This one's a bit longer, but I didn't feel like splitting it up because a) it would make for two relatively short chapters, and b) the first one would be just a filler chapter. So, here's a nice long one for you!

…

Chapter 5

Awakening was a gradual process, the shift from sleep to consciousness barely noticeable. Still-vivid dreams dissolved into nothingness and before Dean realized he was waking up, he was awake. Only the added sense of touch, different from the dreaming world, was what gave it away. He sighed, curling his fingers in and out on the bed sheets, feeling the cheap texture.

Then the previous night came back to him, and he grimaced. Sam had ended up on his bed—he'd felt the dip on his right side—and he'd fallen asleep to his brother's hand resting against his back. Well, they weren't going to be talking about that any time soon. It rankled to be so dependent, but...he'd been struggling to nod off again, and the skim of Sam's fingers had anchored him to the physical world when all other stimuli were missing. It was more than his ego could handle to ask his brother to do something like that every night, but, hey, if his little brother did it willingly and without making a big deal about it, he could let it slide.

Speaking of which... Dean stretched out his arm to find...empty space. So, apparently Sam was already up, or maybe he'd moved back to his own bed during the night. Wait. His hand actually brushed something, and it took him barely a second to determine that it was his cane. He huffed in amusement. So considerate, Sammy.

Just now becoming consciously aware of the fact that his back didn't hurt quite as bad, Dean rolled towards the edge of the bed, cane in hand. He righted himself and planted the walking stick on the floor, heaving his body up with still-sleepy muscles. His head spun slightly, equilibrium being harder to achieve with his lack of sight. Sam still hadn't made an appearance, so to speak, so Dean stretched his limbs for a minute and let the vertigo fade.

"Sam?" He didn't know whether his call was loud enough to elicit a response, and that bothered him. Dean chewed on his lip a moment before shrugging, assuming Sam was out getting something. He made it to the bathroom and back in one piece, using the wooden rod as a guide, though by now he pretty much knew the layout of the limited space by heart.

Dean was standing uncertainly by the table—he was pretty sure that's where he was, anyway—when a hand touched his chest. Using the front of his shoulder this time, long fingers beat out, "Food?"

Automatically relieved at Sam's return, Dean drawled in what he hoped was a casual tone, "Sure," and extended an arm to grab hold of and ease into a chair. A handful of seconds later he was handed a wrapped deli sandwich, cold this time, and he worked a minute to snag a fold of deli paper and peel it down. By the time this was all over, he'd be pretty sick of cold sandwiches, he figured. Maybe he could have a burger next time, that should be easy enough.

Munching on the slightly-dry sub, the young hunter wondered what he was going to be able to do today so he didn't go crazy with boredom. He'd pretty much gotten through all his weapons yesterday, no more left to be cleaned until they were used again. He could...practice with the cane some more. Dean scowled to himself at the idea. There was only so much of this rat hole to explore, not to mention they'd pretty much covered it the day before. It wouldn't be too long until he'd end up throwing the stick at the wall out of sheer spite. With his luck, he'd probably break something important.

Shoving the last remnants of the sandwich in his mouth, Dean crumpled up the paper and chucked it in a random direction. A number of seconds later he was hit in the face with presumably the same piece of paper, and he smirked sardonically. "Hey, I could use something to drink." He didn't have to wait very long until a cool cylinder was nudged into his hand, and he circled his fingers around it. He got a good grip before tipping it to his lips, taking a tentative sip. "Water? You couldn't even get me a beer?"

He received a hard poke in the shoulder for that, no tapping needed to translate what Sam thought of that idea: That's the last thing you need right now. Dean grinned to himself as he took another swallow from the glass.

Setting it down, Dean wracked his brain for something to do. A few endless minutes of knee bouncing, then, "What time is it?" he felt the need to ask. Instead of Morse code, Sam just cradled his hand and drew out "9:33." Still too early; he wanted to get his mind off his boredom. Trying to come off as carefree and not-at-all high-strung, Dean questioned, "Sooo, Sammy, where were you a little bit ago?" How come you weren't here when I woke up? he didn't add out loud.

There was a moment when it seemed Sam wasn't going to answer, then, hesitantly, he dot-dashed on Dean's wrist, "Called Bobby."

Dean wasn't sure why that surprised him, but it did. "Really? Why?"

Fingers beat out against his vein, "Help research, stupid." Dean effected a glare at that. "Find way 2 fix u." Dean scrunched his eyebrows at the shorthand explanation.

"He's not coming here, is he?" he queried warily.

"Told not 2 come. Just 2 call." Sam paused, fingers lingering on his forearm as if wondering whether he should ask if Dean wanted Bobby here.

Dean was actually relieved, though. As much as he liked Bobby and would feel better with his help figuring this out, he had the feeling that another presence here would just confuse him. Sam was all the help he needed, what with the careful touches and thoughtful gestures like the cane, helping him fall asleep... Aaaand, the less he dwelled on the last one the better, but it didn't change the fact that having his brother here was enough. Having a third person here crowding his space, making him jump at anything and everything unexpected, would just put him on edge even more than he already was.

He let Sam know, "Good. That's fine. Tell him 'hi' for me when he does."

His brother just squeezed his arm a second and let go. After some quick thinking, Dean stopped him, not sure how far away his brother had already gone. "Uh, hey, Sam, wait." A heartbeat later, Sam's hand brushed his upper arm to show he was there and listening. Dean licked his lips and continued, "I...I need to get out of here, man. Do something. I feel like jumping out of my skin, I'm so bored."

Sam didn't say anything for a moment, fingers tapping in contemplation rather than communication. Then his hand jumped to Dean's lower arm. "Go 4 walk?"

Even though he knew he'd have to let Sam help him hobble around, that sounded better than being cooped up in the room much longer. His shoulders slumped, and he nodded gratefully. "Sounds good. Thanks, dude."

He groped for where he'd set the walking stick and rose to find his bag, which was still on his bed. Instead of trying to pull out a suitable assortment of clothes, he let Sam dig some out and hand them to him. Dean clutched the bundle to his stomach and went to the bathroom to change. Reemerging a few minutes later he inched back to the bed, tossed his dirties into the duffel bag, and felt around for his boots at the foot of the bed.

After tugging on his boots, he was handed his cane again along with a jacket and, thanks to the little practice session yesterday, he made it to the door without any assistance. After that, though, all bets were off. Before he resigned himself to taking a step out and hoping for the best, an elbow prodded his non-cane hand and Dean compliantly grasped the arm just above it. He allowed Sam to walk them out until they'd advanced far enough to be off the concrete walk and onto the asphalt.

A few more steps to be outside the first row of parking spaces, and Sam placed his other hand on the one gripping his bicep, managing to pull off an inquiry through the contact.

Dean nodded to show he was okay and released his brother's limb. Modifying his hold on the wooden cane, he started forward to explore the exciting expanse that was the small motel parking lot.

With his brother's unmistakable presence only a few steps away, Dean steadily made his way around the lot, staying clear of any cars with the help of the guide pole. There weren't many, which he was grateful for. Meant there were fewer people around to witness his little outing.

Dean noticed he reached the end of the pavement when the ground changed to thin grass under his tread. He pivoted so that he followed along the limit of the hard surface and kept onward. He thought about how eerie it was that he could hear none of the noises of cars, trees rustling, or even his footsteps. It felt like he was lost in an endless dark void, or deep underwater where no light or sounds could reach. Dean focused instead on the fresh air that invaded his lungs, clearing the stuffy air left over from the room.

He was digging the end of the stick in a semicircle in front of him, sweeping in an arc so as not to encounter any dips or obstructions unexpectedly, and he gained speed and confidence the farther he went. But he must have missed something, and his brother must not have been paying close attention, because one moment he was striding forward smoothly, and the next he was stepping on something small and roughly spherical.

Dean's foot skittered on the round object and his leg swept out from under him. Unable to regain his balance as easily as he normally would've, his arms pinwheeled and he gasped, "Ah!"

Strong arms caught him, which he reflexively grabbed on to, heart thudding from the spike of adrenaline caused by the feeling of falling. Sam held him up under the arms just long enough for Dean to get his feet back under him, and then the older man was batting his protective little brother off angrily.

"Dammit, Sam! I thought you were supposed to be watching where we were going? What's the point of you hovering three inches away all the time if you don't even keep me from stepping on a stupid rock?! In case you already forgot, I can't friggin' see." Where is this coming from? He didn't know how loud he was yelling; he could be waking up the whole neighborhood for all he knew, but he couldn't stop himself, too flustered and mad with himself that he turned it on his brother. "Seriously, Sam, what help are you, huh?" He took a rough, shaky breath. "Doesn't matter, I guess, all I can do is sleep—barely—clean my guns, and be walked around the parking lot like some Yorkie who needs to do his business. And what about you, Sam? I thought you were supposed to be finding some way to fix this, but all you've done is whine to Bobby." He knew he was being irrational and regretted everything in an instant.

During his whole rant, the only things he'd moved were his arms, and, by extension, the cane, too afraid to take a step in any direction and risk tripping on something. So Dean stood there, fuming, waiting for Sam to say something.

Seconds ticked by, and there was no sign, no touch from his brother. He started to sweat, horror at what he'd said snaking into his mind. Crap, what did I do? Sam didn't leave me here, did he? I guess I wouldn't blame him. Crap crap crap. Finally, he tentatively ventured, "Sam?" He fought against the hint of desperation in his voice.

Fingertips brushed against his collarbone, light and apologetic. "Sorry."

Exhaling, Dean bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "No, Sam, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that. I was just— This whole thing—"

The light pressure from Sam's fingers increased a moment, then, "It's ok, I get it. We'll figure it out."

When he'd finished his encouragement, Dean sighed reached up to pat his little brother's arm, and Sam let go. Dean said again, "Sorry."

Sam just clapped a hand on his shoulder softly. Dean made up his mind that, while his moment of guilt lasted and he didn't chicken out, he'd throw Sam a bone to show he trusted him. "Uh, Sam? Just a question." He cleared his throat. "How is my voice? Have I been too loud? Too quiet? Do I sound like Batman? That'd be kinda badass."

Sam's immediate chuckle reverberated through his arm into Dean's shoulder. Then he tapped, "Ur always 2 loud, bro. No, ur good. Little off, but ok."

Despite the reassurance, Dean started feeling insecure and he just nodded. Concluding that he might as well practice, he carefully spelled out on his brother's arm in Morse, "Go 2 car?"

Sam replied, "Sure. Want 2 wash it? Should b easy."

Dean nodded his approval and let Sam subtly guide him by the elbow across the lot to the Impala.

…

Sam sat on the curb outside the door of the room with his laptop, keeping an eye on his brother, who was washing the Impala. Dean was practically caressing the familiar lines of his beloved car as he carefully scrubbed every inch of her. He knew the vehicle inside and out well enough that if he went slowly, even blind he could clean it till it gleamed in the midday sun.

Sam had rooted around in the trunk and finally unearthed a small bucket, which he'd filled with warm, soapy water before tossing in a sponge and a rag and unleashing Dean on the car. In his quest to be thorough, Dean was sweeping the sponge in wide spans, always leaving a hand where he left off so he didn't lose his place whenever he needed to re-saturate the sponge. He ended up using both hands a majority of the time to judge what he'd covered already and what still needed a once-over. Because of his strict attention to detail, washing the '67 Chevy took an inordinate amount of time. Not that that was unusual for Dean, he put more time into maintaining the car than he did himself, most days.

For the moment, Sam didn't mind; it was nice and sunny out—if a little chilly—and he had his coat that kept him plenty warm. He'd gone back inside to fetch his laptop and was now perched on the curb, trying to dig for any information that he might have missed. He'd turned up zip so far, but it was worth it to be outside and see his brother out of his funk for a while, even if it seemed to entail watching from the sidelines while Dean spent some quality time with his baby.

He smirked at the thought, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the screen, angling it down from the glare of the sun. Now if only he could find something, some spell or spell-breaker...

An hour later, at long last, Dean had finished wiping down and rinsing off the body of the car to his satisfaction. His sleeves and the knees of his jeans were soaked, but that didn't seem to bother him as he dropped the rag back into the now-cold bucket of water with an appeased grin.

"See, Sammy? Good as new." Of course he knew Sam was sitting there. The simple fact that Dean trusted him to be made Sam's heart ache dully; he hadn't always been there for his brother. He was the one who always left, not Dean. But that wouldn't happen now; not ever. If their situation had been reversed, he'd have trusted Dean just the same.

Sam felt a little guilty for letting Dean nearly fall earlier. Dean hadn't been mad at him—not really—but he was right. Sam should've been watching more carefully, since his brother couldn't. Seeing him struggle to do simple tasks, and not being able to perform some at all, made the young hunter feel like more responsibility now rested on him. He took it on willingly, remembering how many times in the past his brother had taken care of him when he was hurt. Who says it couldn't go both ways, just because Dean was older? Dean seemed to have that mindset—that because he was the big brother he always had to be the provider, the protector. Well now, no matter how much he wanted to watch out for Sam, it was nearly impossible. So Sam would just have to return the favor, even if that went against every fiber in Dean's body.

To be honest, Sam was impressed with how Dean was dealing with the situation, quickly adapting, even if he didn't like it and it scared the crap out of him. Sam was likely the only one who would notice because he knew his brother so well. If anyone else were in Dean's shoes, they'd probably be curled up in bed most of the day, too afraid to leave the room. But here Dean was, outside washing his car in broad daylight, putting total faith in Sam to keep on the lookout.

Another thing he was, was increasingly impatient. "Sam?" Sam ignored the touch of uncertainty that seemed to color his brother's voice recently.

Shaking the ruminations away, Sam folded up his laptop, hefted up the cane that was propped by his side, and stood up in one big heave. He extended the staff so the tip hit Dean's hand. He accepted it, but still reached out to tug at Sam's sleeve when the younger brother bent to lift up the bucket. As if that were perfectly normal, Sam led him back inside.

He deposited Dean at the bed and went to go pour out the pail in the bathtub. Shoulda just dumped it outside, he regretted mildly, wrinkling his nose at the almost-black water that swirled down the drain.

Sam set the pail upside down next to the tub on a towel to dry and exited back into the other room. Dean had situated himself on his bed again, already beginning to look bored. Sam couldn't imagine the endless emptiness losing two crucial senses would be, especially for someone like his brother who needed control over his own devices to keep from going insane. If trading places with his brother was something he could do to relieve Dean of this, Sam would in a heartbeat.

But he couldn't, so he'd just have to get his brother back what he'd lost, and they'd have to cope—together—in the meantime.

…

The rest of the afternoon passed sluggishly, neither brother really having enough to occupy their minds. Seeing Dean's need to immerse himself in something, Sam took it almost literally by gathering up all their dirty clothes—which, by now, were most of them—and heaping them onto Dean's lap to give him something to do. They usually sorted their laundry by order of urgency anyways, going by feel and smell, and Dean could do that.

That didn't stop the man from acting miffed. "Oh, so, now you're gonna take advantage of me? Make the blind guy do the dirty laundry?" He was already starting to toss pieces of clothing into separate piles as he said this, assuring that it was all in jest.

Sam retorted with a smug, "It's ur turn."

Dean just pffted. "Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses."

A hint of a smile lit Sam's face, and he made himself comfortable on the end of the bed to flick on the TV. He'd called Bobby to check in not long after they'd come back inside, and the grizzled hunter hadn't come up with any ideas yet either; Sam's own research had hit dead-end after dead-end, so he'd given up for now. He couldn't do anything more right then without going to a library. He wouldn't want to leave Dean alone for that long, but he wasn't sure if Dean was up to going somewhere so public just yet.

Instead, Sam had run out to get some lunch for them, which turned out to be tacos—soft shelled for Dean, since they weren't quite as messy as hard shells.

He now watched some mindless sitcom marathon from the edge of the bed while Dean sorted the laundry on the far side. It didn't take all that long, and when he finished, Dean surrendered to taking a nap. There was nothing better for him to do, so he slept, the dip in the foot of the bed a steady reminder of Sam's companionship.

When he grew bored of the reruns, Sam collected the piles of sorted clothes that dotted the bedspread surrounding Dean and placed them into a couple bags to take to the laundromat down the street sometime soon.

Under normal circumstances, Sam would go now, while his brother was out, but this was different and he had no clue when Dean might wake up; he didn't want to be gone when he did, especially since there was no way to leave the older hunter a note. So, he waited it out.

Maybe I'll just do it tomorrow. Dean might be up to going with, he thought to himself as he slumped back down in front of the laptop to check some stuff. A laundromat was quiet enough, and it would probably put his brother more at ease if he was with Sam when he went. Sam sighed and clicked on his email to see if he'd gotten any replies from anyone about his reversal spell requirements. Nada.

Later, after Dean had woken up, the brothers went for another walk, this time following the sidewalk down the street a ways before turning back. Dean kept one hand on his walking stick while Sam followed behind him, on the alert for any hindrance in Dean's path.

That night, Dean insisted that Sam not leave his own bed, that he'd be fine. Sam pretended he didn't notice Dean shift to his side, his back to Sam, and slide off his amulet to grip in his hand until he drifted off.

…

Mid-morning the next day, Sam and Dean went for yet another excursion outside to relieve their mild claustrophobia. Sam could practically see the pent-up energy pumping through Dean; the mighty hunter needs to kill some evil every couple days or he goes crazy, apparently. So, it seemed like just taking little strolls around the motel wasn't enough. He reasoned they could probably push for a little more.

Sam turned the thought over in his head, then went for it and asked his brother, "Jog?" He waited while Dean meditated on the suggestion.

A trace of dilemma crossed the older hunter's face, unsure of his own abilities. To quell his fears, Sam took up Dean's hand and placed it on his shoulder. You'll have to trust me for this one, bro, he silently urged.

Dean's jaw set with determination. I do, little brother. He nodded affirmatively for Sam to start.

They set off at a medium pace, Dean keeping his fingertips attached to his brother's back at all times. They pounded down the asphalt of the road—the sidewalk had too many ingrown plants and cracks to trip on at the speed they were going—for about ten minutes before Sam turned them in a one-eighty to go back the way they'd come.

The Winchesters had just arrived at the edge of the motel parking lot when Sam felt Dean's fingers slip jarringly from his back. He immediately checked over his shoulder to see his brother stumble, staggering to either side. Sam slowed to a stop, grabbing Dean's arms when he wavered.

"U ok?" Sam watched as Dean put a hand to the side of his ducked head, and when he didn't answer, he tried again. "Dean, u ok?"

Finally, hands buttressed on his knees, Dean nodded and scratched out, "Yeah...jus' got...a li'l dizzy... S'okay, it...happens." He was panting slightly from their workout.

As worried as he was about his brother, Sam knew that Dean's feelings of vertigo were most likely just a result of being deaf. It messed with his inner ears and balance. Being blind, as well, sure didn't help, either. It probably wasn't something more serious, but Sam would keep an eye on him. So Sam just wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders, while the other bent to secure Dean at his bicep. Against his far shoulder he urged, "Cmon. Here." The younger brother chauffeured Dean towards the Impala to give him something more solid to lean on.

That's when four guys, practically kids, really, showed up from their rowdy amble across the street, all swagger and graphic t-shirts and baggy pants. Spying the brothers and Sam's hold on Dean, they all smirked and sauntered over, crowding the two all buddy-like. They may have been younger, but they were clearly the athletic jock type, just out of high school, if Sam had to guess.

The one that seemed to be the leader, who sported multiple arm tattoos and a buzz-cut head, stepped up to Sam. "Hey, Stretch, you takin' your boyfriend on a date in this fancy boat of yours?" He grinned and raised his dark sunglasses to pass a mocking glance over the beast of a classic car.

We just can't catch a break, can we? Sam's hackles rose, but he stayed outwardly unruffled. He strategically stepped in front of his oblivious brother and backed them both up a few feet. Trying to divert attention from Dean and himself, he smoothly replied, "What's it to you?" With pointed scrutiny of the other three cronies, he continued faux-amiably, "So, which one's yours? Has he met your parents yet?" While they were reacting to that, Sam subtly twisted an arm back to tap out as quickly as he could on Dean's chest, "4 humans. Trouble."

Shades Guy's face reddened by degrees, and every shred of mock-camaraderie disappeared from his body language. He growled, pointing his finger, "Watch it, buddy. I ain't no homo, 'specially not like you." The man, easily five inches shorter than Sam but stockier, leaned in to grab the lapels of the Winchester's jacket when he caught sight of Dean over Sam's shoulder. The older brother had his eyebrows pinched in worry, and he hadn't said anything since they'd arrived; Shades Guy took notice of that.

"Yo. Pretty boy. Aren't you gonna stand up for your boyfriend here?" he challenged, ignoring Sam's scowl and shove to push him back a step.

While the guy had been speaking, Dean's face had shifted to confusion, and he was still staring off to the side of the group of guys with a vacant look. He obviously didn't react to the man's leer, and that's when a malicious grin reappeared on Shades Guy's lips. He turned his simpering attention back to Sam. "So, Gigantor, you have a thing for the mentally challenged, huh? What, it make you feel smarter? More of a man?" He sniggered, and the other guys joined in. "Bet you gotta find someone pretty damn stupid to 'complish that," he jeered, taking a step towards Dean.

Sam didn't like confrontation. He normally was the sensible one, keeping Dean in check when a hothead at a bar said too much. Or, sitting on the sidelines rolling his eyes as he watched Dean kick the crap out of said hothead, eager for it to be over so they could dust themselves off and leave. Maybe it was just because Dean couldn't defend himself effectively in his state, and maybe Sam had a newfound protectiveness of his brother. But now, something just snapped, and even then he didn't explode. He became quietly lethal.

Sam shifted to become a wall between the guy and his brother. He clenched and unclenched his fists and intoned in a low, menacing voice, "Don't even think about touching him." His gaze was flinty, flashing at them warningly.

"Or what?" Shades Guy mocked with a raise of both arms straight out towards the other three men behind him, exemplifying the fact that Sam was outnumbered.

Sam's expression gave nothing away, and then his fist was out and slamming into the front man's solar plexus with enough force to rupture something before anyone could blink. The man oofed and folded in half like a lawn chair, and Sam launched a leg out to sweep his feet out from under him.

Once the three accomplices had overcome their initial shock, they surged toward Sam with primal shouts. The younger Winchester propelled his brother back out of the way—breaking the contact Dean had kept the whole time—before he jumped forward to meet them, going low.

He rammed into goon #1's stomach and he went down. Sam felt the breeze as he lunged forward, avoiding a blow from a flying fist to his left. He bloodied the downed man's face with a punch to the nose, then another to the jaw. He was reeling back for one more when he felt himself get yanked away from the dazed man. Sam instantly thrust his elbow back, and was satisfied when it caught a second guy in the throat.

The guy made a choking sound and loosened his hold on him. Sam flung the restraining arms off and whirled around, already swinging his arm. The blade of his hand jabbed into the side of the punk's neck, and directly after, Sam finished him with a blow to the side of the head. The man crumpled to the ground, out for the count. Sam looked up at the last man standing from the group of punks.

He was staring in disbelief at his pals scattering the ground. Noticeably scrawnier than the other three, he met Sam's hard eyes and decided this was a match he couldn't win. Without a word he backpedaled and took off across the parking lot, not looking back.

Less than a minute after the first attack, Sam stood among the sprawled, groaning bodies of the three remaining men, barely out of breath from the exertion. Really, it'd been all too easy. The kids may have been sports stars in high school, but they didn't have the training of a seasoned monster hunter raised by an ex-marine father.

He silently watched as one of the guys slowly got to his feet and staggered after his retreating friend. Sam huffed out another breath and rubbed absently at his sore fist.

Thoughts of his brother entered Sam's mind again, and he darted his gaze worriedly to where Dean stood.

Except, he wasn't there.

Sam gasped in a breath and turned on the spot, searching all around the parking lot for any sign of his brother, who had suddenly vanished. What—?

Sam, frantic, zoned in on Shades Guy—who'd recovered a bit and dragged himself up—and fell to one knee beside him, roughly yanking him by the front of his shirt. Sam thundered, "Where is he? What did you do to my brother?!"

The man, still rubbing his stomach from the pain, cast a nervous glance back to see only one of his buddies was left behind him. When Sam impatiently shook him, he hastily answered, voice cracking, "What? I—I didn't do anything to your...brother." Despite that he was facing the man who'd taken all of them down, Shades Guy defiantly glared at Sam over the top of his sunglasses, which had slid down on his nose.

Sam didn't know what to do, or what had happened in the flurry of activity. He'd been distracted by these yahoos. Dean hadn't had time to go anywhere, not without help. But it didn't make sense that these kids had anything to do with it.

Still, he growled at the young man below him for good measure, who flinched at the ominous wrath written on Sam's face. Disgusted and having wasted enough time, Sam shoved him back down, and the guy scrabbled backwards in a crab walk. He scrambled to his feet and went to grab the last of his buddies.

Sam was already up and running to the other side of the car, to the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. No Dean. He knew it was pointless, but he was scared and desperate enough to bellow out, "Dean!"

He dashed back to the room and burst through the door, past the empty beds, into the bathroom. No Dean. Back outside again, and the lot was empty, save the Impala; the thugs had all taken off by then. They were gone.

Sam thickly swallowed past the growing lump in his throat and blinked against the moisture in his eyes.

And so was Dean.