EPILOGUE

Dean woke up to a searing hot pain in his leg. His eyes flew open with a silent cry. Immediately he felt a steadying hand on his chest.

"Lay still, Dean. I almost got it. You'll be okay."

Realizing he was back in their motel room, Dean took as deep a breath as he could and then lifted his head to inspect Sam's handiwork. His brother was using a knife to dig out the bullet that had been stuck in his thigh for the last 24 hours.

"You got... another career waiting... as a butcher, Sammy," Dean panted.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Almost had it. Can you hold still one last time? Promise I'll get it out."

Dean closed his eyes and nodded as sweat was starting to roll down his face and neck. His hands fisted in the sheets underneath him and when Sam offered him a rolled up cloth to bite on, Dean gratefully opened his mouth.

"Okay, hold still, Dean."

Sam picked up his knife again, washing off the blood with a trickle of antiseptic they'd had in the car. Then he gently placed his hand on Dean's thigh, above the wound, and carefully slid the knife in.

When the tip hit the metal of the bullet, he felt his brother tense. Swiftly, he slipped the knife around and behind and with a determined push, the deformed bullet rose up until Sam could grab it with his fingers. He pulled out the knife and pressed a folded up towel on the wound as Dean spat out the cloth and grunted through the reverberating pain.

"That's it, Dean, I got it." Sam doused the towel in more antiseptic and washed the wound. Then he offered his brother painkillers and a glass of water. Dean quickly downed the pills and relaxed back. Soon Sam had stitched and wrapped up his leg.

"Booked us another night, Dean. Try and lay still as much as possible and tomorrow we'll head back to the bunker. I'll drive."

"The hell you will," Dean growled.

"That, or we stay," Sam said firmly. Dean glared at him.

"Your leg is a mess, Dean."

"It's my left leg, asshat. I don't need it to drive," Dean countered.

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn't win this. "Right. We take turns. Or we stay."

Dean glared at him, but Sam didn't shrink back.

"Fine," he then agreed. "But I go first."

"Deal," Sam smiled. "Now sleep off all the booze and pills I had to get into you. Or the deal is off."

Dean sighed and settled down in the sheets. As Sam got up to get rid of all the bloodied pieces of fabric he heard his brother mumble just loud enough for him to hear.

"Bitch."

Sam smiled. "Jerk."