Title: What Comes After
Author: November'sGuest
Character's: Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends, and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.
Category: Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU
Rating: T (PG-13)
Spoilers: None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun…obviously no profit made.
Summary: Sam and Dean travel to Stanford to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

Author's notes: Sorry folks…I know this is well over a year late and I have no words to make that okay…so I'll spare you all of my excuses and just get on with it, okay? However, I do want to thank you all for your patience, kindness, PMs and words of encouragement. Love and hugs to each of you. Also, I wanted to thank all those who read and reviewed/commented but never got a personal thanks from me. It's funny because I still have all the notifications in my e-mail because I can't quite bring myself to delete them—yet I feel like it's far too late to answer them considering. I keep thinking maybe I should start with a clean slate and just focus on making sure every review and every comment gets answered with this chapter forward. Whatever I do, please believe that each one was read and loved and that I'm always grateful for each one.

Before we get started, I'd like to thank some people who've been instrumental getting me this far along, whether it was just advice or a full beta of the chapter. Special thanks to ThruTerry'sEyes for looking the chapter's dialogue for me when I got stuck a few months back. Gratitude and thanks to both Gaelicspirit and Sodakey for beta'ing the chapter for me. Their help and advice was valuable and made this chapter a smoother read in many ways. And to all three, a big ol' smish for the continued support…it's been a long, frustrating road getting this chapter up.

Chapter 6: Fractures

Dean was quiet. Too quiet. And it only served to amplify Sam's concern about taking him home AMA. Things didn't get any better in the car. Dean dropped into the passenger seat wordlessly, clumsily tugging his coat closer with his bandaged hands. Leaning a little into the door, he sat staring out his window, tight lines around his eyes, lips pressed firmly together.

Just staring and silent.

Sam's initial attempt to question him was met with burdened sigh and a whispered, "Leave it, Sam." And though it went against his very nature, Sam let it go. Something about the way Dean held himself made Sam think of cracks in plaster—he didn't want to see what would happen if he pushed.

After filling the prescriptions at the nearest 24-hour pharmacy, Dean promptly swallowed both the antibiotic and the pain pill, leaving Sam bereft of the argument he'd been gearing up for. Worry blossomed painfully within Sam's chest—he'd never felt so off-kilter. He very nearly cracked a pod-person joke, but the hard slope of Dean's shoulders and his drawn face made the words die in Sam's throat.

Within fifteen minutes, the pain pill kicked Dean's butt solidly to the curb. Elvis had left the building. Maybe had left the planet. Sam knew his brother was weary to the bone, utterly exhausted—but was that all this was?

The Magic 8-Ball answers—don't count on it.

A hard layer of worry blanketed the mild inner irritation Sam felt when it came time to wrestle his solid frame of a brother out of the car. He manhandled Dean up and out against the passenger side of the car, one hand to his brother's chest to keep him steady while the fresh air did its work. Finally, Dean roused enough to stumble to the motel room with only a guiding touch at his elbow. As soon as his head hit the pillow, though, he was out again, as if a switch had been flipped.

Sam sighed as he bent over and removed his brother's boots, letting each one thunk to the floor before pulling the covers out from under him. When he began trying to ease Dean out of his jacket, Dean blinked blearily up at Sam, croaking, "Dude, are you heavy breathing in my ear?"

Sam straightened, blowing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. With a flat voice, he quipped, "Yes, Dean, I'm totally hot for you when you're high on narcotics. Nothing in the world gets me more aroused. Now, can you please take off your coat so we both can get some sleep?"

Dean frowned for a moment, like he wasn't quite sure what had just happened, then rolled over, pulling the jacket tighter around himself, his nose burrowing deep into the pillow with a soft sigh.

Rolling his eyes, Sam muttered, "Screw it. Keep the jacket, I don't care."

He flipped the covers over Dean and flopped wearily onto his own bed, worming his way into a nest and turning to face Dean before falling blessedly into sleep.

The bed molded around him like he'd been sleeping in it for years, mattress remembering the imprint of his body. He almost felt like he was floating. Something warm and wet splashed on his forehead. Plink, then a pause before another plink bounced against his skin. Blinking his eyes open, his heart banged hard and then lurched painfully.

Jessica was gaping-bleeding-dying above him.

Sam struggled up, eyes firmly fixed on Jess. He knew what came next—fire, an explosion of fire, hot and bright, then Dean pulling him to safety as the love of his life burned to char on a familiar ceiling. But that didn't happen. The fire that should've come, didn't. Jessica opened her mouth and, for a second, Sam expected to hear her call out to him. Instead, the chorus to Simple Plan's "Welcome to My Life" played for several seconds then paused before starting up again a second later.

"Sam! Wake up!" Dean's voice rang in his ears and a warm hand shook his shoulder.

With a jolt, Sam opened his eyes, gasping. A moment later, Dean's face came into focus—a little pale and sweaty, and a whole lot concerned. He could feel his brother's bandaged hand resting on his right shoulder.

Dean gave him a final nudge then straightened. "You okay?"

Sam pushed himself up, drew a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, buying himself a moment. "Uh, yeah," his voice cracked in the middle, but he pretended not to notice. "Just a dream. I'm fine."

Dean hesitated, not looking entirely convinced. Then he lifted a shoulder in a semi-shrug, saying, "Well, your phone's been ringing. You might want to see who it is. They seemed pretty insistent."

He nodded and reached instinctively for his Blackberry. Three missed calls back to back—all from Becky. Well, okay, that made sense. "Welcome to My Life" was Rebecca's ringtone. Sam hit call back and waited for her to pick up, his eyes tracking Dean's movements. Dean slumped down on his bed, shoulders drooping forward. He started to scrub one hand over his face, caught sight of the stark wrappings, blinked a few times, then let his hand drop limply back into his lap with a scowl. Weariness seemed to radiate off him in waves that sucked the air out of Sam's lungs.

"Hello—Sam?" Rebecca's brassy voice cut into his thoughts.

"Uh, hey, Bec. You called?" Sam stood, biting the dry skin at the side of his thumb.

Becky's weary breath filled the earpiece. "Yeah, I did. Kinda got worried when you didn't answer. Everything okay? Dean okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, yeah. We're fine, just catching up on sleep."

In his ear, Becky huffed in agreement. "Yeah, it was a long night, huh? Anyway, no biggie, just…. I came home to shower and change before going back to the hospital and…well, Nathan dropped by before I left. He'd forgotten his glasses at my place. When I told him about Aaron and Dean getting hurt, he kinda flipped a little."

"Is he alright?" Sam asked.

"Well…I don't know. I mean, I told him Aaron was going to be okay and that Dean was already back with you, but he just took off. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried. I think all this is bringing back old memories and I am afraid he's not handling it well. I thought, you know, maybe you could talk to him." Rebecca rushed on before Sam could say anything, "I think your talks really helped him after Rachel died. You were the only one he seemed to open up to."

Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose, drawing in a long breath. "Yeah, okay. I don't know how much good it'll do, it's been a long time…but I can try. Do you have his number?"

"I can give you his cell number, sure, but he's not answering—goes straight to voicemail. That's really not uncommon, though. He's always forgetting to charge the battery or turn his phone on."

Sam nodded to himself, then chuckled. "Yeah, that's sounds like Nathan. Any idea where I can find him?"

"I have a good idea where to start. You remember The Old Pro?"

"Yeah, yeah, the bar on Ramona Street, right?"

"That's it—and that's likely where you'll find him. He's been spending more and more time there in the last year. Especially when he's upset."

"Right, okay. I'll go by and check. If he's not there, should I call you back?"

Rebecca took her time considering his question before answering, "No. I mean, I'm probably overreacting. I'm sure he's fine…I just can't help but worry about the kid a little."

Smiling, Sam said, "Yeah, I know, Momma Bear. It's why we love you."

Becky laughed at the old nick-name. "Don't you start." She paused and then continued, "Okay, well, you caught me going out the door. I'm gonna go sit with Aaron, his doctor is supposed to be in sometime this afternoon."

"He's okay, though? He's coming home today?"

"When I left, they were saying he should be able to come home this evening some time after his doctor checks all his labs. And, yeah, he seems okay. Sore, but okay."

"Good, good. I'm glad to hear it." Sam pitched his voice lower and turned his back to Dean. "We were worried about him."

"Sam, c'mon, I know that tone. You know it's not your fault, right? Aaron wanted to go. He's a big boy and can make his own decisions."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But still—he trusted us to keep him safe."

"Okay, just stop right there. He wouldn't want you taking this on yourself. You know that. Maybe he was a little overeager, but I do think he was fully aware of the danger involved. It's not like he didn't know this thing is killing people."

Sam nodded. "Right. I know, and you're right."

On the other end of the line, he could hear her take a breath. "You gonna be okay with this?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"I'll see you later then?"

"Sure. We've got a few things to do, but, yeah. Call me when you get home with Aaron and we'll come over."

"Will do. You guys be careful."

"We'll do our best," Sam chuckled. "See ya later."

"Later."

Sam stood staring at the wall in front of him, Becky's words still ringing in his ears. Slowly, he let the phone fall by his leg, thumb pressing end.

"You okay?" Dean's voice sounded sandpaper rough causing Sam to want to offer him water…or something stronger.

Turning, Sam pocketed his phone. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Well, don't hurt yourself." Dean's goofy smile spread across his face, but Sam could see it didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "Everything's okay with your friends?"

"Aaron's getting to come home sometime later today. Becky said she'd call when they were home."

Dean nodded, looking down at his fingers resting in his lap. Sam didn't miss the guilt that passed across Dean's face as he ducked his head.

"And?" Dean prodded, still not looking at Sam.

"Well," Sam moved to sit on his bed, across from Dean. "Becky said when she got home today, Nathan was waiting for her. When she told him what had happened, he got—he didn't take it well. She wanted to know if maybe I could talk to him."

At that, Dean lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow at Sam, confusion coloring his expression. Before Dean could ask questions, Sam plowed on.

"I guess you could say I used to be Nathan's confidant. He's always been a little awkward and it was hard for him to fit in with the group at first, but we always hit it off really well."

"Isn't he younger?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. We met him through his sister, Rachel. She was a good friend of Jess's. She was always looking out for Nathan, taking care of him. She asked us to help him out because he was having a hard time adjusting to college life."

Dean didn't say anything, just waited for Sam to continue.

"She died a couple years ago and Nathan kinda disappeared inside himself. I guess the same thing happened when they lost their parents, only this time Rachel wasn't there to draw him back out. We were all scared for him, that's when we sorta took over looking after him."

"Especially you." Dean made it a statement rather than a question.

"Yeah, especially me. I could relate in a lot of ways to the older sibling situation. I knew how rough it was for him suddenly being left alone like that."

Sam didn't realize what he'd said until he saw a muscle jump in Dean's jaw and his brother's fists clenching in his lap despite whatever pain it might've caused. Dean looked like he'd physically taken a hit.

"Dean—"

Dean held his hand up to stop Sam's next words, shook his head once and stood to pace over to the window. In the space between the curtains, sunlight poured through, forming a halo around him. Sam squinted away, then stood, checking the time again.

"You'll be okay while I try to track Nathan down?" he asked, grabbing the keys from where he'd left them earlier.

Keeping his focus on the world outside the window, Dean mumbled, "Again, I'm not five."

"Maybe I should redress your hands before I leave?" Sam persisted, eyes flashing to Dean's bandages.

Looking at his hands as if he'd just remembered they were encased in gauze, Dean said, "No, they're fine. Don't even hurt anymore." He flexed his hands as he turned toward Sam. "See? Good as new." At Sam's pointed look, he went on, "Don't get your panties in a bunch. If they look like they need it, you can redress them when you get back."

Sam's stomach growled loudly, reminding him of how long ago he'd last ate. "Want me to bring back food?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "Not really hungry, but I could use some coffee. After I shower, I'll make some calls and see what I can find online. When you get back, we can check out the other victims' locations."

Sam hovered at the door, wanting to leave, but not wanting Dean to be alone. Dean's eyes lifted to meet his, registered the indecision then shuttered his own.

"What? You need me to hold your hand? Go find your friend, Sam."

Sam felt his body go rigid, but as quickly as the anger came, it drained away. In a moment of stark clarity, he recognized the deflection. Shaking his head at himself and at Dean, he jerked the door open and stepped into the sun.

~*~ WCA ~*~

The Old Pro felt a little like coming home. Weekends and evenings full of laughter and camaraderie flashed through Sam's memory the moment he stepped inside—he could hear the clink of glasses and feel warm hands clapping his back. Varying notes of pear, lily of the valley, and musk assaulted his senses and left him reeling. It was so real he could feel the ache in his bones, fingers itching to tangle in soft blonde curls and smooth across pale, peach blushed skin. Sam shook his head, trying to separate then from now. Focusing, pushing the moment away, he took in a deep breath and scanned the bar for Nathan.

There, scrunched into the darkened space at the far left was a familiar shock of red hair and slumped, thin shoulders. Sam made his way over slowly, trying to come up with some sort of ice breaker. When he finally reached Nathan, he slid quietly onto the stool next to his friend and folded his hands on the bar.

"You okay?"

A wry smile spread across Nathan's face. "Talk about déjà vu. I thought I was seeing things when I first saw you standing over there. But it was good, ya know?"

Sam fidgeted at the emotion coloring Nathan's voice, fighting back the curl of guilt clenching his stomach. "You know, you can call me anytime. No matter where I am, I'm still your friend."

Nathan ducked his head, turning the glass in front of him with the tips of his fingers. "I know. Not really the same as having you here though."

"Well," Sam said, soft sigh drawing the word out, "I'm here now. Bec's worried about you."

"Is she?" Nathan asked softly, almost as if he were lost in some deep, all encompassing thought, then finally turned to look Sam in the eyes. "I'm fine. She worries too much."

Sam gestured at the amber liquid half drained from the glass. "You sure about that?"

Nathan lifted the glass and finished off the contents, leaving the question unanswered. "So, why didn't you tell me?"

Lifting his eyebrows in question, Sam floundered before asking, "Tell you?"

"About what it is you and your brother do. You know you could've told me anything."

Sam could see Nathan's struggle to keep it from sounding like an accusation, but felt the bite anyway.

"Not really something you talk about with other people, you know? You'd have thought I was insane."

"Maybe, maybe not. Guess we'll never know," Nathan finished sadly. "But," he paused, seeming to search for how to put his thoughts into words. Glancing up at Sam and then back to his empty glass, he said, "There's things I never told you about Rachel's death. I didn't tell anybody—I was afraid they'd lock me up for sure. Not like I handled that whole thing well anyway."

Sam's went still, felt his heart skip and then speed up in uneasy staccato. Brows furrowed, he clenched the edge of the bar and tried to keep the unease out of his body language and voice.

"What are you talking about? What things?"

Nathan huffed out a self-conscious laugh. "You'll think I'm nuts. Hell, I think I'm nuts." He looked at Sam then, eyes nervous and wary—like he was afraid Sam would laugh or react badly to everything he wasn't saying.

Sam wasn't sure what his reaction should be. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this, but couldn't let his friend suffer because of his own issues. Shaking his head, he forced a chuckle. "Right, because hunting monsters and having visions is so very sane." Sam bumped his friend's shoulder. "C'mon, spill. I'm the last person in the world to judge."

Eyes widening, Nathan stuttered out, "So, you really see the future? That's true?"

Motioning to the bartender, Sam ordered a Coke before clearing his throat. "Well, it's kinda more complicated than that…but, yeah."

"When did—how? I mean—"

Shame and guilt flooded up to Sam's ears. Familiar emotions. Always there. Waiting for the slightest crack in Sam's psyche to come rushing forward again.

"Jess," he said. "I began dreaming about her death months before it happened." He shrugged, not able to take his eyes off the tiny bubbles dancing around in the glass placed in front of him. "It'd never happened to me before, so I just thought…." He cleared his throat. "I just thought it was a nightmare. But," he lifted stark eyes to meet Nathan's, "somewhere deep inside I think I knew. I knew and I did nothing."

For a moment, Nathan sat silent. Sam flicked his eyes back to the soda, breaking the moment to take a gulp, aware that Nathan was staring at his profile.

"God, Sam—just, that's awful. You must've felt so—" Nathan abruptly stopped, looking at Sam with a blush.

"Guilty?" Sam finished for him. "You have no idea." Deciding he needed something stronger, Sam drained his glass and signaled the bartender. "Gimme whatever he's having." Sam nodded toward Nathan's glass and then watched the whiskey being poured into a shot glass in front of him.

An awkward silence punctuated the space around them until Nathan sighed and asked quietly, "Do you think it would've made a difference? If you'd been there, I mean."

"I don't know…maybe." Sam threw back his shot and motioned for more. Some part of him knew it was a bad idea to be drinking right now, but another fiercely stubborn part of him just didn't care. "Dean doesn't think so. Says we weren't ready to deal with…" Sam's eyes skittered to Nathan's and then away, "…the situation. But…."

Nathan nodded. "But you think he's just saying that to make you feel better."

Sam breathed out through his teeth, bowing his head. "You don't know how many times I wish I had been home that weekend—that I'd just told Dean I couldn't leave and meant it."

"You don't…blame your brother, do you?" Nathan asked.

Sam shook his head. "It's not like he could've known. But, there are moments…. I mean, I know, logically, that he's right. If I'd been here, I'd have probably gotten myself killed—or worse—and I know that, but I can't help but feel like I should've been there anyway."

"No, I get it, man. I understand completely." Nathan drained his second drink. "I'm sure your brother means well, but I get how you feel. He probably can't understand what it's like to love someone like you loved Jess. No offense, but on first impression, your brother seems like the love 'em and leave 'em type."

Snorting, Sam nodded in agreement. "That's no joke. We've been in town less than two days and already he's hitting on Lori."

Immediately, the words stung his conscience. Dean's morose behavior days after leaving Cassie behind suddenly vivid in Sam's mind, even now, nearly a year after.

Cocking his head a little, Nathan said, "Well, it did seem kinda mutual. She couldn't take her eyes off him the other night."

Sam flashed back to the hospital, to how Lori had diligently waited with Dean until Sam had been ready to leave. She'd said she got the sibling thing and that was why, but it felt like there was more to it.

"How is Dean, by the way? Becky said he was hurt, but she didn't elaborate."

"Uh," Sam shook his thoughts clear, finished off another drink, "he's okay."

Nathan turned his whole body toward Sam. "You don't sound so sure." At Sam's obvious reluctance, Nathan pressed, "C'mon, man. If you want me to trust you with my deepest darkest, then give me a little mutual give and take."

Nathan always knew Sam's buttons. Made it hard to be stoically noble in his own misery. "It's just, it's hard to say…Dean's not been well for a little while now, but recently…since we got here, he seems worse."

Sam noticed the surprise in Nathan's eyes and felt his own leg begin to bounce.

"What do you mean? Does it have something to do with what happened yesterday?"

"Well, it's complicated. Dean was hurt pretty bad about three months ago, has some problems with his lungs because of it, as you saw…but he'd been getting better. He seemed better, then he started having these dreams. More like nightmares…about Jess."

Nathan's eyebrows drew upward as his eyes widened. "A-about Jess?"

"Yeah. Messed up, right? Anyway, these nightmares seem to have a physical effect on him and it's been worse since we've gotten here. He's just not himself. It's like being here makes it all worse. And last night, when we went to the apartment, he had a vision of Jess burning…and somehow, I can't explain it, and it sounds crazy, but Dean had…he was burned like the fire had been real."

Nathan gaped. "That's imposs—I mean, how's that possible? That doesn't make sense."

Sam shrugged. "Tell me about it."

"But, he's okay, isn't he? Becky said they'd sent him home."

"The stubborn ass refused to be checked in, but, yeah, he's better. Whatever it is, it seems to fade with time or something."

"I gotta tell ya, Sam, it sounds scary. If he were my brother, I wouldn't want him anywhere near that place."

"Yeah," Sam began, signaling for another round of drinks, "try telling him that. He's an idiot when it comes to taking care of himself. He's not gonna listen to me."

"So, make him listen." Nathan nodded to himself. "Sit him down and tell him this is the way it's gonna be. Assert yourself."

Sam laughed, a pleasant buzz finally settling in and leeching away some of the cold encasing his heart. "Listen, I wish I could, but with Dean…well, it won't work."

"Have you ever tried it? You are famous around here for your unmatched stubbornness." Nathan grinned at him and suddenly it felt like old times.

Sam returned the smile. "Touché."

Talking about it made it seem so simple…or maybe it was the liquor. But, it was true, Sam was known for his epic amount of stubborn among his friends. He'd actually taken some amount of pride from his role within the gang. Dean had accused him more than once of being just like Dad, and there wasn't a more stubborn SOB around than John Winchester. So maybe Nathan was right, maybe he should protect Dean from himself, it sounded right, more right than anything had in days—no way was his brother getting near that apartment again.

"My friend, I think you're right." Sam sat back in his chair, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe that was the liquor talking, but it felt good regardless. It completely slipped his mind to swing the conversation back around to Nathan's earlier confession.

~*~ WCA ~*~

Dean's research hit a brick wall about an hour in. There wasn't enough to go on, too many possibilities and no way to narrow them down. The only thing left was to look for leads at the other sites—or, more likely, back at the apartment itself. Sam probably wouldn't be too keen on that idea, but Dean's gut told him that's where he needed to be if they were ever going to figure this out.

Stretching rearwards in the straight-backed chair, Dean's vertebrae cracked and popped. He found something satisfying in the pull and burn of his muscles, the shifting of his bones—it felt good to feel his body move and respond. This sitting around and waiting was making him feel a little stir crazy. A jumbled ball of energy coiled within him, winding tighter as each minute ticked by, making his skin crawl and itch. Under all that, the low-level hum of something else chilled him, despite the fact that he'd long ago turned off the air conditioning.

Checking his watch, Dean sighed and began to slowly push himself to his feet just as someone rapped lightly on the door. He steadied himself a brief second before walking over and pulling the door open. His words were stolen by the surprise he felt at finding Lori standing in front of him.

Her eyes fell to Dean's mouth as he opened it, closed it, then twisted it up into a sheepish grin. She blushed a little before jerking her eyes back up to his.

Giving a little wave, she chirped, "Hi. Just thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing. I didn't see your car, so I really didn't think anyone would be here. But, I was already here, so…is this a good time?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah," Dean finally stuttered out and then stepped to the side, allowing her entrance to the room. "Sam went out for a little bit and I was just taking a break, so your timing's actually pretty good."

Lori nodded and moved into the center of the room, nervously squeezing her hands together. Dean gestured for her to have a seat in the chair he'd just vacated, then eased himself down on the end of the bed.

"Wow, it's really hot in here. Is your air conditioning broke?" she asked as she eyed the long sleeved shirt he was wearing. He'd taken his coat off to free up his arms while working on the laptop. "Aren't you burning up?"

Dean quickly covered when he saw her wince at her own words. "I guess I got busy and didn't notice. Lemme just… ." He gestured toward the window unit as he rose.

Despite the shivers dancing just beneath his skin, he walked over and turned the knob, kicking the air conditioning on. He grit his teeth against the icy air blasting right through his over-shirt. Pasting on a smile, he turned back to Lori and sat back on the bed.

Lori rubbed the tops of her legs as she spoke. "So, I thought maybe I could take a look at your hands and see how they're doing."

"House call," said Dean, giving her a wide, winning grin. "Nice."

Nodding absently, she murmured, "It's no trouble…I was a little curious anyway. Do you have anything I can remove the bandages with? Scissors, knife…?"

Dean nodded and stood. "Yeah, sure, we've got a med kit in the—"

"Oh," she interrupted, "and if you've got extra bandages, go ahead and bring those."

"Okay, be right ba—" Dean stumbled over the floor strip as he entered the bathroom and cursed as he almost went down. "Damn it!"

"You okay?" Lori asked, half rising from her chair.

Dean felt his ears burn, but he yelled back, "Yeah, all good!"

Fumbling for the med kid under the sink, he cursed again as he swayed and his vision faded into bright floaters. Okay, he said to himself as he kneeled on the floor, slow down and breathe. Inhaling, he closed his eyes, squeezed his fists into tight balls, and tried to still the trembling in his fingers. They'd been doing that off and on for the last hour, making tapping at the laptop even more of a pain then the gauze alone was being. Now he felt his nerves ratchet up, increasing the uncontrollable twitching.

Lori's presence made him feel nervous in a way he hadn't felt around a woman in a long, long time. Realistically, he knew it couldn't go anywhere, but the knowing didn't seem to phase his heart's desire.

"Come on, Dean, get it together," he whispered to himself.

His jaw clenched briefly. He released a slow, deep breath and shook his fists out. The dizziness had eased with the stillness and he picked up the med kit more surely this time. He pulled himself to his feet carefully and strode back out to the main room, pushing his nerves deep, deep down where they became a ghostly itch under a layer of numb.

Sitting on the edge of the bed again, Dean placed the kit next to him and popped it open, rummaging around a minute then holding out a pair of straight Kelly forceps. Lifting his gaze, he stopped at the look on her face.

Her eyes were wide and she swallowed a nervous laugh. "Uh, wow. You boys are really well stocked." Her eyes flicked down to the med kit and back to his.

"Uh, yeah, I guess we are." Dean chuckled, feeling her warm fingers brush lightly against his as she took the scissors into her own. His eyes flashed to hers, but she looked quickly away.

"Do you," she cleared her throat and scooted closer, "need all that? Or are you just over prepared?"

Dean placed his right hand palm up on his knee, giving her a place to work. "Definitely not over prepared. Hazards of the job."

Lori nodded like it wasn't a huge surprise and began cutting away the gauze on his left hand. "Well, kinda figured you were no stranger to pain. Most people don't handle having their burns cleaned so well. It's actually a pretty painful process."

Dean didn't know what to say to that so he just nodded and kept his eyes on her hands. Once she'd cut down the middle, she carefully began pulling the wrapping away.

Using a gentle touch, Lori turned his hand in different angles, examining the flesh. "Looks like all the swelling is gone, skin is smooth and it looks dry. Not nearly as red, either. How's it feel?"

Dean squeezed his hand into a fist and released it a few times rapidly. "Honestly?"

She nodded, face lit up with wonder.

"Tender when the skin pulls, but not bad. I can use them again, anyway."

"That's pretty amazing, Dean," she said. "Nothing short of a miracle. I can't understand how—it looks nothing like it did last night. Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"Actually, no," he said. "I have a theory, though."

"Care to share your theory while I unwrap the other one?" Lori asked, taking his other hand and turning it over, snipping carefully into the gauze.

"Well, there was no actual fire—I mean, I saw the fire and felt it, experienced what Jessica experienced, right? But the actual damage seems to be fading much quicker than a normal injury. It only makes sense that, if it's a residual effect of Jessica's experience, it would reverse with distance from the apartment and with time."

Lori nodded. "Yeah, I guess. It's just, well," she shrugged one shoulder, "it's hard to wrap my head around it because the condition you were in last night was real—your body didn't know the difference. I mean, if you had sustained fatal injuries—what then?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess if you die before the damage has time to reverse, you're screwed."

The frown on Lori's face told Dean she didn't like that answer one bit. Before she could say anything, he held both hands up and said, "So, doc, what's the prognosis?"

Slowly, her eyes tracked from his wide smile to the flesh waving in front of her. Catching the newly uncovered left hand, she pulled it into her lap, turning it in different directions, peering at it closely like she had with the right one. Her warm hands seemed so tiny and delicate next to his. Her touch was reverent and it warmed him from the inside out even as the room's temperature continued to chill his bones.

"Amazingly enough, I don't think you need the bandages anymore," she said. "They look really good. Looks like really bad sunburn and nothing more. Still, I'd keep applying the cream. It'll help ease the pain of the skin pulling."

Dean felt his heart rate speed up at the way she looked at him—innocence and caring. How long had it been since he'd felt like someone was actually interested in his wellbeing? He felt himself returning her grip, drawing a shy smile from her as she looked down at their joined hands. His stomach gave a little flip and he felt his nerves come rushing back. This girl was getting under his skin and that was not something he knew how to handle. It wasn't even something he knew how to allow. Someone like him could never be with a girl like her.

He gave a small shake of his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. He hated this feeling of being laid bare. It was steadily getting worse, as if being in this place was wearing away his defenses. Maybe he was just working too hard at keeping everything in—keeping Sam safe from the bleed-over and keeping his professional façade intact.

"Dean, you okay?" Lori was peering at him with concern, her grip tightening.

Forcing his body to relax, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Where'd you go? You left me there for a minute—your hands are shaking."

"I—"

Before he could finish, the doorknob jiggled, then twisted, letting Sam into the room. Dean hadn't even heard the Impala pull up.

"Hey, who's car—" Sam stopped mid-sentence when his eyes fell upon Lori and Dean, hands still clasped.

Lori quickly pulled back. "Hey, Sam," she tossed out.

Her fingers rose in half a wave, but Sam turned and shut the door, ignoring her friendly attempt. Dean frowned. That wasn't like Sam.

Sam's eyes narrowed on Dean when he turned and he got that pinched look that told Dean his little brother was jumping to conclusions.

Voice Kansas-flat, Sam asked, "Hey, Lori. What brings you here?" He tossed the keys on the table and brought his hands to rest on his hips, giving Dean another hard look over her head.

"I stopped by to see how Dean was feeling. A little house call before I'm off to the hospital to visit Aaron." She smiled, but Dean could see the awkwardness was making her hands flutter about nervously.

"Oh, so this was your idea—" Sam began as his eyes fell on the med kit and the discarded gauze. "Well, that was…really nice. You really seem to care about your patients."

"Sam," Dean warned, something about Sam's tone not sitting right.

"What?" Sam looked at Dean, fake innocence. "It's nice that she went out of her way to check on you."

Dean picked up on the slight slur to Sam's words and cocked his head as he looked his brother over more closely. "You been drinking?"

Lori jumped up, gathering her things. "I'm sorry, guys, I've gotta get going. Places to be and all that." She squeezed Dean's shoulder as she hurried by. "Finish our talk later?"

Dean watched Sam's eyes zero in on Lori's hand on his shoulder and the scowl that followed. He ignored his brother as he stood, gently loosening her grip and walking around Sam to open the door for her.

"Yeah, sure. Later." He smiled his reassurance and watched as she hurried out the door.

Seeing her safely pulling away, he shut the door with considered care not to slam it. Holding the door knob in a tight grip to steady the suddenly tipping room, he drew in a deep breath before he turned toward Sam, still fidgeting at the end of the beds.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean's voice lowered, a storm cloud brewing in his chest.

Shrugging, Sam muttered, "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm actually really good."

"Yeah?" Dean moved to lean against the table. "Then what's up with the jealous chick act? It's not like you to be rude."

Sam scoffed. "Rude? I'm rude. You hit on anything within a hundred mile radius, including that girl who put her career on the line to help you and I'm rude? She's not one of your bar flies. She's a nice girl."

Clenching his jaw, Dean shut his eyes for just a second, shook his head and blew out a breath to circumvent all the wrong things he wanted to say, steady his suddenly rapid heartbeat. "You're drunk. You always were a piss-poor drunk and that's why I'm gonna let this slide."

"Yeah, you do that, Dean," Sam said wearily, flopping down on the bed, closing the med kit and scooting it farther away with Dean's discarded dressings. "And I'm not that drunk."

Dean watched Sam's face cloud over with misery.

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and over his face. "What's going on? Is it your friend?"

"No, Nathan's fine. Actually, it's you." Sam's eyes lifted and Dean saw the worry swimming there.

"Me? What about me?"

Sam hesitated, then pushed himself up to sit, resolve settling in the earnest lines around his mouth in a way that made Dean feel uneasy.

"I don't think you should work this case." Sam held up a hand before Dean could interrupt. "But since I know you won't go back to Missouri's or to Bobby's…I think you should keep your distance from the apartment."

"What? Sam, I'm fine."

Sam's eyebrows climbed. "Oh really? Then why are your hands shaking?" He nodded toward Dean's hands.

Dean didn't need to look. He could feel the trembling, not just through his hands, but his whole body. Steeling his voice in defiance of it, he repeated, "I'm. Fine."

Walking past Sam, he leaned to pick up the bandages and the med kit. As he pulled upright, Sam's hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm. It was nearly enough to pull him off his feet, but he dug in and held steady.

"No. You're not. You could've died." Sam's eyes beseeched Dean to listen.

Dean tamped down his rising irritation as he jerked loose. "Our research has hit a dead end, Sam. We've got nothing. Our best hope of figuring this out is at that apartment."

Sam shrugged and shook his head. "I don't care. I don't care if it's the only good lead we've got, I don't want you anywhere near that place."

Dean's face screwed up, lips twisting the words as he said, "Even if that's the only way to fix this?"

"There's got to be another way. We've still got the other locations to check. Maybe—"

"And what if the same thing happens there, huh? You gonna forbid me from going there, too?" Dean walked over to the trash, dumped the gauze and stood with his back to the room.

"It won't. It won't because Jess has no direct connection to those places like the apartment."

Dean could feel Sam's eyes boring into his shoulders. "You're grasping at straws. You know whatever 'this' is…it's not limited to the apartment." He turned and stepped over to the table, setting the med kit down before his increasingly numb fingers dropped it.

"Don't be stupid, Dean. Nothing like your hands has happened anywhere but at the apartment and we both know why that is. She's strongest there because she died there."

"Exactly! That is why I need to go back there. Maybe she can help—"

"Help get you killed? No, just—no."

Fear, sharp and cold, sliced through Dean. Sam would never find peace until this was solved—he'd never find peace until this was solved. "Sam." He lifted a hand toward his brother, one last ditch attempt at reason.

"No, man, I won't let you risk it."

Fear morphed into anger, sudden and fierce, like an animal backed into a corner. "Oh, yeah? You gonna stop me?"

Tension cracked between them as Sam stood, drawing himself up to his full height. "Don't do this, Dean. Please."

Dean smiled coldly, stepping into Sam's space. Exchanging glares, they stood, toe to toe. Dean could smell the cloud of alcohol surrounding his brother and, this close, could see the doubt and fear wavering in Sam's eyes. As quick as it had come, his anger dissipated.

Taking a step back, he broke eye contact and turned toward the table, shoulders slumped. His chest felt tight and heavy. Drawing a breath was an effort. "Look, man, I don't wanna fight," he said, closing his eyes.

"Then don't," said Sam, belligerence black and heavy in his tone.

Dean's head came up sharply. Brow furrowed, he asked, "Are you okay, Sam? I mean, really, what's going on?"

Jutting his chin out, Sam muttered stubbornly, "This isn't about me."

Dean bit his lip and smirked. "Right, right. Of course it isn't." He snagged the keys off the table in front of him and was at the door before Sam could process it.

Moving off the bed, voice heavy with suspicion and fear, Sam said, "Where are you going?"

Pausing outside the door, Dean clipped, "Out. I need some air."

"Dean—"

Dean smirked as he threw a deadly look at Sam. "Don't worry," he said, voice gruff with emotion, brows set low over his eyes, "I won't do anything stupid withoutyour permission."

He slammed the door, leaving Sam with one shaking hand stuck in his lanky hair to sink helplessly down on the bed.

To be continued...

Hope to see you all much sooner next time around. Thank you all so much for taking time to read and review. I appreciate your patience and your kindness more than I can say. :)