Dean stretched, waking slowly, in pain and with great reluctance. He knew the feeling, he'd taken pain-killers and they'd worn off, leaving him lethargic, dry-mouthed and craving more. He rolled one way, then the other but the ability to sit up eluded him. He had two choices, remain on his back or turn to his right side. Neither satisfied him.

Maybe if he inched his way to the edge of the bed, he could swing his feet to the floor, kick out and use the momentum to sit up. He didn't know where he was going once he gained his feet but he hated being vulnerable and defenseless and denied what he wanted and what he wanted was to be on his feet.

Hadn't he been on a sofa? When had he moved to a bed? The room was dark, but he could hear someone breathing and though he sensed another person in the room, he didn't fear their presence. Good old goofy Garth had found his way baaa…..no, not Garth…..who…oh, right…. Sam. Uh-oh.

Well…..he doubted Sam would be physically up to kicking his ass right away. He hadn't been feeling good when Dean had left him at home nearly a week ago. He'd driven to Lemay, for whatever reason, and that had to have taken a lot out of him. Add to that, the collapse at the ER, the search for Dean, spending time in Garth's company and Dean was pretty sure his carcass was safe from a beating for a good while.

Fairly sure.

Sam didn't raise a hand to him often but when he did, it was a fist and the fist-fight that ensued left them both bloody and bruised with no clear victor. Usually, they collapsed from exhaustion, called a truce and went out for a beer. No beer in his immediate future though. Not with Sam in charge and in charge he would be.

"Can you manage a bath?"

Dean blinked; the voice came softly from somewhere in the dark. How the hell had Sam known he was awake when Dean, who was already awake, hadn't noticed Sam was awake? How long had he slept and had Sam slept at all? Ow, trying to think that out made his head hurt.

"Hot water will help." Sam continued. "With the aching and the stiffness….bath is….what?" he paused at the derisive snort from across the room. "Dean, don't be an ass. You….."

"Sam, I can't get out of bed." Dean scoffed. "I can't even sit up…ain't no way I'm gonna get in or out of a bathtub." he grimaced, trying again to get up. A bath, right. Now a shower? That might be manageable.

Sam ignored the breathless gasps between words. "Yeah, well, you know what? Next time you think it's a great idea to go hunting with Garth…." the name was spoken with such disdain that Dean bit back a weak smirk, "…..remember how you feel."

"Way to care there Sammy." Dean remarked dryly, voice stronger.

Sam sat in one of the arm chairs, enjoying the warmth of a fire, facing Dean but the light from the fire didn't extend to the bed, leaving the corner cast in shadows. After a series of grunts and groans, an ow and ouch or two and several curses, Sam lit a lantern. The cabin lacked electricity, the toilet flushed by stepping on a pedal that opened a valve and pouring water into the bowl, and a hand well pump was mounted next to the sink.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam yawned, stretching. He felt remarkably better and he knew, though he would never admit it aloud, that it was because he had Dean with him.

"Trying to get up."

Sam rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes by burrowing his face into his shoulder, then got up to go stand next to the bed. He stood, hands on hips and simply surveyed the scene in front of him.

Dean had wiggled sideways on the bed, feet off the bed but not touching the floor. He rolled, he twisted, he kicked his feet, and he flung his right arm out, high and wide but other than his head, was unable to rise from the mattress.

"Huh." Sam yawned again. He set the lantern on a table near the bed and with considerable more gentleness than when he'd dragged him from the car, grabbed his brother's right arm and helped him sit up. "How bad?" he asked quietly. "I mean, concrete stairs? Really Dean?"

"I'm good." Dean lied smoothly. Knowing he wasn't believed didn't stop his glib tongue from spitting out the lie. "Just a bruise."

"Yuh-huh." Sam snorted over the blatant attempt to blow him off. "Can you get outta your coat?"

"I got it on, I can get it off." Dean huffed, paling at the thought. It'd been hard enough getting dressed with the help of a gentle nurse and dosed on pain killers.

"Sure." Sam squatted down and patted his knee. "Put your foot up. I….can't lower my head that far."

Dean said nothing and raised his foot to rest on Sam's knee so his brother could untie his boots, first one, and then the other. "What's wrong with your head?"

"I'm good." Sam picked at a knot. "Just…I, aah…..nose bleeds if I put my head down is all."

"That's all?" stress more than likely.

"What do you want from me Dean?"

"Okay, first, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Taking care of….." he paused at the look to cross his brother's face. "Um, helping with…..you left with Garth, Dean!" he threw his hands up. "I mean, come on! Look at you! You've been beaten six ways to Sunday and he left you!"

"In Lemay, Sam. Why are you here?" free from his boot, he wiggled his toes on his right foot then attempted to do the same with his left toes but no cheery waggle greeted him. "Huh." he blinked at the unwanted feeling the attempt had caused. "Ow."

"Oh." Sam shrugged. "There was an alumni banquet…..Stanford in St. Louis…..and we left Lemay."

"And you just had to attend." Dean snorted. Ugly warmth burst forth from his belly and turned sour in his throat. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, attempting to contain the urge to vomit. "Didn't you?"

"Yeah, well…" he stood up and walked across the room to the sink. The words 'you were here' were thought but would never be spoken aloud. "I neither like nor trust Garth." he stepped into the bathroom. "Never should have let you go with him."

"He's harmless."

"He's useless." Sam corrected, filling a cup from the sink. "Flight of concrete stairs, Dean." he rooted around in a duffel sitting on the floor near the sofa. "Any idea what they gave you at the ER?"

"Doesn't matter, it's worn off."

"Was a shot though, right?"

"Aah, yeah." he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his right hand. "Gave me a prescription…or two maybe….some samples….grabbed whatever was within reach….just wanna sleep."

Sam handed him the cup of water and sat down on the bed, side-by-side with Dean. That Dean didn't shrug away or shove at him was a giant waving flag broadcasting how he felt. "Before I give you anything else, tell me what happened. Garth was babbling about some talisman that you touched or touched you. Hell I dunno, but make it make sense."

"Aah…now?" he sipped the water, willing his stomach to accept the offering. "Can't we do this…." he recalled it'd been dark out. "I dunno, in the morning, maybe?"

"No." Sam said firmly. "You can fill me in while you soak in the tub."

"I'm not…." he winced. "…..taking a bath!"

"Yeah, you are." Sam shook a less-than-half-full, smushed box of Epsom salts. "I'll add these and you….."

"Sam….." Dean sighed, not up to either an argument or a bath. "Let it go, please?"

"Flight of concrete stairs Dean." he reminded him like Dean could have forgotten.

"Wow, you sure are hung up on that, aren't you?" Dean moved to set the cup next to the lantern but his body protested the movement and Sam removed it from his grip before he could either knock the lantern over or spill the water. "Ow." he winced, doubling forward, left arm cradled against his body.

"Dean….come on….you know you'll feel better after a hot bath. You always do." Sam coaxed as he got up and walked across the room.

"But I don't….." he gave up, it was useless to protest.

"…..and you're not soaking in your clothes, so take 'em off." Sam's muffled voiced floated out of the bathroom. "Everything…."

Dean blinked, when had Sam returned to the bathroom and Christ, would he stop moving around? One room cabin and Dean couldn't keep track of him….and what did he want now? Dean looked at his feet, white socks mocked him, knowing his inability to remove them would require allowing Sam to do it for him. Aaw, shit.

"….ice for your shoulder if we had any…..think we still have a heating pad…" Sam was rattling on, Dean half listening. "…..always did like heat…..course, not much good without electric…..can heat towels I guess….there's some here in the cupboard….dunno…." water splashed. "….most people take to ice, but not you….." he came out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. His calm demeanor fled upon seeing Dean sitting where and exactly how he'd left him. "Damn you Dean, I'm not kidding…you're getting in that tub if I have to carry you in and drop you."

"Sam…"

"Christ, why do you always have to give me a hard time? I mean, come on! Just once, can't you cooperate? All I asked you to do was get undressed…..but no. You sit there all defiant just to piss me off! Why can't you …."

"Because I can't!" Dean yelled. "Alright? You happy? I can't even lift my foot to take my damn sock off Sam!" he lowered his head with a wince. "You want me outta my clothes, you're gonna hafta help me."

Sam tossed the towel over one shoulder. "Well, that's just great." his hands went to his hips and he frowned down at his brother, resembling a disapproving wife scolding her, just-came-in-drunk-yet-again-husband. "Wow…Dean, wow...just wow, yeah, way to go. Garth nearly put you in traction resetting your shoulder…..great partner you got there…."

"Keep bitching." Dean threatened. "And I'll go find him and relieve you of your burden that is me."

"Like hell." Sam seethed. Didn't Dean know Garth was banished in the other room?

"Just…help me, will ya?"

Sam folded like a cheap suit. His expression went all soft and his eyes moist as he knelt on the floor in front of his brother and rested a hand on his good shoulder.

"Socks first." Sam said quietly. "Then your jacket, okay? You…" he pawed at Dean's open coat and pushed one side back from his belly. "No t-shirt?"

"Nurse tried." he attempted to wiggle his left toes again, failed. "Couldn't lift my arm over my head."

"Okay, makes it easier now, then…."

Dean hadn't taken a good look at himself since his tumble but he knew he was bruised and swollen and discolored from head to toe. He prayed it wasn't as bad as it felt because if it were, Sam would have an epic freak-out.

"Lift your foot." Sam ordered. "Don't make me bend over that far….Dean, hey!" he let Sam hold his right foot by the ankle and tug the sock off. Easy-peasy, no swelling, no discoloration, not even a red mark. Sam picked up his left foot and despite his resolve not to react, he stiffened. Sam matched his reaction, pausing and casting a suspicious glance up.

Dean bit his lip and gave a slight nod. So his toes didn't want to wiggle, so what? Not like it was a big deal. Right? His first clue something wasn't right, was Sam's curse in a foreign language Dean didn't recognize yet knew was a curse. Uh-oh.

"You got something to say about this Dean?" Sam still held his foot and he pushed Dean's leg up so he could see his own foot, faltering at the hiss of pain and resistance of movement when his knee refused to flex.

"Oh." Dean responded stupidly. "Aah." words failed him. "Huh." his toes, oh his poor swollen toes. Neither red nor purple, nor black or blue nor green or yellow, but a myriad of colors. Now free of the tight lacing of his boot, the top of his foot was swollen, the puffy skin reaching for the heights of his shin. Well, that couldn't be good.

Sam gently rested Dean's foot on the floor and stood up. "Stand up."

Dean didn't dare argue with that tone. He knew if he did, he'd be bodily pinned to the bed and his clothes removed by knife. And he wasn't in any condition to offer a lick of resistance. He pushed up from the mattress with his right hand. With his left still molded to his side, he was off-balance and accepted Sam's steadying hand.

"Jeans." Sam said softly, waiting for the cocky quip and suggestive waggle of eyebrow but neither was forthcoming. He crossed his arms and waited, watching as Dean fumbled with the button, then the zipper on his jeans, trying not to let his brother's lack of teasing and coordination upset him. "Okay, ok…..let's get your coat off then." he caved in after a minute of Dean fumbling about, trying and failing to unfasten his jeans.

The coat and button down shirt were easy to get off. They slid from Dean's right arm without issue and Sam was able to pull them across his back and down his left arm. Sam said nothing about the bruising, the forming bruises and the bruises yet to come. Nor did he comment on the swelling or the angry red road rash and scrapes on his left shoulder, elbow, forearm and back. He wanted to, oh lord, did he want to but he remained silent, eyes absorbing every injury, every bruise, mark, cut and scrape he saw. And he counted and for every one he counted, Garth was going to receive a smack.

Dean reached again for his fly, Sam waited, allowing him another chance but when he succeeded with the zipper and failed with the button, Sam reached to do it for him.

"Can you get them off?" Sam asked quietly. "Dean…I…how can you…..? That has to hurt." bruises and swelling from his arm pit to his waist and when he stepped out of his jeans, from his hip to his pelvis and that was what Sam could see. He was sure the side of Dean's left thigh was bruised and swollen from waist to knee as well. "Dammit Dean….forget the bath…..we're going back to the ER." he forgot about the weather, couldn't believe the hospital had let Dean walk out. "We'll find one near here and….."

"I'm ok Sam."

"You can't get up, you can't bend over, you can't move….." there was no way he was even near the realm of 'ok'.

"I've seen a doctor, nothing broken, nothing pulled or torn or strained or separated…..I've got pain meds…..I just might need a hand for the next day or two, so if you could….I dunno, stick around?"

"A hand? A hand?!" Sam squawked, arms flapping in agitation. "Stick around? You think I'm gonna let you out of my sight?! Christ Dean, you're..you…..you're vulnerable and…and…..helpless!"

"Oh now, come on! That's carrying things just a bit too far, don't you think?" he shuffled off to the bathroom, left arm against his side, right hand holding to the bed, the table, the wall, the door frame. "Gimme….just gimme a minute before you come barging in, alright?"

"Fine." he busied himself digging through another duffel that contained odds and ends and various assortments of first aid supplies. "You good?" his phone was fully charged and determined to find out what Dean had taken earlier, he searched for the wrapper Dean had discarded after taking the pain meds in the car.

"Yeah." Dean stared at the tub; the cast iron-stood-on-feet-tub. There was no shower head or spigot yet it was full of water so hot he could see steam wafting up. Sam had to have heated the water over the fireplace and carried the buckets into the bathroom where he'd dumped them into the tub. Judging by the size of the two buckets sitting on the floor, it would have taken him several trips and hours to heat the water he'd pumped by hand from the sink.

JESUS! Sam really wanted him to take a bath.

Sam neared the door but didn't make an appearance. "Dean? You good? Can you get in?"

Shedding the last of his clothes, he tested the water with his hand; hot but not so hot it would burn. "Yeah…..just….I..." he teetered. No way was he stepping into that tub. Nuh-huh, not happening. So, he swallowed his pride and sat down on the edge of the tub and swung one leg at a time over the side and eased in as carefully as he could.

Sam's shaggy head popped around the door frame at the loud plop and resounding splash of water. "You ok? You fall?"

"I'm….in." he sank into the depths of the water. "Might need help getting out."

"Not a problem, macho man." Sam retreated to the table and took a seat. It was closer to the bathroom then the sofa but he missed the warmth of the fireplace. "How you feeling?"

"How….how you gonna get all this water out?" Dean ignored the question.

"There's a drain, probably empties into a cesspool under the cabin."

"How long we staying?"

"Until you can ride in the car." Sam replied. Translation: 'I wanted to go back to the bunker but your pansy ass couldn't handle riding in the car so don't push me'.

"Where are we?"

"Dunno." Sam replied. "Should be a day or two….Dean…..these samples you took…..did you take them from the nurse or did you steal them?"

"Aah, some she gave me….the white packets, I think. I helped myself to the other ones." while the warmth from the hot water felt good, it wasn't easing any aches or pain or discomfort.

"Where are they?"

"Coat pocket."

White packet was Vicodin….oh yeah, they'd help him. The blue packets, of which there were nearly two dozen, and the ones Dean had taken earlier were….what the hell was Ketorolac? His thumb rapidly went to work.

***000***

While Sam was researching and reading up on medications, Garth was in the other room, laptop booted up to his mobile hotspot and completing his research on the talisman. He'd narrowed it down to two and would need Dean to identify the one which the spirit had wielded at him.

Sam was not going to take this well. Not at all. Nope.

Well, nothing to do but venture forth and face…no wait, say a prayer first. Garth gave it some thought, then got down on his knees, placed his elbows on the mattress and clasped his palms together. If he was going to pray, he was going to do it properly.

"Hey Sam." Garth stood out of reach. "Dean around…oh…..you….aah…here." Garth retreated into his room and returned with a soft cloth. "You're…um….." he motioned to his own nose and tapped his lip. "Bleeding…a bit there."

Sam knuckled his nose. Great, another nose bleed. He tilted his head forward and pinched his nose, blindly accepting the cloth from Garth.

"You get nose bleeds a lot?" Garth set the laptop on the table and went over to the sink, took a moment to figure out how to operate the pump then soaked a towel in cold water. "Here….no ice, but….."

"Thanks." Sam took it with a hand that shook slightly. "I'm good." he needed to stave off the impending headache until Dean was out of the tub and tucked in all comfy/cozy on the sofa.

"So, often huh?" Garth commented. "Low iron? Too much aspirin?"

"Life with Dean." Sam corrected, voice muffled from the towel.

"He punch you one too many times?" Garth joked but it fell flat when Sam didn't respond to the teasing.

"The thought of losing him….." Sam coughed. "…is killing me…."

Garth didn't know how to respond to that so he said nothing, and with a pat on Sam's knee, got up and moved away to give him privacy while he collected himself. With the life a hunter led, there were no guarantees a loved one would be there the next time you opened your eyes.

"So, Sam…you got a moment?"

"Not now Garth."

"Sorry…..I won't take long. Just let me fill you in on the hunt we were on. The spirit had a talisman…."

"Again with the necklace?" Sam wiped his face with the wet towel. "This better be good Garth." he pulled a bottle of migraine aspirin from the duffel. Caffeine truly was great for the headaches he'd been getting. "And make it fast."

"Yeah…see….." Garth talked so rapidly to fill him quickly that Sam had a hard time following; something about a spirit with a talisman somehow touching Dean. Symptoms and cure needed were the only words Sam had to hear to forget about his headache and give Garth's ramblings serious attention.

"This? This is it?" Sam swallowed the aspirin and turned the laptop around. "These? Seriously? Dude, come on, these are wards against evil." ironic that a spirit on a killing spree would protect itself against anything it felt was evil. "These are…..more of a nuisance than dangerous." he scanned the articles accompanying the photos. "Well, depending how it was used. Do you know which one?"

"No but Dean said he could recognize it. I've narrowed it done to those two." Garth pointed to one. "I think it was that one."

Sam started clicking and clacking on the keyboard. He moved through various websites so quickly, Garth lost count of how many he accessed. "So, no curse, no spell, not a hex…not voodoo…just charmed with magical powers. Great." he clicked on the second page. "Not likely to cause harm." he read further. "Okay Garth, it's not going to hurt him."

"Good, good….wow. Whew!" Garth rubbed his hands together gleefully, completely missing 'the glare of doom'. "Dean wasn't kidding when he said you were good at research. Man, you excel at it. The way you moved through those sites. Awesome, you're awesome." he held his hand up. "High-five!" he waited, his fingers waggled. "Dude, you're leaving me hanging here."

"It's going to kill him." Sam slapped the lid closed on the computer. "IF I get him through this and I live to see it done, I will stick you so full of needles not even the Chinese will call it acupuncture."

"Aah…." Garth backed away uncertainly. "Ha, ha?" he tested Sam's seriousness. Sam's expression turned black and he got up from his chair. "Um…..Sam…now big guy…we gotta work together here."

"Get out of my sight."

"Now Sam, come on…. I can help, let me help." Garth paced backwards as Sam stalked him. "See, I..you…we..together, we….whoa there, you're supposed to be Gentle Ben bear, not Grizzly bear….and…." with a squawk, Garth fled to his room and firmly closed the door.

Sam paced around the small cabin, mind whirling so fast his head threatened to split open and evict it. He finally calmed down enough he could think reasonably and picked up the laptop and entered the bathroom. Good thing the hotspot had a strong signal.

"Hey." he ignored Dean's growl of protest and threat of future retribution and took a seat on the toilet, laptop balanced on his knees. "So, you tangled with a spirit who had in its possession, a magical talisman?"

"Mmmm…..I hear Garth?"

"Simple salt and burn Sammy." he mimicked mockingly. "One and done. Easy-peasy. Done it a million times. Can do it with my eyes closed."

"You…..didn't hurt him, did you?" Dean asked wearily, ignoring the taunts.

"I have yet to deal him pain."

"What'd he do?"

"Do you recognize either of these photos?"

"Why?" water sloshed as he moved in the tub. "Amulets? Oh…..talisman….shit, he still going on about that?"

"Apparently, he has a damn good reason to." Sam snapped. "Do you see the one your friendly neighborhood ghost had?"

"Yeah, lower left corner."

The one Garth had pointed out and the one Sam had thoroughly researched. He closed the laptop and stood up. "You ready to get out?"

"No." he groaned. "But…..yeah…water's cold….."

"Pull the drain and dry off in the tub." Sam ordered. "I'll bring you some clothes. Once you're dressed, I'll help you out."

"Just underwear….no shirt."

Sam nodded and left the room. He took a seat on the chair at the table and supported his head in his hands, legs too shaky to transport him any further.

Twenty-four hours and symptoms from the talisman charm began to present.

Bruising – check, stiff and sore muscles – check, swollen joints – check, body aches and pains – check, a fever – he'd have to decide the best way to approach Dean and find out if he were running a fever.

How would anyone who'd been tossed down a flight of steps know the difference between injury from accident and symptoms of a magical charm?

They wouldn't.

Most people didn't have Dean's uncanny ability to avoid serious injury and heal quickly. Most people wouldn't know about magical charms. Some would succumb to broken bones or internal injury; most probably died as a result of the charmed talisman never knowing medical care wasn't going to help them.

As Dean would – if not for Garth.

Dean would have gone on the hunt with or without Garth. Sam couldn't blame that on Garth or hold against him Dean's inability to sit idle. Garth had…well, he'd had Dean's back…in a roundabout way. He'd observed the spirit with the talisman and hadn't given up on his quest to see the hunt to the end. And Sam, tucked-up safe at home, never would have known about….Dean would have…..no doctor could have…..and oh fuck-it.

Maybe Sam wouldn't kill him.

"Dean?" well, least there was a cure. Sam got up and tossed some clothes through the door. "You ready?" he peeked around the door several minutes later. "Dammit Dean….I told you…."

"I heard you."

"Then why the hell are you still in the tub?" Sam fumed. "Really? I mean, really Dean? DO I ASK that much of you? I'm beat….my head is killing me and I want to go to bed."

"I ain't stopping you."

"Why didn't you get out of the tub like I asked you to?"

"You didn't ask….." Dean protested with a pout. "You ordered me…..and I didn't, 'cause I can't. Tried, but tub's slip..per..ry and I can't push up. There's nothing…" the water had drained from the tub and a towel, launched from the doorway landed in his lap. "Oh….ok."

Awkwardly clutching the towel around his waist, he allowed Sam to help him rise to his feet and step out of the tub. It was either accept help or sleep in the tub because there was no way he was making it out on his own. "Jesus."

"You good?" Sam asked, picking the clothes up and setting them on the sink. "You need water? Brush your teeth or…no? Okay….get dressed….aah….you need help?"

"Get out."

"Yell if you….ok, ok, I'm going…don't blow up at me. When you come out, sofa's yours."

It took him over fifteen minutes and he had to take a seat on the toilet but he finally got the boxer briefs on and then he couldn't get up. So much for Sam's cure-all wonder for sore muscles and stiff joints. Ha!

"Sam?" he finally gave in and called for help.