help, brushing dust from the broken stairs off his jeans.

With one arm, Dean pulled him out of the ruins of the stairs. "What the hell happened?" Dean demanded. "You okay?"

Sam shook off Dean's hand, checked himself over. Everything seemed to be in order. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean kneeled down, studying the faulty stairs. "These are stone on metal, Sam. How the hell did they break like that?"

Sam peered over his brother's shoulder. "No idea. Pretty weird, huh?" he asked hopefully.

He heard Dean's breath catch as his brother stood. Sam grabbed Dean's right arm to finish pulling him upright. "Yeah," Dean said as he caught his breath, "pretty weird." Dean's tone implied his brother thought it was more than just weird.

Twenty minutes later Dean's new prescription pain meds jangled in his pocket as Sam crossed the parking lot. "Want me to drive?"

Dean scowled at him. "With everything breaking all around you? Bite your tongue, Sammy."

Sam chuckled as he slid into the passenger seat. "That was pretty weird though, wasn't it?"

Dean shot him a strong look after starting the car. "I've been thinking. It might be our kind of weird."

"What?" Sam's head snapped to the side. "You're not serious? Dean, we're taking a few days off."

Dean shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Not if something is after you, Sam."

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He could nearly hear Sam's eyes rolling in his brother's head. Dean wanted to sigh in frustration, but he did not think it would go over too well. Honestly, Sam's reaction to his observation about the strange things happening was not what he expected. Sam had been so gung-ho lately, he thought his brother would jump at the opportunity to do a little research.

There was no way he could drop this. All these things happening around Sam could not be just coincidence. He drove straight to Bobby's. If they stopped for lunch, he would be too tempted to order a beer and Sam would fuss at him. At least back at Bobby's he might be able to sneak one later this evening.

Dean pulled into Bobby's drive with a sense that there was something wrong. He scanned the rusting cars on the drive in with a critical eye.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean might have jumped, but fortunately his ribs prevented that.

"Just a feeling, Sam." Dean peered out ahead of them, slowing the car as they approached Bobby's house.

"Dean? You didn't leave the water running, did you?" Sam asked, his voice hard.

"No. Why?" Dean stopped the car. His eyes were drawn to the door, where water dripped down on the steps. "Oh, shit."

Sam raced ahead of him to the house. When the door was yanked open by his younger brother, water splashed out, soaking the front steps. Dean shut his eyes, imagining all the stacks of Bobby's books sitting in that water. Oh, this was bad. Really, really bad.

"Stay here," Sam ordered, charging into the house followed by the sound of splashing water.

Stay here? Was Sam kidding? Dean stepped carefully into the house. A quick walk-through confirmed his fears; the entire first floor was flooded. The water was not deep, not yet, but it was everywhere. He needed to decide how to save Bobby's books, and quickly. The bottom book on each stack had to be getting wetter by the moment.

Dean eyed the stairs. That appeared as good a solution as any. He grabbed the top books off the nearest stack and set them on the far right side of the bottom stair. Flames of pain etched his side, each rib complaining loudly as he picked up stacks of books and moved them to the stairs. Gritting his teeth, Dean attacked stack after stack, leaving only the water logged book at the bottom.

"Got it!" Sam called out triumphantly from the kitchen. He appeared a moment later holding up a wrench. "It was one of the pipes under the sink-What the hell are you doing?"

Dean leaned against the wall to catch his breath. "Trying to save…Bobby's books." He waved a hand at all the stacks.

"I'll do it, Dean. Go sit down," Sam said, glowering at him.

Dean shook his head. "Too much for one person, Sam." He took several shallow breaths. "You can help."

"Just a minute." Sam headed back into the kitchen. Now that he paused in his work, Dean did not feel a need to get right back to it. A short break seemed in order. Sam reappeared with a glass in one hand and his other hand a fist. "Here," Sam shoved the glass at Dean. Dean took it, seeing it was full of juice. Sam held out the fisted hand. Dean held his hand out palm up and Sam dropped two oval white pills into it. "At least take your pain pills."

Dean shrugged, throwing the pills back and chasing them with a gulp of juice. "I didn't know Bobby kept juice in the house."

"What about the wet books?" Sam asked, checking out Dean's work.

"I figured we'd save the dry ones first. Maybe Bobby has a hairdryer or something we can use." Dean replied with a shrug.

Sam's eyes went wide and the corners of his mouth turned up. "Did you really just say that Bobby might have a hairdryer?"

Dean chuckled. "Sorry, wasn't thinking. Well, maybe he has some fans?"

Sam nodded, rounding on the next stack of books. "That sounds more like him. We can set out the wet ones on the kitchen table and counter. I'll look for some fans after I finish helping you."

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Sam clenched his jaw to prevent the words tumbling in his brain from spilling out of his mouth. He noticed how pale his brother's face was and the beads of sweat lining Dean's forehead. Those dark smudges under Dean's eyes were still there, too. He really wanted Dean to go lie down and take it easy, but Dean was right. This cleaning job was an awful lot for just one person. So Sam tried to take the heavier books, though he noticed that his stubborn brother just picked up more books when they were lighter.

Sam took the job of collecting the wet books from the floor while Dean searched for a mop. He figured that had to be easier on Dean's side than bending down constantly. As Sam set out the books on the kitchen counter and table, Dean started mopping out the water. Sam searched for some fans to dry out Bobby's books. He didn't think Bobby would be really upset with them, but he knew how much stock Bobby put in his books.

He found the fans in Bobby's outside shed. Well, they were large air-movers, designed to keep you cooler while you worked outside, but Sam figured it would be perfect. He set up two large fans in the kitchen to blow right over all the books. Then Sam flipped the books open, hoping as they dried the pages would start turning.

"Think that'll work?" Dean asked from over his shoulder.

Sam was so used to Dean just appearing like that, he did not even flinch. "No idea, but we have to try something." He looked back at his brother. Dean's face was more relaxed now and had some color to it. "Pills working?"

Dean shrugged. "Felt fine before."

Sam nodded, barely resisting rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right." He felt like pressing the issue, but he didn't. After a few minutes, Sam decided that was the right decision. Dean acted like he didn't say anything and turned attention to the books. Forcing Dean to talk never seemed to work out, it just led to arguments.

Sam helped his brother flip pages open, exposing wet paper to the air blowing through the room. They worked in silence, just walking around and around the kitchen tending to the water-logged volumes.

"You know what I keep thinking of?" Dean asked suddenly, drawing Sam's mind from the monotonous task.

"What?" Honestly, he could not begin to guess what might be going through his brother's mind.

"Remember that time you flooded the bathroom? And all of Dad's stuff got wet?" Dean laughed, like it was a good memory.

"Dean," Sam groused with a snarl, "Dad must have yelled at both of us for three days straight."

Dean shook his head. "No, you're thinking of the motel you tried to set on fire messing with the stove and I nearly shot a fireman for trying to come in. I'm talking about the time you convinced me to let you run your own bath and you never turned off the water. You were about six?"

Sam paused, staring at his brother. "I don't remember that."

Dean grinned. "When Dad came back, he found all of his clothes laying out all over everything." He started to laugh again. "At first he thought we were playing or something. Then he realized his clothes were still damp." Dean let out a loud chuckle. "I don't think I'd ever seen him embarrassed before."

"Embarassed?" Sam asked, studying his brother's face. "Why would Dad be embarrassed?"

A broad grin covered Dean's face. "Because of where we put his underwear. You thought it would dry better if it was up high." Dean laughed again. "So I hung it on the ceiling fan blades. When Dad flipped on the switch, the fan came on and…" Dean flung his arms wide, "Bam!"

Sam laughed. "Oh, I wish I could remember that one."

"Yeah." Dean's smile faded. "Me, too."

Startled by the sudden change in his brother, Sam stepped closer. "What do you mean, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "You just don't seem to remember the good stuff, Sammy. That's all." Dean looked away, concentrating on the books again.

Dean's comment hit Sam like a slap across the face. Is that how Dean thought of him? Is that how he appeared? Sam raked a hand through his hair. Dean was the only family he had left and Sam did not want his brother to be disappointed in him. His family might be screwed up, but they were still family and loved each other. He really did miss Dad so he would just have to try harder to remember the good things, and he resolved to do just that.