Okay, I'm baaa-aaack!! And so is ML. There are a couple of major loose ends twisting out there that require tying and knotting up into a pretty bow. I really hope you enjoy it. Thanks to everyone for the support during NaNoWriMo!! Really appreciate that!! On with the story…

Chapter Nineteen

He was enjoying this too much, but as long as Sam was still willing to do it, Dean was going to take advantage of it. Speaking of which, here came his little brother.

"Hey Dean. Need anything?" Sam asked, hovering over him.

Dean grinned as he looked up. "How about a chili dog?"

Sam groaned, shaking his head. "This late at night? You better be planning to sleep out here on the couch."

Dean made a pained face. "You'd let me sleep out here?" He tried to sound hurt by it.

"No," Sam shot him one of those looks Dad used to use on them, "I'd make you."

"Fine," Dean replied rolling his eyes. "How about something for dessert? Pie?"

Sam shook his head, long hair in front whipping around. As Sam left for the kitchen, Dean wondered for the zillionth time why it didn't bother his brother. He knew if he had something banging into his face like that all the time it would drive him crazy. He wondered if he should suggest a haircut. As Sam leaned over to hand him a slice of pie, Dean was reminded of how much Sam looked like he did when he was a kid. He decided if the long hair did not bother Sam, then he did not need to say anything about it. That was one of the few things in this world that he could count on, that reminded him of when they were just kids.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke through his reverie. He took the pie from his brother. "Are you feeling okay? Need a pain pill?"

Dean shook his head, carefully shifting up to eat his pie. "Nah, wouldn't help," he admitted before his brain fully engaged.

Sam's fingers dug into his arm. "What? Does it hurt that bad?" Worry and concern filled his little brother's eyes and creased his face into a frown. "Maybe I should call George."

Dean shook his head again. "I'm fine, Sam." When his brother gave him that 'yeah, right' look, Dean added, "Really, Sam. I'm fine." He shoveled some pie into his mouth to avoid any more questions. Sam sent him a glowering look before rushing off into the next room, probably to call George. Again.

Dean wanted to groan about it, but one small part of him enjoyed all this attention. Whether it was good or bad, Sam always got all of Dad's attention when they were kids. It was kind of nice to be the center of it all now. And he got pie.

A faint scratching noise caught his attention. Dean leveraged himself off Bobby's couch, suspicious. There was something familiar about that sound. Holding his pie in one hand, Dean leaned forward to look out the window at Bobby's front door. Nothing. Dean nearly laughed at himself for being so paranoid. It had been weeks since they trapped the imp and nothing more than the usual disappearance of one sock in the dryer had happened.

He cut off a nice hunk of pie and shoved it into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open and hoping Sam would walk in on him right now. This particular disgusting habit annoyed Sam more than anything, even dirty socks in the sink. As he headed back for the couch, he heard another noise from the kitchen. He paused in the kitchen doorway trying to convince himself that it was the wind or just something clanking out in the yard. Eventually his stupid job won out over his desire for some peace and quiet so Dean headed into the kitchen to check it out.

He looked out the door. That area of the salvage yard, complete with Bobby's grill, appeared perfectly normal. As he turned around he glanced at the kitchen window. It looked back at him.

Dean froze, fork halfway to his mouth with another large chunk of pie. He stared at those eyes of bottomless darkness. His brain went into neutral as he just stared. After what felt like years, Dean regained some of his senses and lowered his fork slowly to his plate. Now that he had a free hand, he reached into his back waistband. All he could find was the t-shirt he had tucked in.

"Of all the freaking times to be unarmed," he muttered, careful not to break eye contact with the beast filling Bobby's kitchen window. Dean cleared his throat. When the creature did not react, he tried calling out softly, "Sam." It did not move. Emboldened, Dean tried it again a little louder, "Sam!"

"Oh, now what?" Sam's voice came from the other room. "You want your pillows fluffed, too?"

"Sam!" he hissed, doing his best not to blink.

"Dean?" Sam's big feet gave off clunks as he stomped around the house in his size 32s, or whatever the hell his brother wore. "Where are you?"

Dean motioned through the doorway with his free hand, still hissing, "Sam! Get over here!"

"Dean, why didn't you just call me to…" When Sam's voice broke off, Dean knew his brother saw the gremlin at the window. "Oh, well, that's just great."

"Gun, Sam," Dean prodded.

"You really think it's going to wait for me to go get a gun?" Sam whispered.

Dean forgot about not breaking eye contact as he rolled his eyes. "You're not armed!" he accused. When he remembered and focused on the window again, the nasty face was gone.

"Actually, no, Dean. I'm not armed." Sam strode past to look outside the door. Dean was ready to go haul his brother back before Sam got any smart ideas about going outside by himself, but Sam pulled the door closed. "And obviously neither are you, or you wouldn't have been calling for me."

Dean ground his teeth. This needling of Sam's over the past couple of weeks had really worn thin. "That's because you and Bobby won't let me near any of the weapons." Dean slammed his plate still carrying the last few bites of pie on Bobby's table. It hit the surface with a satisfying clank. "Like I'm useless when I'm hurt!" Dean prodded one finger in Sam's chest. Sam took a step back, so Dean stepped right up into him until Sam was pinned against the wall. "Who has always been there to back you up? Damn it, Sam! I've had broken ribs on hunts, pulled and torn muscles, even a concussion! Have I ever, ever, let you down?" Dean demanded, the words somehow finding their way through his sudden fury.

Sam shook his head, hair pressed against the wall and his eyes pretty damn wide.

"Then why the hell are you assuming I'll let you down now?" he growled softly. When Sam's brows drew together and his forehead creased right in the center, Dean realized that his brother honestly did not get it.

He stepped back, defeated. "Forget it." Dean left the room to grab one of the shotguns Bobby kept out for emergencies. He checked that it was loaded with the iron shot before heading for the door.

"Wait! Dean!" Sam called out as the door swung closed behind him. Dean ignored it, eyes searching in the waning sunlight for something dark, furry, and just plain mean.

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Sam's jaw dropped as his brother turned away, mumbling "Forget it." Dazed, he watched Dean move into the other room to grab one of Bobby's emergency weapons and head for the door. Dean was outside before Sam's brain chose to engage.

"Wait!" Sam held a hand out, a futile gesture to stop Dean since his brother was not looking his way. "Dean!" Through the slamming screen door Sam could see his brother evaluating the house and the lengthening shadows. He raced to grab the other shotgun before following; he would be useless out there unarmed.

Sam ran to his brother's side, senses on full alert for the gremlin. Well, so much for Dean's 'it should disappear when the imp is gone' theory. He wanted to be annoyed that he bought into it in the first place, but it had made sense. It was even logical, though Sam had admitted that only grudgingly. Wasn't it his role to be the smart one, the one who did all the research? Okay, Dean was pretty good on interviews. Not great, mind you. His brother did tend to get carried away sometimes. "No, I mean, really weird?" There were times it was all Sam could do to rein him in. How the hell did Dean survive out there hunting on his own?

As they checked the shadows closest to the house, Sam decided that Dad must have been doing all of Dean's research and just sent his brother in for the kills, the part his brother really liked. After all, Dean seemed pretty comfortable when Dad would send them cryptic messages for a new hunt, and there was usually research or something for them to find, where Dad had already figured it all out for them. No real challenge, which Sam hated.

He felt a pang of guilt at that. Dad was really good at this. Sam knew there were people who had looked at their Dad and just saw this rough guy in need of a good shave who could listen to your car and tell you exactly what it needed. But Dad was smart, just like Dean always said. Dad used to pour his heart and soul into the hunt, researching and tracking things like no one else could. In his own way he was brilliant, and it took him dying for Sam to finally recognize that fact. Now, how screwed up was that?

Okay, so assuming each of them was brilliant in his own way, what was Dean's genius? Flirting? Sam smirked at the thought. Dean got shot down more often than not, but his brother was persistent. That was the reason Dean could usually find 'companionship' when he wanted it. It was also the reason when Dean knew a gal was ready and willing Sam had so much trouble getting his brother to focus on anything else. Thrill of the hunt.

Sam's feet stopped as the realization washed over him. It was the hunt. His eyes flicked over to Dean, who prowled along the wall of the house, fully in hunting mode. Dean's face was set and stern, his eyes focused. The shotgun was carried firmly in an almost nonchalant manner, the easiness belying Dean's skill and confidence. Despite lying around in bed for over two full weeks now, his brother moved with a sureness and strength Sam had not seen in many people and that he always took for granted coming from his brother. He took it for granted. He took his brother for granted. He took his brother hunting for granted, too.

Sam shook it off, forcing his feet to move again, to cover Dean so nothing could hurt his brother. Again. Dean's ribs were still broken, there had not been enough time for a full recovery, and George said all the muscles on that side were bruised and strained but probably not torn. He moved through the shadows cast by a mound of stacked car bodies, the idea of Bobby's salvage yard being where cars went to die echoing in his mind. He would like to smile about that, but his face refused to cooperate.

Attempting to concentrate on the hunt, Sam mirrored his brother's actions until they circled the house. When they came back to the kitchen door, Dean signaled to him. Sam approached warily, expecting either the house siding to come crashing down or a stack of cars to hurtle in their direction.

"What do you think?" Sam asked while trying to cover the roof.

"That we should get back in the house while we can," Dean snapped, motioning to Sam with his shotgun. Sam responded with a short nod as he headed into the house. He covered the door from the inside as Dean backed in.

"Bobby!" Dean shouted, rushing through the house. "Bobby, where are you!"

"Coming!" They heard Bobby's heavy footsteps above them, then feet racing through the hall.

"You don't think…" Sam began, unwilling to really finish that question because he hoped so fervently that it was not true. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean wince, and it did not look like one of those pain-induced winces he saw so much of lately.

"Oh, I hope not," Dean said softly.

Loud thumps on the stairs foretold Bobby's arrival. When he appeared near the bottom of the stairs he was dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist and his baseball cap perched on his wet hair. In his hands he clutched yet another shotgun. Sam wondered how many Bobby had stashed through the house.

Bobby's eyes darted from side to side as his shotgun swept over the whole room. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"You shower with that thing?" Dean motioned to the ballcap on Bobby's head.

"Shut up," Bobby snapped. "What is it?"

"Gremlin's back," Dean said with a sigh. "I guess Sam was right, just getting rid of the imp wasn't enough."

Sam ducked his head, unsure if he wanted credit for being right this time or even if he deserved it. He certainly would have preferred never to see the gremlin again. "Well, I don't know about that, Dean."

"Excuse me," Bobby said, his voice cutting through the room, "unless there's something attacking my house, can I get dressed now?"

"Sure Bobby," Dean waved him off, "we'll keep watch for the gremlin down here."

"Great." Bobby thumped back upstairs.

Dean turned to Sam, grinning wide. "You'd think it would be cleaner if he wears it in the shower."

Sam shook his head, checking his shotgun again. Still loaded. He walked over to the nearest window to peer out. Everything outside still appeared calm. He hoped it was not the calm before the storm, but that was usually the way things happened in their lives.

"So, Sam," Dean spoke from the other side of the house, probably checking the windows over there, "what don't you know about?"

Dean was obviously referring to Sam's earlier statement about the fact Dean might not have been completely wrong. Sam chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering exactly how he should phrase this. "Well, we don't know that you weren't right. You know, mostly."

"Sam," Dean did not sound pissed off, but maybe a little annoyed, "I can admit when I've screwed up. You were right, the gremlin is obviously still after us."

"It isn't a contest, Dean," Sam moved on to another window to peer out at the now dark salvage yard. "Besides, after trapping the imp this is the first time we've seen the gremlin. And it didn't attack."

Dean snorted. "That we know of. It could be out there right now, setting up a something to fall on us, taking out Bobby's car, or even…" Dean gasped.

Sam spun around, imagining he felt the emotion in that gasp. Dean's face paled, his eyes widened, and his head swiveled to face the front door.

"Noooooo," he breathed, breaking into a run.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, racing after his brother. "At least wait for me!"
Sam darted through the open door right after his brother, grumbling, "I think he loves that car more than life itself."