A.N. Last chapter! Thank you to everyone who alerted, favorited, and especially to those that reviewed! You all are amazing and you make me want to write more and more.

This chapter is just a bit of humor and fluff to round out the story. I couldn't resist. A special thanks to Invisible Observer 813 for the fantastic idea that inspired this chapter!

In answer to Guest reviewer, I would love to write more but do not currently have any ideas. Please, if any of you do have an idea, just drop me a message or a review with it and I'll see if I can make it work!

Thanks again, everyone. I hope you enjoy this final, short little ending!

For the first time since he'd set foot in the hospital two weeks ago, Ed was able to walk through the halls without despising them. There was a small spring in his normally quiet step, and he was even whistling softly. The reason for this change in attitude was that Sam was going home today. He'd recovered much more quickly than the doctors had expected, and, while by no means was he fully healed, he was well enough that he was making life difficult for the staff such that they wanted him gone. Ed suspected that this had been Sam's intention the whole time—and it was a good strategy because if he'd instead just kept insisting on leaving, he probably would've been refused. Because Ed had no proof and doubted he'd be able to get Sam to admit it, he let the matter drop; he was just happy Sam was finally getting out of there.

It had been a rough week for everyone, but not nearly as bad as the week prior when Sam had still been unconscious. One good thing came of the week, however, and that was Spike's sudden return to his happy, humorous self. Ed knew he had Sam to thank for that; though he didn't know exactly what had been said, he knew that things were well on their way to returning to normal… or as normal as Team One ever got.

He reached Sam's room and stopped at the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Sam was sitting up in bed, legs dangling over the side. He was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and sweatpants, and though he looked tired, he was laughing—or rather, trying very hard not to laugh, in order not to aggravate his stitches, but was failing. The reason he was laughing was because Spike had clearly been zooming around the room in a wheelchair, but was now on his side, one wheel spinning madly in the air, pinned against the wall.

"It's not funny, Sam!" The bomb specialist yelled, smiling good naturedly. "My grip slipped and this wall came out of nowhere!" He struggled furiously, trying to squeeze out of the wheelchair, but he was having little success because his shirt had somehow become stuck.

Sam continued to try not to laugh, but it was becoming more and more difficult as the Italian entangled himself in an unused IV line.

When Sam began to gasp for air and Spike looked to be hopelessly tangled, Ed decided to intervene. "Okay," he stepped into the room, making his presence known, "Let's all stop before Spike actually needs that wheelchair and Sam can't breathe."

"Ed!" Spike greeted happily. "Perfect timing! Help me up!" He stuck out his hand towards the Team Leader, fully expecting the aid. He was disappointed.

Ed crossed his arms and grinned devilishly. "You got yourself into that mess, you can get yourself out." Turning his back on Spike's protests, he met Sam's laughing gaze. "How you doing Samo?"

"Not too shabby." Sam spoke quietly, using as little breath as possible.

"You sure you should leave today? I would hate for you to collapse the moment you set foot outside of the hospital."

"What are you talking about, Ed?" Spike exclaimed just as he was able to extricate himself from the tangled IV line and wheelchair. He leapt to his feet. "There will be no collapsing by Samtastic! He's got to live up to his nickname after all."

Ed was skeptical, but remained quiet on that subject. "All right, well let's get this show on the road and get outta here."

"Just a minute…" Sam objected. "I… uh—I need someone to help me get my shoes on." He stared sadly down at his feet. Normally such a short distance away from his hands, today it seemed an impossible stretch. He cleared his throat. "Um, the doctor said it wouldn't be a good idea for me to bend forward much, and, I hate to say it, but I agree with him."

"No problem!" Spike assured him. "Ed here will be happy to assist. Won't you Ed?" The Italian turned his bright gaze to the older man.

"Now wait a minute. Why don't you do it?" Ed countered.

"Because, Ed," Spike said patiently, as if speaking to a child, "I already helped him with his clothes, so fair is fair and you get to help with the shoes."

"Besides," Sam spoke up from the bed, "Spike's going to be doing a lot of this over the next week or two, so give him a break and don't make this any more awkward than it already is."

"All the more reason why he should do it: it would be good practice." When he was met with silence from the two men, he threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "All right. Where are the boots?"

"Over in the closet." Spike pointed.

Ed turned and went to grab the shoes. In truth, he was perfectly happy to help out—even if that meant putting Sam's shoes on—because as Spike had pointed out, it was only fair. When the doctors had given the go ahead that Sam could go home, they'd done it with the stipulation that he not be alone for the next few weeks; he was recovering, but there were many tasks he could not do himself (such as put his own shoes on). When they'd learned this, Spike had immediately volunteered. He'd already packed a bag for himself and dropped it at Sam's place, and laid in supplies and the proper amount of movies and TV shows to occupy Sam's time while he was forced to remain inactive. Ed was glad that Spike had been the one to take the job. He knew that the Italian would be able to balance helping Sam and making sure the ex-soldier didn't feel smothered, and he also knew that this would help Spike's residual feelings of guilt to disappear.

Grabbing the boots, he turned back to the bed and saw Spike holding out a chair for him. "It'll probably be easiest this way." Spike explained.

Taking the proffered chair, he sat and reached down and picked up Sam's left foot and pulled it up into his lap. He raised his eyes and met Sam's stare. The ex-soldier grimaced. "I refuse to be embarrassed."

Ed chuckled, blushing a little himself. "No call for embarrassment. You were injured in the line of duty so it's the least we can do." He finished tying the laces then reached for the other foot. "So. The doc says you can probably start training for requalifying in three weeks, and knowing you, you'll probably be back on the team in four. Right?"

Sam nodded. "As quickly as I can, anyway."

Ed nodded. "That's what I figured. It'll be good to have you back. Spike's been complaining." He finished putting the boot on and set Sam's foot down. When he sat back and looked at the man, he saw that Sam's shoulders were shaking. "Sam you okay? Do you need to lie down?" When he received no reply, he reached forward and placed a hand on one of the shaking shoulders. "Hey, Sam?"

Sam made a strangled sound, and it was then that Ed realized he was laughing. He narrowed his eyes. "What's so funny."

Unable to control himself any longer, Sam let out a full blown roar of laughter—cringing as it pulled as his stitches—and Ed's suspicion double tenfold. "All right, what's going on?" He went to stand… he was met with resistance. Frowning, he tried to rise again and the chair moved with him. Realization dawned on him as Spike walked around until he was in front of Ed and grinned. "No." Ed stated in disbelief.

"Yes!" Spike cried happily, pumping his fist in the air. "That," he stated gleefully, "is for the comment about me being no more annoying than a fly!"

Ed's glare turned to Sam. "You knew about this?"

Unabashed, Sam nodded. His laughter had subsided, but he was still smiling. "Time to go, Spike."

"Absolutely Sam. Good idea." The Italian grabbed the wheelchair and, after untangling it, brought it over to the bed. Sam stood up carefully, supported by Spike, then slowly maneuvered himself into the seat.

Realizing what was about to happen, Ed spoke up hurriedly. "Okay, whoa. You cannot leave me here!"

Spike and Sam looked at each other. "Pretty sure we can." Spike informed Ed happily, starting to wheel Sam towards the door.

"I take it back! You're a pain in the ass and a master at payback!" Ed pleaded desperately. When Spike showed no sign of slowing, he added. "Come one Spike… I'll write you up for insubordination!"

"I'm not on the clock right now, Ed." Spike called over his shoulder. "This is just from one friend to another. There's a hospital gown on the end of the bed for when you get desperate!"

Sam held up his hand and waved at Ed. "Thanks for saving my life. I'll owe you one… just not right now!" He high fived Spike and the two disappeared down the hall. Ed could still hear their laughter long after they were out of sight.

His gaze fell on the horridly ugly blue gown on the foot of the bed, then on the innocent, pinky sized, white tube on the bedside table that's label read: Ultra Stick Super Glue.

"Damn."