So long summer! You went by so quick and what a weird weather-wise season we've had here in Maryland. Last week I was sweating, running around in flip-flops and shorts, refusing to turn the A/C on 'cause it was September and now here, on this nice sunny day I sit in fleece pants, cozy sweat-shirt and bunnies. Aah, well, Autumn is my favorite season. Come on down, McIntosh Apples and Concord Grapes and Candy Corn and Mum's and Apple Cider and Corn Mazes and Haunted Houses and Hay Rides and Renaissance Fairs and Sunday drives through PA to see the fall leaves.

Here's looking forward to a great Season 9 and hey, I heard there's going to be a convention in DC in May. Is it weird I want to go to see Ty Olsson?

Sam didn't know how long he'd slept. He'd long ago set his watch aside somewhere, either during freeing the car or one of the lake baths or perhaps in the bathroom when he'd taken that wonderfully hot bath. Didn't matter, time was standing still, would remain so until he knew, was convinced, Dean was going to be ok and not succumb to some fucked-up curse.

He must have slept at least an hour, for his neck was stiff. The chair was not made for a 6'4ish man to sleep comfortably in. The bed was…but the chair was here, next to the sofa, where he needed, wanted to be, and the bed was waaayyy over there, across the room, behind the sofa, where he couldn't simply open his eyes and see his brother and watch him take his next breath. Funny, when they'd arrived at the cabin he'd bemoaned the fact it was basically a one-room shack and now he was bemoaning the fact the bed was waaaayyy over there! You know, clear across the oh-so-very-big-room. He snorted….

Right….Sam. Pull it together. He pushed out of the chair, stretched, did a squat or two, cracked his knuckles, his neck, his knees, his back…lordy Jesus, it was going to take weeks of convalescing at the bunker for his body to forgive him for the abuse he'd subjected it to these past…however many days. Dean stirred, the slight movement intruding on Sam's self-pity and ending his clumsy attempt at calisthenics. A quick look at his fingers and chest confirmed no evidence of blood - good, that was good for it meant his nose hadn't bled while he'd slept, ear to shoulder, and he reached to lay a hand on his brother's shoulder, hoping the touch would be enough to settle him down.

It was.

Garth was nowhere to be found and other than a brief thought that perhaps he'd had enough and left, Sam spared him no further consideration. It would be a long time – if ever – before Sam forgave the Bobby-wanna-be for being responsible for the condition Dean was in. Happy thoughts Sam, he coached himself with a clenched jaw, happy thoughts.

It wasn't the curse that had Sam willing to leave Garth in the middle of the lake treading water and, he'd just bet the annoying little gnat would dog-paddle back to the shore closest to the cabin too. No, it was the fact Dean was in so much pain, he willingly asked for pain meds. Opiates. God, Sam hated his brother taking anything stronger than ibuprofen…speaking of….. his neck would benefit from some right now.

"You put me through a lot of shit, you know that?" Sam picked a blanket up from the floor. Dean clutched the fleece he'd been dragging around since leaving the car in his fists. Sam gave an experimental tug….nope, not getting that outta that grip. "Things I do for you…..things you don't even know about…..I'm telling you dude, you….I'm….wanna know a secret? And I've got a few…see this?" good God, how could one couch-bound man make such a mess out of blankets, pillows, towels, and discarded heat and ice packs? "Great head of hair, huh? Did you know it has grey all through it? Yeah, I, uh…." his voice dropped to a whisper. "Dye it. I've tried 'Just For Men' but one of your…aah….well, pick-ups in a bar that was around for breakfast….we were somewhere in…Oklahoma….anyway….said 'Wash that Grey right outta your hair' for women would work better. And hey, it does."

He shook the blanket out and after checking the swelling on Dean's foot and knee, tossed it over him. He fluffed a pillow and stuffed it between Dean's neck and the arm of the sofa. Dean grumbled but didn't awaken and Sam wandered over to retrieve a bottle of water from the cooler. He was surprised to find he was hungry and scrounged around for something to eat. Donuts, sure, why not? Bottle of ibuprofen in hand, he hit the bathroom, then resumed his chair.

"I need you to be ok Dean." he laid his head back. "You gotta be ok." he popped four ibuprofen and set the bottle on the coffee table. "I don't care how much you hurt, you'll get over it…..you always do….just get past this curse and be ok."

***000***

'Pssst. Hey, you there, big guy. Need to pee.' hissed the bladder.

'Oh yeah, you whiny little piss-ass? See me? How'd ya think I'm gonna walk him to the toilet?' countered the knee.

'You?' scoffed the foot. 'All you gotta do is flex, what about me? I gotta support his weight and lemme tell ya, all those burgers for lunch? Yeah, he ain't no light-weight.'

'Say what? You're a foot! There are two of you!' whined stomach. 'I'm the one who's gotta process all those greasy meaty meals.'

'Yeah, like you're all alone. Man, you're a whiner. You think it's a piece of cake, all that alcohol he swills daily?' growled liver.

'Hello! Remember me? Gotta pee!' howled bladder.

'OhMyGod! OhMyGod! OhMyGod! We are in so much trouble!" babbled the nerves. "Ohhh, OMG!"

'All of you, shut up. And stop that abbreviated text-talk. It drives me nuts. And it doesn't matter what any of you want, without me, none of you are going anywhere.' informed brain.

'Brains, hate 'em. Think they know it all…waa-waa. Forgets it needs us to carry out its demands.' imparted the elected speaker from the collective group of muscles. 'Ha, try it.'

'OhDear, OhDear, OhDear! The trouble we are in!' worried the nerves. "We are in trouble!"

'Argue all you like, you don't all join together and get him off this sofa, Sam's gonna be super pissed.' warned spine.

'I gotta peeeeeee….' wailed bladder.

'Hey, I think you're all forgetting about me.' growled the bowel. "I got some say in this too, you know. And I say, feet, knees join together and get his lazy ass moving.'

'You're full of shit.' chirped left buttock. 'Who you calling lazy? Have you seen me? Hell-lo, I'm supposed to be rosy and all aglow, the same size and shape on both sides.' a haughty sniff. 'Not black and blue and…and….distorted.'

'ACCKK!' quivered the nerves.

'Least you can move, I can't move, why can't I move?' left shoulder groused. 'You there, muscle, help me move! Ain't that your job?'

'You can't move because you think it's funny to pop yourself out of place.' elbow said in disdain. 'It's not. I have tennis elbow and I can assure you, I've never played a game of tennis in his life.'

'Very few people with tennis elbow get it from playing tennis.' common sense spoke up.

'Who the hell are you?' barked left wrist.

'Shut up, all of you!' moaned left ear. 'You're giving me an ache.'

'That right there is why you should believe spine.' advised mind. "Don't want to have to deal with Sam throwing a hissy-fit over having to clean up….."

'You shut up, you brain you.' interrupted a chorus of…..well, a chorus.

'I am mind, not brain. Let this be a lesson to you all…..'

'OhNo, OhNo, OhNo!' went the nerves. "Trouble, trouble, double-trouble!"

***000***

Dean woke with a shout, cacophony of voices chasing him into consciousness. He struggled to subdue them and force the lingering cartoonish images with teeth and fangs and mouths and tongues of the weird dream out of his mind. OH GOD! He swallowed hard, allowing his body to sink back into the depths of the sofa as he slowed his breathing and focused his attention. Oh, Thank God! Ha mind, lesson not learned! He still had time to get up and get to the bathroom. He frowned, now there was a disturbing thought.

Right, his stomach wasn't feeling so good – naughty milkshake – and he did have to pee. Unease and discomfort the driving needs, he tried to sit up but once again, the sofa laughed gleefully and kept him captive. He knew two things: 1, Sam had somehow conspired with the sofa to keep him captive for no amount of wiggling, squirming, rolling or shifting, grunting, gasping or groaning gained him his freedom, and 2; he was going to burn the fucking thing before he left the cabin.

"Shit." he wiped the sweat from his face with the crook of his elbow. Really, it shouldn't be so hard to simply, sit up! "Sam?" he grunted. "SAM!" he tossed a pillow that landed in Sam's lap. "Samantha!"

Garth lingered in his room. He'd known when Dean had woken up, heard the sounds of his struggle to sit up and knew he'd failed when he heard him call for Sam. Yeah, Sam, always Sam. Garth was right there, willing to help, but no….always Sam. At first, he didn't venture from his room. He didn't think nearly enough time had passed for Sam to have gotten enough sleep to get over being irritated with him – again. But when he didn't hear the murmur of voices, he got up, squared his shoulders and set forth.

The cabin was quiet, lit by the fire that Sam must have tended not too long ago yet he slept, undisturbed by Dean, in the arm-chair between the sofa and the fire-place. Garth tip-toed past him and approached the sofa. "Dean?" he hung over the back of the sofa. "Hey….how you feeling?"

"Aah….." he ran a hand over his face, slowing gaining control. "Oh." he lifted his head and looked around. Like shit, he felt like crap, stiff and sore and achy and bruised and, oh yeah, right, swollen. And he was hot, his skin tight and stretched too taut and his stomach was waging war and winning and if someone didn't help him get off this god-damn, mother-fucking sofa….

"You want some tea?"

Magic words. Gone was the pain and discomfort. Gone was the desire to gain access and privacy of the bathroom as quickly as possible. Gone was the need to want Sam instead of Garth. Gone was the urge to beg for more pain meds. Gone were the lingering scary-ass vestiges of the dream – he prayed it'd been a dream – and any residual effects of the medication. All replaced with an overwhelming urge to rise up and strike down the threat of impending torture – the deliverance of tea.

"You even boil water for that vile brew and I swear on Bobby's grave, I will drown you in it." Dean muttered ominously. "Help me up."

"Not nearly water enough in a tea-pot to….." Garth gulped, convinced by the look directed his way Dean would somehow find a way to do so. "Okay, but see….Sam said…"

"Are you fond of your teeth?"

Garth blinked, looking down at Dean in child-like confusion. "What? I have very nice teeth. I take quite good care of them." Garth informed him, missing the look of doom. "I use this toothpaste that, not the cheapest, mind you but affordable all the same….and I bought this electric toothbrush….Philips Sonicare….rather expensive but research and consumer reports all list…..not that, mind you, the most expensive is always the best, but the reports say….."

"Garth?"

"Yeah buddy?"

"If you ain't gonna help me up, then Go. Away." with a one-handed death grip on the back of the sofa, Dean managed to pull himself upright. Huh, lookit that, stomach and butt muscles cooperated! Woo-hoo…now was his knee and foot going to play nice as well? "Get out. Get lost." both feet were on the floor, knee flexed and bent, good, that was good. "Be gone." both bladder and bowel were patiently waiting for him to take them to the bathroom. "And….take…your bloody…teeth with you." his left arm supported his weight when he pushed off the sofa and stood up. So, either mind had been obeyed or spine had convinced all how pissed Sam would be if…..

Dean blinked, his jaw unhinged and his mouth dropped open. Where the hell had those thoughts come from? He shook his head. Oh, yeah, right. Not a good idea. His head, annoyed over its recent shaking, threatened to tip him over face first into the coffee table. He stumbled, reaching out for support.

"I gotacha." Garth popped up under Dean's right arm. "Where we going? Not for a walk, I hope. Sam won't like…..oh, the bathroom? Okay, guess it's ok. It's not far."

He guessed it was okay? Dean mused. What the hell did Garth intend to do if he'd decided it wasn't okay? Hand him a coffee can?

Sam let his eyes open once Garth hobbled off with Dean, who while limping, was walking. That had to be a good sign, a great sign, right? He was using his left arm and walking on both feet. He needed to drink both the tea and the ginger again but Garth didn't stand a chance of getting him to do so and Sam was just too tired to do more than roll his head and crack open an eye to track their progress across the room. Dean was nursed and cared for and through the worse; the curse, by all appearances, broken. A three-peat of the treatment loomed in the not to distance future but right now, now was time for some Sammy time.

They'd reached the bathroom and now that Dean had a wall, Garth was needed no more. Sam smiled sleepily as Dean shook free of Garth's support and Garth persisted in offering his aid. "You sure you're gonna be okay on your own?" Garth lingered. "Maybe I should…..?"

Two hands planted themselves in the center of his chest and shoved. The force propelled him backwards, through the door and dumped him on his ass. The door slamming shut in his face was enough to convince him to retreat. He got to his feet, dusted off his ass and approached Sam, whose eyes were closed, his breathing even.

"So, aah, Sam? You awake?" he waited then continued when he got no response. "No? I'll just leave a note then. I'm gonna go outside and call a tow-truck, meet it at my car." he paused, still no response. "I'll walk." he sighed when no offer of a ride or the loan of the Impala was forthcoming. "All that way…..uphill…..in the mud…."

You're leaving? Woo-hoo! Go get your car, get in it and get going, Sam thought. Oh, and keep going.

"Thought, long as it's running, it was when I left it, just need it free of the ditch, I'd go on down to that mini-mart at the motel….get some more ice…something for dinner…."

Oh. Leaving but coming back. Bummer.

"Well…..okay then…..I'll just jot you a note, wait for Dean to come out….."

Sam stirred, raising a hand to cover his mouth over a jaw-cracking yawn. "I've got him, go on."

"Oh, you're awake? Might take me a while….I hate to leave you alone with….."

"No..no…go…you go." Sam sat up, hand running through his hair. "We're good."

Half an hour later, Sam was wishing he'd been the one to retrieve the car, leaving Dean with Garth. Dean didn't go back to sleep. Oh no, he remained awake and irritable. He was in pain and made sure Sam knew it. He was cranky and no amount of pleading or patience coaxed him out of his mood. He was miserable and determined Sam be so as well. Not even the bribe of pain meds curbed his recalcitrance. No, he'd given in, given up against their pull and wouldn't you know, was apparently throwing a reaction.

"Sam, we got another pillow? This one's too soft!"

"Sam, my foot hurts."

"Sam, I'm cold."

"Sam, why I got two knees?"

"Sam, thirsty!"

"Sam, I ain't got no knuckles."

"Sam, I'm hot, it's hot in here."

"Sam, my shoulder…..it….doesn't – won't move."

"Sam, I hate this fucking sofa."

"Sam, I don't feel good.

"Sam, I need another pillow. Two ain't enough."

"Sam, anything to eat?"

"Sam, I gotta pee."

And on, and on and on and oooonnnnnn and when had he lost the ability to speak proper grammar? Sam paced and catered and soothed and offered and retreated and would be punching walls and kicking furniture if Dean didn't sound so damn pitiful and look so wretched, eyes liquid pools of abject misery; looking like a puppy who wanted on the bed, like a distressed child whose favorite toy was broken and he expected Sam to fix it – fix him. How could Sam be mad at that?

"Okay, ok….you win." Sam huffed. One thing about Dean's state of mind when throwing reactions to medications was he never remembered any of it. "Here, move your foot….no, not that one…I got the other….okay…right…no….left…" he plopped down on the sofa, too tired to care about taking a seat gracefully.

Years of experience, trial and error, and hits and misses had taught him the only thing that calmed Dean down – aside from copious amounts of whiskey – and shut him up was physical contact. He settled Dean's feet across his lap, his own, one ankle over the other, resting on the coffee table. His socked toes mocked him with a ten-wiggle salute, a sarcastic reminder they were homeless. Right, he needed new boots. His shoes were lost and his boots so encrusted with mud, there was no hope saving them. "Happy now?"

His answer was a contented, happy snort/snuffle and blessed silence.

***000***

"Dean….hey….come on wake up." Sam leaned over the back of the sofa. "Dean….hey! Wake up man."

"Humpfh?" Dean nuzzled deeper into his pillows and blankets. "Nemme."

"Was that a no?"

"Go 'way."

"Need you to get up…we gotta go."

"Now?" he was starting to rouse. "Go where?"

"Find a town with a motel that has electricity." a store with boots my size. "Head back to Kansas." get away from Garth, go now while he's gone and unlikely to be able to follow us, cause Dean, I'm telling you, I can't deal with him anymore. I just can't. Sam sighed, those thoughts were his own, no sense unloading on Dean who couldn't do anything about it.

"Yeah…I don't think so. I ain't…I don't wanna Sammy….."

"You….I'm sorry…say again?" Sam was flummoxed. He'd been sure Dean would want to go 'home.' "Don't you wanna go home?"

"I feel like shit….." Dean moaned. "Belly hurts...don't wanna go."

"Well, yeah….but…..Oh, shit, you didn't." Sam's gaze fell on the bottle of ibuprofen he'd left on the coffee table – well within Dean's reach. He smacked his forehead, knocked himself dizzy and cursed himself for twice being a stupid fool. While he'd slept for hours, apparently Dean hadn't. "How much ibuprofen have you taken?"

Dean held up two fingers, then four then four on his other hand, peeked up from under the blanket to stare at his waggling fingers then cast a confused glance up at his annoyed brother who made a mental note to never let Dean even see another bottle of ibuprofen. Sam crossed his arms over his chest and quirked that single eyebrow – his trademark silent, no-words-needed-to-be-spoken statement of disbelief – that drove Dean nuts.

"And let me guess…you haven't eaten anything." Sam said crossly.

"Aaah…yeah?" he frowned. "Maybe?"

"So, you've taken at least eight in how many hours on an empty belly? You're an ass."

"Just go….leave me here…."

"Leave…? Leave….YOU EXPECT ME TO LEAVE YOU HERE AFTER EVERYTHING YOU PUT ME THROUGH?!" Sam seethed, and then he fumed. He tugged the blankets off his brother and gave him a slow perusal from pale, sweaty head with grotesquely misshapen ear, to puffy elbow and wrist and fingers and knee to swollen foot with purple pudgy toes and the appearance of two ankles; whose skin immediately dotted with goose bumps and he began to shiver.

Might as well leave him in the comfort and safety of the cabin if that's where he wanted to remain. He ought to shake the dumb ass until he vomited every last thing he'd swallowed Sam didn't know about but that would be cruel and serve only to satisfy Sam's desire to see his brother suffer for subjecting him to more hours of worry over how much medication Dean had taken.

"You're going to eat." Sam stated. He was worn out and no amount of sleep was going to make him feel better. No, that wouldn't happen until Dean was free of all meds, on his feet and all limbs and joints and appendages one size. "And I don't mean crackers either. I'll heat some soup and make some toast and if you so much as complain there's only jelly for your toast, I will tie you to the sofa and feed you willow bark tea for a week."

***000***

Garth returned bearing dinner and snacks and ice and the news the flood waters had subsided, the mud had been cleared and all roads were open. Sam was in the chair, Dean on the sofa and boy, he just didn't know when to quit and leave well enough alone.

"So Sam, you think we should give him more tea now?" Garth picked up pillows and blankets, straightened the cushion under Dean's feet and added a couple logs to the fire. The expression on his face implied Sam should have seen to those bits and offers of comfort while he'd been gone. Right, like Sam hadn't already done those things countless times. "Or we can give him the ginger. But, tea I think. We should...…"

We? Sam didn't recall Garth bathing in spilt tea or being spit on, or elbowed or smacked or bitten or threatened and cursed out. Funny memory the little stick-man had.

"He…seems, I dunno…..but he…..kinda feels warm, you think? Looks a little flushed. The tea is for his fever so I think we should get him to drink some."

Again with the 'we'. Sam failed to remember Garth getting up and going down and over and back and around, fetching, holding, coaxing, cleaning…..Christ, was he still talking?

"He's looking better. I'd say we've done a good job." his grin went from ear to ear. "A damn good job!"

Since when was he and Garth a, 'we'?

"Been a rough couple of days, I'll tell you. The dude done wore me out!" Garth cackled. Even with his eyes closed, Sam could see him rubbing his palms together. Wait, wait a minute—Dean had worn him out? "But, we did it. We got him through this."

One more 'we' and Sam was gonna...

"I know what you're thinking…..what with the spirit and the talisman and the fall down the steps and his shoulder and of course, there was the ER and losing him and getting the car stuck…..but I gotta tell ya Sam, we did good, we hung in there. You know that saying, 'git 'er done'? Well, we did, we got 'er done."

Stop talking you little shit, just shut the fuck up.

"What say, I break open this here bottle of champagne and we have a toast?"

Champagne? Truly? He couldn't be serious?

"We deserve it. We did it." he beamed proudly. "We got Dean…"

Sam was out of the chair, had Garth around the neck, off his feet, upside down and tucked under his arm before Garth could utter a squeak.

"What now….? The window? Not the window! Oh hey, I say, don't throw me out the window!" Garth kicked and squirmed to no avail, hands grabbing uselessly at Sam's knees. "What'd I do? What'd I dooooooo? Hey, hey, you're not gonna throw me through the window, are you? Not through it!" he hit with his fists but his blows proved ineffective. No way was his head gonna break that glass. No way. "Open the window first, OPEN THE WINDOW!" he shrieked hysterically. "YOU CAN'T BREAK THE WINDOW WITH MY HEAD! Not my head! Sam, have a heart dude. What'd I say? EEEEE…..IIIII….OOOOO…OWWWW…umph…ooooffff…" garble, gabble and gobble. Christ, he was squawking worse than any chicken ever squawked. "YEEE-OOWWWW!"

"I'm gonna make a voodoo doll." Sam said, lock of just yanked Garth's hair between his fingers and thumb. "And every time you open your mouth, I'm gonna pinch it. Every time you annoy me, I'm gonna stick it with a needle. You do anything to bother me and I'll wrap rubber-bands around its hands and feet. Every time you piss me off, I'll break a toe. You get Dean all riled up and I will glue its tongue to its teeth and sew its mouth shut. Oh, and Garth? I know the spell to make it work."

"You wouldn't!" pause. "How...? Hey, rag dolls don't have teeth...or lips..."

Dean was up on one elbow, smirk curling his lip into a wan smile. "He auditioning for the ribbons act with the circus?"

"DEAN! HELP! Help ME!" Garth wailed, legs kicking, hands flapping, head flopping and bopping. "Get me down!"

Sam crossed the room to hand his brother a bottle of water. "I think he looks good hanging from the curtains. You don't?"

"Just…how did you get him to stay? I mean, he's sideways Sam." he pushed up so that he was sitting and eased against the back of the sofa. "What we got to eat?"

"Dad and me had to learn how to tie you down so you couldn't escape." despite the weariness tugging at every limb and muscle he possessed, for stringing Garth up from the curtain rods had been harder than one would think, he smiled. A hungry Dean was an improved Dean. "Now, you're hungry?" he looked at the table where the take-out container of now cold soup sat. He could understand Dean not wanting the burger and chili-fries Garth had brought him, but he'd expected Dean to eat the soup. It'd been tastier than the canned soup he'd managed to heat earlier; it'd been somewhat burned but still edible. The toast though, that'd been a lost cause. He was too worn out to even cook.

"Heh?" Dean blew him off. "Oh now, come on!"

"Dean." Sam glared. "You've never liked willow bark tea."

"That makes me normal Sam!" he exclaimed. "I mean, who the hell does?"

"When you were a kid," Sam continued with a disapproving look down his nose. "And Dad had to take care of you….he never had patience and you wouldn't stay put so….."

Dean snorted. "Right…..oh…what? That's not fair! I…it was the medication…."

"Yuh-huh."

"How long are we staying here?" he looked around. "Where the hell are we anyway?"

"Cabin." Sam didn't offer more because he truly had no idea what town or state they were in. "We're good for couple days, why?"

"I wanna go home."

"What? You just pitched a bitch fit over wanting to stay here." Sam held his hands up. "You've got another day of treatment…."

"The fuck I do. Try it." Dean growled. "I dare you." he was quiet. Yeah, okay, Sammy wasn't backing down, which meant, Dean was gonna have a fight on his hands if he thought Sam was gonna give over and let Dean have the final say in this non-argument. "We can do it at home." he grudgingly compromised. "Can't we?"

"We could…..if we could get there before it was time to treat you again."

"So, just one more time then, right?" Dean sighed in defeat, hanging his head dejectedly.

Sam nodded. "Unless you relapse."

That got his dander up. For, one more time, he might be able to bite his tongue and swallow his pride and allow himself to be subjected to yet another round of humiliation but this time he was gonna do all that he could by himself. Dean opened his mouth to say just so, to argue, to issue commands and orders and state flat out denial, but his eyes worked independently of his mouth and beat him to a conclusion; Sam was wiped out, was beyond exhausted, was only hanging on 'cause he had one reason to, the only reason that ever mattered to him. Dean.

His eyes were dull, shadowed and sunken. Hell, they were red and bloodshot, eyelids cracked and eyelashes matted from disrupted sleep. The lines across his forehead and around his mouth spelled worry and concern and tension and, Dean cast a glance at the stringed puppet currently displayed as wall art, frustration and annoyance that was Garth.

"Fine." Dean relented. "But I'm bathing myself, I ain't drinking no tea and you come near me with ginger or aloe or broomhilda and…."

"Bromelain, and it's your fault anyway." he fluffed a pillow and patted it in invitation for Dean to lie down. "You ever make it so hard to get back to you again, I will kick the Impala." Sam threatened.

"You do, and she don't break every god-damn toe on your fucking foot, I will." Dean countered. "Just 'cause you're pissed over missing some do-whop college thing, don't mean you can mistreat my car."

"Yeah, sure, that's it." Sam huffed.

"Hey, you weren't ever supposed to be in town….so, your fault you got stuck here."

"No more hunting with Garth, least not without me, okay?" Sam asked, ignoring both Dean's question and Garth's pathetic moaning. "Dean, hey…come on…I ain't asking for much here…can you commit to…I dunno, something? Please?"

Dean nodded, eyes closing despite his determination to keep them open. "Working on it."

*** END ***