Sam sat at the old barn wood table, flanked by Dean and Danny, taking in the spread that seemed to stretch endlessly before him. Ron sure liked to cook, and once Sam was up and on his feet and around, he and Dean had begun taking their meals in the Ritter kitchen. Today's offerings included chili, baked potatoes and corn bread, and Sam's mouth watered just ogling it all.

So far, it had been a good day, which meant Sam hadn't once suddenly freaked out over nothing. Ever since he'd stopped with the painkillers and the antibiotics and lost the collar that made him feel like a naughty puppy, Sam's recovery had been … eventful. He had a tendency to still see things that weren't there, and his emotions were all over the place. Just yesterday, he'd cried when Danny remarked that he was out of limes. And then, last night when Dean was playing his late night game of twenty questions, Sam had looked over at his brother and seen him sitting there holding a hangman's noose in one hand and a scythe in the other. When Sam had yelled and scrabbled backward on the bed, Dean had instantly moved in, and that just made it all worse.

Sam had backed against the wall and buried his face in his hands, begging Dean not to kill him again - or if he did, to use the scythe and not the noose. Dean had sat staring at Sam like an alien creature had just landed in his brother's body and needed to be captured and studied for science - at least from Sam's point of view. In reality, Dean had nearly wet himself when Sam suddenly began babbling about a noose and a scythe and begging Dean not to kill him again.

So now they knew - Sam had a ways to go before he could be considered okay. He was still having hallucinations, and the part of his brain that controlled emotions seemed to have gone on vacation. And since no one had ever survived repeated feedings from a djinn and lived to record it, there was no lore anywhere to give Dean even an inkling of what to expect next or how to help his brother.

So for the time being, the small, tight-knit group accepted that, eventually, Sam would return to normal. And in the meantime, they all took measures to eliminate invisible threats - like the alligator that had suddenly attacked Sam as he'd stepped off the front porch last week or the hellhound that had stood snarling at him from the roof of the garage yesterday morning.

Ron said grace, and they all began passing platters around and filling plates and bowls.

"Damn, Ron." Dean eyed the cornbread hungrily, "Like to cook much?"

Danny laughed. "Welcome to my world, Dean."

Ron smiled, "I don't see anyone refusing anything, no?"

"Hell no. This is better than any burger joint."

"The chili is amazing." Sam commented, savoring his first taste. "It reminds me a little of Bobby's, but way better."

Dean glanced sideways at his brother. "I'll let you drive Baby for a week if you tell Bobby that."

"Not on your life. I want to keep my arms and legs."

"Dad excels at soupy substances," Danny answered, and then grimaced. "Oh, that did NOT sound good."

Sam snorted. "Gross."

Dean shuddered, "TMI Danny. TMI man."

Ron chuckled. "You boys done having a little fun at the expense of the old man?"

"Neveh!" Danny answered, piling cornbread on his plate. "Oh, did anyone else want any?" He asked innocently.

Sam reached over with his fork and snagged a slice off Danny's plate. "Share, dude."

"For you, Sammy. Only for you." Danny answered absently, then glanced up when Sam didn't come back right away. But Sam had his head down, face pale, swallowing hard.

"Sam, you okay?" Danny asked nonchalantly, trying not to make a big deal of Sam's sudden change in behavior.

Dean looked up then and took in the look on his brother's face. He knew instantly there was something else in the room with them - at least in Sam's mind.

"What is it, Sam?" He asked around a mouthful of potato, "What do you see?"

Sam swallowed and took a breath. He looked up at Dean out of lowered eyes. "N-nothing. I'm good."

Dean knew he was lying, but if Sam wanted to try to shake off this latest vision, he wouldn't interfere.

"So, R-Ron, did you grow these?" Sam gestured to the over-sized potatoes.

Ron played along, "Yep. Grew 'em in the shopping cart out at the Walmart."

Sam laughed, but his hands were shaking, and he was studiously trying to avoid looking anywhere but at his plate.

"Sam," Ron asked, "Do I need to get the shotgun?" Ever since the alligator incident, the three men had discovered the best way to put Sam at ease the quickest was to take an actual shot at whatever the creature-du-jour turned out to be.

"What? No. No. Let's just eat."

Dean passed his brother the salt and pepper. "It's okay, Sam. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real."

Sam nodded and downed another bite of chili, but he had trouble swallowing it.

The table grew quiet as they all felt Sam's discomfort.

"Maybe if you look directly at it and tell it to leave?" Danny suggested kindly.

Sam glanced up at him and closed his eyes tight like he was screwing up his courage. Then he raised his head and stared pointedly just over Dean's shoulder.

"Get away from him." He said pleadingly. "Please? Just leave."

Dean couldn't help it then, he turned to see what Sam could be looking at. "Is that fucker playing with me, Sammy?" He asked, irate.

Sam swallowed hard. "Its … its spike is out." He said softly.

"Wraith?" Dean asked.

Sam closed his eyes and nodded.

In one swift move, Dean picked up his butter knife and stabbed behind him, estimating where the thing's heart should be from where Sam had stared into its eyes.

Sam leaped from the table then with his fork and fell on the invisible thing where Dean had dropped it. He stabbed it repeatedly, months of pent-up frustration breaking loose inside the rustic kitchen as he hacked away at the hateful thing one forkful at a time.

When he was done, he returned to his chair - sweaty and disheveled, and glanced around at the men who sat staring at him in sympathy. He shook his hair out of his eyes determinedly and stabbed his spoon shakily into his chili.

Dean shifted in his seat to study the invisible carnage. "Thank God you brought out the good silver, Ron." he noted, as they all resumed eating.

"I'll sweep that up later." Ron promised.