The weather is nasty and I'm hiding out at home. So here's the new chapter! Thanks again to everyone following this. One of my editors has gone quiet, so this chapter only passed through a single filter, because I just didn't want to wait any more.

Chapter 20: Recuperation

Dean discovered he liked it when Bobby spoke up, because it usually deflected the current topic off of him. Sam was all in a twist about some chick. Ellen? Or was it Eve? Whatever. Didn't matter.

"But he doesn't remember her, Dad," Sam argued over a steaming bowl of chili.

"The chili is awesome, Bobby," Dean said between mouthfuls, desperately attempting to ignore Sam.

Dad shrugged. "Means I don't have to meet her. So? I didn't think you were that impressed with her anyway."

"Family recipe," Bobby told him. "My dad taught me everything I know about chili."

"Not the point, Dad," Sam stated, setting his empty bowl aside. "The point," he said slowly, like Dad was suddenly dense, "is that the doctor told us to look for signs of memory loss. I'm pretty sure this counts!"

"Sam and I crashed a chili contest in Texas," Dean told Bobby. "This would at least place."

"In a Texas chili contest?" Bobby snorted. "Boy, don't insult my daddy's chili."

Insult? He was trying to be nice. Dean took a quick glance at Bobby, but the old dude looked kind of pleased, not upset at all.

Dean tried another small grin. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking." Bobby snorted in response, but still didn't look upset. Maybe Sam was right and the old dude wasn't so bad.

"Give it a few days, Sam," Dad said before draining the chili still in his bowl. Dad wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Anybody want seconds? Dean?"

Dean held out his bowl for Dad to take. It wasn't quite empty, but Dean didn't want to pass up the opportunity for more and he didn't want to go refill his bowl himself.

"Dean?" Sam whispered the moment Dad disappeared into the kitchen. "Your bowl wasn't empty."

"I know," Dean hissed back. "Dad offered to get seconds for me. Did you really think I'd pass that up?"

"You didn't think he'd wait until you were ready?" Bobby asked, leaning forward to look Dean in the face.

Wait? Dad? Bobby had to be pulling his leg. "Good one," Dean said, again trying to be complimentary. Again he got weird looks, but this time from Sam too. "Anything other than the blinker working on the car?" he asked Bobby, wanting to shift to a more comfortable topic.

Sam's head snapped to the side. "You told him?" Sam sounded pissed.

"Relax, Sam. I made him," Dean told his little brother before Bobby had time to respond. "I was getting stressed just wondering what happened to my car."

"Have you seen it?" Sam demanded.

"No, Sam. He hasn't," Bobby assured him. "And I don't know if anything else works," he added, looking at Dean. "Sam didn't want me to do anything other than haul it here. But I got to tell you, it's going to take a hell of a lot of work to get it running again."

Dean groaned, relaxing back into the sofa. He hoped Bobby wasn't trying to soften the blow and it was exactly as bad as it sounded, not worse. "How long can we stay, Bobby? It sounds like I have a lot of work to do."

"We have a lot of work to do," Dad said, striding across the room carrying two bowls of chili. He handed one to Dean before sitting down. "But you're going to take it easy for at least a week, then the three of us will evaluate the car."

"Yeah," Sam added.

Dean gave him a funny look. "Three of us, Sam. Me, Dad and Bobby."

"I can help," Sam protested, his eyes darting between the three of them. "I can!"

Dean laughed, waves of pain cascading over his ribcage. He wrapped his free arm around his abdomen, choking back additional laughter. Sam help with a car? "What – what are you going to do?" he choked out. "Find a book on restoring cars?"

Sam got a funny look on his face. Oh, he didn't, did he? It was too much, Dean couldn't hold back his laughter. He set his bowl on the arm of the couch so he could use both arms around his middle as guffaws of laughter forced their way up. Tears sprung from his eyes, trickling down his cheeks. He was laughing so hard, he probably had fresh bruises on his left lung. Oh, God, it hurt! But he couldn't stop.

"Dean!" Sam's worried face wavered into view, shaggy bangs tickling his nose. "Dean, breathe!"

He peeled one arm off away from his abdomen to fist into the couch. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he forced in a deep breath. He let it out slowly. After a second slow breath, Dean opened his eyes. Three sets of eyes peered anxiously at him. He used his free hand to wipe the tears of painful laughter away.

"Dean?" One of Dad's hands gripped his shoulder gently, like Dad was afraid of hurting him. "You all right, son?"

Dean beamed at Dad. "Sam's gonna ... learn ... how to ... restore a car ... from a ... book," he choked out, his speech punctuated by bursts of chuckles.

Dad's craggy face broke into a smile. "I heard. Should be interesting, huh?"

"Awesome," Dean breathed. He shifted his eyes to Sam, who was looking a little pissed off. "Sam, did that book tell you what the 7-10 cap is for?"

Sam's jaw clenched, a muscle in the left cheek jumping twice. "No," he snapped. "But I'll figure it out."

Dad barked out a loud laugh. Bobby just dropped his head, shaking it slowly. Dean grinned broadly. This was going to be fun.

"Good on chili, Dean?" Sam asked later, motioning to the empty bowl.

Dean studied his bowl for a moment before holding it up. "One more before bed," he said.

Sam groaned as he crossed the room for the bowl. "Great, and we're sharing a room," he muttered.

"There's always the couch," Dean offered with a sparkle in his eye. Bobby chuckled a little at that, earning a glare from Sam.

Fun? Did Dean really call this fun? Sam glared at the hot blue sky, not a cloud in it. No sign of relief approaching either in the form of shade or rain. He peeled off his sweat soaked shirt, tossing it over the frame of the Impala. Since he didn't know a damn thing about cars, in Dean's words, Sam was relegated to heavy lifting and fetching. He had been learning the names of most of the tools this way. It was a little surprising that the person most patient with him was Dean.

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

Sam walked over to Dean's station. Dean sat on a stool beside an engine stand with the Impala's motor mounted on it.

"Yeah?" Sam asked, grateful to be in a little shade. Bobby and Dad set Dean up in the primo spot out here, the only shaded work area. Now that he was closer, Sam could see Dean looked a bit worn out today. Maybe big bro didn't get enough sleep last night.

Dean jerked his head to the side, wanting Sam closer. Sam took a couple more steps.

"How about a break?" Dean suggested in a voice that wouldn't carry. His shirt was soaked through and sweat ran down the sides of his face in streams.

"Later," Bobby interrupted, dragging the back seat from the Impala with Dad helping. "Check this out first."

Dean took a deep breath as he turned around on his stool. "Damn," he breathed. "What the hell happened there?"

Sam flinched when he saw half the seat covered with blood. "You did," he told his brother softly. Sam glared at Dad. "Why'd you bring that out here?"

"We had to," Bobby replied, not looking at Sam. "Well? Repair or replace?"

"Repair," Dean said. "Put it over there. I'll go over it later."

"Why not now?" Bobby asked as he braced himself on the bench seat.

"Because we're taking a break," Sam interjected. When Bobby's mouth opened again, Sam gave him the 'shut up or die' look.

"Good idea," Dad added, moving between Bobby and Dean. "You two go ahead. We'll join you in a few."

Sam stayed close as Dean slid off the stool and headed toward the house. Dean was moving better these days, not normal yet but the fact he could see so much improvement was heartening. Sam waited until after Dean chose to sink slowly into the armchair before crashing on the sofa.

"I wanted to clean up that seat before you saw it," Sam told him.

Dean waved him off, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. "Stop fussing, Sam. It's fine. We're just trying to get things done."

"I know, but..." Sam didn't know how to put it into words, what exactly he wanted Dean to understand. "They shouldn't have shown it to you. Not like that."

Deep hazel green peered at him through a slitted eye. "Not like what?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair, wondering at the fact he suddenly felt so anxious. "Like that. You know, all covered with...with...blood." The last word took some effort to force out.

Both eyes regarded him now. The eye which had been so bloodshot was better now, just deep red around the iris. "Sam? Dude, it's all right. Nobody died, okay?" Dean shifted in the chair. "That probably would have felt better."

"That's it," Sam snapped, jumping to his feet. "I'm getting those pain pills and you're taking one. Right now, no arguments."

"Sam," Dean groaned. "Relax. I just need a break."

The fact Dean admitted to needing a break, not just wanting one, confirmed what Sam feared. Dean needed those pills and probably the rest of the day taking it easy. Sam intended to see his brother got exactly that. Without another word, Sam stalked from the room. He found the pain pills next to the sink upstairs, the bottle considerably lighter than when they arrived. Sam snatched it up in his hand as his eyes landed on a fresh washcloth. After soaking the washcloth in cold water, Sam headed back downstairs.

Sam passed Dean downstairs to make a quick run into the kitchen where he grabbed two beers. He returned to the den. First he handed over the washcloth, which Dean rubbed over his forehead with a blissful expression. When Dean appeared ready to just lean back with the wet cloth over his face, Sam nudged him.

"I wasn't kidding about the pills," he insisted. Dean mumbled something Sam didn't catch, but he stuck his hand out. Sam carefully poured out two pills before handing over a beer.

One of Dean's eyebrows arched up. "You're giving me painkillers with alcohol? Isn't there a warning on the label about that?"

Sam grimaced. "You need it. Just take the damn things, it's not like you're driving."

"Daredevil Sammy," Dean said in a light voice. "Who knew?" He tossed back the pills with a slug of beer. "Aaahh! I almost forgot what beer tasted like."

"Speaking of forgetting," Sam started, but Dean glared and held up a hand.

"Don't Sam. Just don't. I don't know if I've forgotten anything or how much, because if I have, I forgot it. So don't bother asking." Dean shook his head and took a long pull on his bottle of beer.

Sam knew he had to try again, preferably before Dad and Bobby came inside. "Dean, we need to talk about Jerry."

Dean made another face. "Now what? I thought this was about the chick who has your panties in a twist."

Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. He had been doing some research of his own on amnesia and memory loss. Sometimes the individual with amnesia forgot what he wanted to forget, and let's face it, Jerry had plenty of reason to want to forget.

"Dean, you do know who Jerry is?" Sam prompted.

"Sure you're gonna tell me anyway," Dean grumbled around the mouth of his beer bottle.

"Jerry Whitehead," Sam clarified.

Dean shrugged. "Some shrink you want me to see?"

Sam made a face. "I was afraid of this."

The front door squeaked as it opened, admitting Dad followed closely by Bobby. Sam held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

Dean stared at him for a moment before docilely handing over his cell. "Why?"

"Because I need to set up Thanksgiving," Sam replied and a grin spread slowly across Dean's face. Clearly he hadn't forgotten his favorite holiday.

"Sam," Dad's warning voice cut through the room.

Sam ignored his father as he searched through Dean's phone list. He found Ella's number and called, turning to find Dad's Face Of Disapproval staring at him. Sam glared back as the phone rang in his ear.

"Jerry?"

Sam cringed at the hopefulness in her voice. "Actually it's Sam." He rushed to get the next part out before she could hang up on him. "Since he can't travel, I wanted to invite you to have Thanksgiving with us."

The silence on the other end stretched out to an uncomfortable length. "Ella?" he asked, hoping she hadn't hung up.

"I'm here," she said slowly. "Why can't Jerry travel? Because you won't let him?"

"No," Sam did his best not to snap at her. "Because the doctors said no unnecessary travel."

"Doctors!" she shouted through the phone. "What the hell happened? Where is Jerry?"

Sam chewed his lower lip. Honestly, he never considered calling her. What did that mean? Was he selfish? Insensitive? And why the hell was he worrying about it?

"Our car was hit by a semi," he stated firmly. "He's only been out of the hospital for a few weeks. Are you willing come here or not?"

The sound of her breathing was a little heavy. "Where is 'here'?"

"South Dakota. Are you planning to drive or fly?" Sam asked, assuming she would come. After answering a few more questions about where Bobby lived, Sam passed the phone over to the older hunter. Bobby did not look happy about having to talk to Dean's former foster mother, but he did. Before Bobby hung up, they had a plan for Ella's arrival.

"Sam," Dad growled. "You didn't have to do that."

Sam stood up to his father. "He doesn't know Ella. He doesn't remember Jerry. What do you think we should do? Ignore it?"

Dad leaned on the arm of the couch, looking directly at Dean. "Son, do you know who I am?"

"Yes, sir," Dean replied automatically. "John Winchester."

"What am I to you?" Dad asked.

Dean eyed Bobby nervously before answering, "My dad."

"For how long?" Dad continued, sitting on the edge of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

Dean frowned, rubbing a hand over his short hair. "Couple of years?"

"You don't sound very sure of that," Sam jumped in. "Do you remember meeting Dad?"

Dean grinned broadly. "How could I forget? I thought he was asking me out."

"You're kidding," Bobby's voice boomed in the room. "What the hell happened?"

Sam couldn't restrain his own grin. "It's a good story." He motioned to the mostly empty couch. "Dean, tell him."

Dean gave a small shrug, but Sam could tell big brother had been dying to tell somebody else this story. Dad rolled his eyes at Bobby as the older man took a seat. As Dean launched into a lengthier setup than Sam originally heard, about Dad bringing the Impala in for a tune-up, Sam slipped out to the kitchen with Dean's cell. He called Ella again.

"Now what?" she demanded before he could say anything.

"Look, I wanted to warn you. He took a pretty nasty blow to the head and..."

Whatever Sam had planned to say was cut off by a strangled noise Ella made. "His memory?" she gasped.

"Yeah, that's what I was calling about. There are some, uh, holes." Sam shifted uneasily from foot to foot.

"How big?" Her voice sounded small and unsure.

Sam cleared his throat. "He doesn't remember your name," he told her as gently as he could. "I'm hoping when he sees you he'll remember you. I just didn't want you to show up here unprepared. I don't supposed you have any pictures or anything to jog his memory?"

"I'll, uh, I'll check. I might have one or two." She sounded on the verge of bursting into tears. "Excuse me, but I need to hang up now."

"Uh, bye." There was no response, just a loss of the connection. Sam stuffed Dean's phone into his pocket.

He shouldered his way through the kitchen door, greeted by Dean's energetic voice. "So I told him, Dude, I don't swing that way."

Bobby actually laughed. Their old friend, more family than friend really, seemed pretty relaxed around Dean these days. It might have something to do with them all living under the same roof, Sam wasn't sure.

"Turned out he was just after information on a Wendigo. And I was convinced it was my magnificent bod." Dean shrugged, swallowing down another mouthful of beer. He glanced up, his eyes meeting Sam's. Dean swallowed hurriedly. "Funny thing is, later Sam and I had almost the exact same conversation, in reverse."

Dad turned around to look at Sam, an amused expression on his face. "Really? You thought Dean was after your magnificent bod?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply when he realized that no, he really thought Dad had been after Dean's bod. He snapped his mouth closed and shrugged, hoping that would be the end of it.

Dean barked out a short laugh. "I was trying to check out a bruise on his jaw, and Sam fell over the foot of the bed onto his ass trying to get away from me."

Now how the hell could he remember that and not his foster mother? What did Dad tell the doctor? Dean usually only remembered the names of people he either knew well or who had made a big impression on him. It sounded like Sam had certainly made an impression, maybe more so than Ella.

Dad and Bobby were both laughing at him. Well, at least Dean hadn't spilled the beans about what Sam thought had been going on between Dad and Dean. Talk about embarrassing!

"So what convinced you that Dean didn't swing your way, Sammy?" Dad asked once his laughter died down.

Sam grinned at Dad. "Dean telling me the story about how you two met," he said.

Dad rolled his eyes. "Figures," he mumbled.