Written for TammyRenH for the SPN Summergen over on AO3! I love writing case fics and hurt!Sam is my jam, and so this was the prompt I picked, with some soulless!Sam thrown in for spice. I hope you enjoy!

In my mind, most of this takes place between 6x08 and 6x09, but it isn't that important. Big thank you to my wonderful beta, bagelcat1, for making sure things came across clearly and giving me some feedback on Sam! And thank you to the mods for keeping this event running!


The Impala was much too quiet for Dean's liking. Over the years, he'd become accustomed to music—his choice, of course—or some form of bickering or a conversation with Sam. It was seldom silent unless one of them was sleeping, or in Sam's case, listening to some boring, lame-ass podcast and leaving Dean to do the driving.

This, now this was just downright uncomfortable. Sam wasn't talking or listening to a podcast or researching or sleeping. He was just staring straight ahead while looking impatient as he watched the scenery pass them by.

This usually would've been the point in the trip where Dean would've put on some music. But it just wasn't as entertaining without Sam bitching about his choices or begrudgingly tapping his fingers along with the beat. And to make matters worse, whenever Dean did decide to put on music, Sam would just watch Dean's fingers drum on the wheel as if feeling the music was an alien curiosity.

It may as well have been. Maybe it was true that music came from the soul. A soul his brother was distinctly lacking.

Months ago, Dean would've given anything to have this near-exact scenario he was currently in. His Baby on the road with his brother sitting shotgun, riding towards the sunset to go save the civilians of the week. He felt almost guilty for not feeling grateful or relieved. Because while he had Sam, it wasn't Sam.

Dean tried to take his mind off it by keeping his eyes on the road that wound through the desert hills. On one side of the two-lane highway, the ground was dusted with an inch or two of snow. On the opposite, it had already melted, leaving only brown earth, rocks, and bushes at random. An occasional cloud dotted the wide, blue sky. But Dean didn't dare open the windows, with the temperatures being in the high forties despite the seemingly warm expanse of sky. Ah, March in Nevada. At least the roads were still open.

"How much further?" Sam asked so suddenly that Dean had to physically stop himself from jumping.

Dean guided the Impala around a bend in a smooth motion that didn't at all match the unease in his chest. A red and yellow sign for "The Way it Was Museum" proclaimed fun for children and adults from where it sat nestled amongst the rocks on the hillside.

"A few miles," Dean said evenly.

Sam didn't even bother nodding and instead cast his eyes out the passenger window where the hills descended into a wash.


Virginia City was something of a bucket-list town for hunters. Depending on who you asked, that could mean one of two things: you either came to make fun of the people who thought there was some substance to the abundant ghost stories or you came to see if a job was really a job. Dean and Sam fell into the latter category.

With three missing people in the last month, one of the most haunted cities in the states had made headlines for something other than its reputation. The brothers happened to be the closest and as such, Bobby handed them the case. Dean wasn't mad about it, per se, and driving through town definitely helped ease some of his nerves. The whole place looked straight off the set of a Wild West movie. Old brick buildings with faded advertising and balconies lined the main street, which was dotted with modern, out of place looking cars. For a fleeting moment, it reminded him of a dust-covered version of the French Quarter down in New Orleans.

Dean nearly made a comment about a place called the Bucket of Blood Saloon, but held his tongue and found them a place to park.

They found themselves in a cafe, seated next to a chipped window overlooking the end of the main street with cups of steaming coffee on the table in front of them. It was fairly empty inside the house-turned-restaurant and every step someone took made the old wooden floorboards creak. Small piles of dirty snow were pushed to the edges of the sidewalks. Across the street, a woman in a blue coat guided two young children into the museum.

Sam had immediately pulled out his laptop and gotten to work filling in the blanks of the case, but Dean was keen to take a moment and just be. The place was cool, alright? A cowboy hat and some hip holsters wouldn't hurt in a place like this. In fact, he'd probably fit right in with all the people dressed in period clothing in the buildings and walking down the street.

"So, The Silversmith Hotel, where the guests were reported missing, isn't an original construction." Sam's voice brought Dean's attention back to the present. "Built in 1998 on an unused lot, didn't see much foot traffic until a few years ago when ghost stories started making the rounds. It still doesn't get as much attention as the older buildings. But in just the last few weeks, three guests have gone missing on or near the premises."

"Well, we're in the wrong state for checking out but never being able to leave, that's unfortunate," Dean said with a smirk. It vanished when Sam shot him an unamused look over the top of the laptop and then went back to staring at the screen.

"Some of the places here could be legitimately haunted with the amount of history they have. For example, in the late 1800s, The Washoe Club had a storage space for dead bodies in the winter while they waited for the ground to thaw. People say it's one of the more active spots in town."

"Wouldn't be surprised," Dean muttered. He hadn't realized it until recently, but there wasn't even a 'so get this' in Sam's info dumps anymore. There was no excitement in his discovery and sharing of information. But there was no point in commenting on it. He leaned across the table and snagged an information pamphlet from the holder and began flipping through it.

Sam kept typing away. "But The Silversmith, there's nothing that would even remotely tie the disappearances to a ghost, either on the land or in the building itself. Maybe we're—"

"Dude," Dean cut him off. "Did you know that Mark Twain first used that pen name here in 1863?" he read off from the pamphlet. "He's even got a museum and a saloon named after him in town." Sam loved stupid bits of trivia like that, especially about famed American authors. Dean had, in fact, read quite a few of the assigned books in grade school, much to his teacher's surprise. So hell, even Dean thought that tidbit was mildly interesting.

Robo-Sam on the other hand…not so much.

Sam stared blankly for a moment, no flickering spark of interest or care behind his eyes, before he shook his head. "No, I didn't. But as I was saying, maybe we're not dealing with a spirit. Could be something demonic, or a string of kidnappings for all we know."

Dean took a sip of coffee in lieu of answering. Sam, not picking up on any social cues whatsoever, continued typing. Maybe the no-sleep policy would mean he could crack this one with just his laptop and they wouldn't have to get their hands dirty. Psh. As if.

They finished their breakfast in silence before checking into a hopefully not haunted inn on the other side of town. The building, like all the others, was old, but Dean didn't mind. Sure, the bedspreads were an atrocious floral pattern and the floor creaked, but it felt authentic. Historic. Lived-in.

He did, however, pull out an EMF reader when they got up to the room just to be on the safe side, ignoring Sam's quizzical look as he did so. Not that surprisingly, all the bulbs lit up red and it began emitting a warning whine. Dean took several steps around the room but the reading didn't change. So either the place did indeed have multiple spirits or…

Dean walked over to the window and parted the lace curtains. "Power lines on both sides of the street," he said and shut the device down. "That probably kills half the 'evidence' the town is haunted just by itself."

"Probably," Sam said in agreement. As soon as their things in the room were sorted, Sam stood up. "We should get started."

Dean wanted to sigh. He was just starting to warm up from their walk over. They really should've packed warmer jackets. Robo-Sam, of course, didn't seem to mind. If he didn't really care about the cold, did that mean he didn't have to worry about things like hypothermia? But he was still human, at least biologically speaking, which had to count for something.

The whole thing made his head hurt. He decided to throw on an extra undershirt for himself and not say anything. Before long, they were walking. The sidewalks were thankfully paved so they didn't have to worry about too much mud from the snowmelt. Sure, it killed a little of the old-timey feel, but Dean gave it a pass. He mentally tried to keep track of how many bars and saloons they passed while also making note of the cool window designs and bright paint on some of the buildings.

Dean stopped himself from staring too long into the windows of the Western Wear store before continuing down the main street.

They began their investigation as fellow ghost hunters, which didn't take much lying. They made their way through a few of the hot spots in town, where everyone was eager to talk about their evidence, before making their way to The Silversmith. It was mostly empty, save for the manager. He answered their curious questions with short, clipped answers that didn't give them any new information while also trying to direct their questions away from the missing people. They went around and around but only succeeded in making him more frustrated. When the front desk phone rang, he was all too happy to answer it and shoo them away.

Most of the victims' families had gone home after the search for their missing relatives had come up empty. Thankfully, there was still one person in town directly connected to the most recently reported missing person that could give them a head start on where to start looking. Stephanie had gone to one of the saloons for a beer, leaving her sister in the room alone, and when she got back, her sister was gone.

"I mean, gone. Didn't take her phone or her keys or…anything! Not even a jacket!" Stephanie explained, borderline frantic.

Dean was glad they had moved the conversation outside the hotel where other patrons, or possible assailants, would be less likely to hear.

"And I reported her missing right away, I mean, Mandy's an introvert with a capital 'I', you know?" Stephanie worried her fingers together and wrenched them apart and kept repeating the process. "But she didn't want to drag me down so she said I should go and have a fun time. I never should've left her."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Dean assured.

"I have to find her. It's only been two days, she could still—I can't just leave her." Stephanie looked between the two of them with tears in her eyes.

"You have no proof she's still here, so technically you wouldn't be leaving," Sam said.

Dean fixed him with a glare, and not for the first time in the last few hours. Sure, his brother's puppy dog eyes could come in handy for situations like this, but what Dean was really missing was Sam's brain-to-mouth filter.

Fortunately, Stephanie didn't call him out on his cold logic. "I know it sounds stupid. Believe me, I know. But there's something off about this place. It's…I don't know, fake old. Like some rooms smell off but not old and the floor only creaks in very certain spots instead of everywhere kind of fake old."

Dean nodded slowly.

"Maybe it just feels off because you're not used to being alone," Sam said. Thankfully, it wasn't quite as cold as before, but more inquisitive. Still, Dean had to fight the urge to shoot him another 'dude what the hell?' stare.

Stephanie looked like she thought about it for a moment. "Maybe," she said quietly. She stopped wringing her hands and pulled out her phone. "This is what she looks like, just in case." She flipped the phone around to show them the same photo that had been attached to the missing person's report that had drawn them there.

Mandy was in her mid-twenties, blonde, and had Stephanie's hazel eyes. The photo had been taken in front of one of the local saloons, and Stephanie informed them that her sister had been wearing a green shirt the last time she'd been seen.

"We'll keep our eyes open," Dean promised. "I hope you find her."

Stephanie smiled sadly at them. "Thanks, me too."

They exchanged numbers just in case and then moved away from the hotel and began walking down the main street while Stephanie stayed and waited for anyone else to come by who may have answers.

"Doesn't give us much to go on," Dean said with a sigh. The other two victims had been missing for over a week, which didn't garner much hope of finding them alive. Mandy, though, Mandy could still be alive. Somewhere. Which meant there was still a ticking clock to contend with.

"It doesn't. We need to look into the building's history more, see if there's something we missed."

Dean watched the sun as it crept below the horizon. He shook his head. "We should check the place out tonight. Mandy could be in there somewhere, maybe those weird occurrences Stephanie mentioned could mean something."

Sam stopped walking. "Or she's already dead, along with the others. Or she's being held somewhere else, which we won't know about until we dig around a little more. We shouldn't go in half-cocked."

Sam was right about that. They really did need to know more before going in, guns blazing. But at the same time, a night spent researching may use up the rest of the time Mandy had left. "Nobody saw her leave. If she's still in there, we could find her before it's too late," Dean said.

Sam frowned ever so slightly. "Fine," he said. "I'll stay and dig up what I can and you head back and see what you can find there after it gets dark."

"Just like that?" Dean asked, taken aback. Splitting up wasn't always a good idea, even if they did really need to be in two places at once given their current situation. Then there was the added concern of letting Robo-Sam run loose in the town with no souled supervision.

"What? You afraid I'll offend the computer with my blunt questioning?"

Dean opened his mouth and closed it.

"Look, you want the best shot at finding this girl and getting back to civilization before Crowley realizes we're not on a headhunting mission? This is it."

And damnit, he had a point there too. It was risky, with Sam's soul in the balance, to take a leave of absence should Crowley need a muscle team for one of his alphas. Dean hated they even had to think about it. Needing a demon to sign off on their plans for the next few days was not something he ever wanted to consider. Ergo, a fast case, done and back before another alpha could be found.

Reluctantly, he found himself nodding along.

After a few more hours of fruitless researching, Dean was back at The Silversmith. He didn't bother with an EMF reader but did keep a careful eye on the lights and if his breath began to fog in front of his face. No dice. He kept his footsteps light, trying to avoid waking the patrons or getting the attention of the manager. Still, the floor creaked horribly next to the stairs going up to the second floor.

After a search of the ground floor yielded nothing, he went up to the second floor to Stephanie and Mandy's room, which had been left vacant while the investigation was ongoing. The stairs groaned under him, but not in the same way the stairs in the truly old buildings in town did. The paint was obviously newer too, but purposefully distressed to give it the feeling of being old. Someone really wanted this place to fit into the town.

Dean ducked under the caution tape and went into the room. It was similar to their room across town. Two small beds with loudly patterned duvets, doilies over the windows, and even a rocking chair in the corner. Nothing seemed to be out of place. No scratch marks, no damage that could've been left by ice inside the room.

Maybe Sam had been right after all.

He let out a sigh and made his way into the bathroom. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet on what was supposed to be worn wood. The search again yielded nothing. Dean scanned over the room one more time to make sure he didn't miss anything before he bent under the caution tape to head back into the hallway.

A very faint squeaking was his only warning. With his head bowed, he only got a glimpse of the man's legs and feet waiting for him outside the room before something heavy was brought down on the back of his head.

Dean collapsed with a groan as his head exploded with pain and his vision swam. Minuscule paint chips stuck to his cheek as he rolled his head as much as he dared to try and get a better look at his assailant.

But it was too dark to see anything and the spots dancing in front of his eyes refused to let his vision focus.

"You really should've minded your own business," the man said.

Dean couldn't see his face, but he could make out the boot as it made its way toward his head.


Dean's head hurt. That was the only thing that truly registered as he dragged himself back to consciousness. The second thing was that wherever he was stuck was cold. Not as cold as outside, thankfully, but still colder than inside the hotel. Underground or somewhere without heating, then.

The third thing, once he was able to raise his head without making his stomach turn, was that his hands were bound to a chair with thick rope and his mouth was sealed with duct tape. Fan-freaking-tastic.

He blinked a few more times to get rid of the lingering dark spots. It didn't do too much, given his already dark surroundings. Thin shafts of dim light came in between what appeared to be floorboards above him. As he squinted, he could just barely make out a set of stairs, the top of which disappeared behind a brick wall before they reached the wooden ceiling. He was in a basement of some sort. He continued looking for something useful or a way out until he realized there was another chair facing his. There was a girl strapped to it in a very similar configuration to him.

"Mandy?" he asked even though it was completely muffled by the tape.

Her head was hanging limply towards her chest, blonde hair obscuring her face. There were spots of blood on her green shirt. Dean squinted to see if she was breathing, but from several feet away and with the lingering dizziness he couldn't quite tell. He tried shouting her name again as much as he could.

A few seconds passed where the only thing he had to listen to was the ringing and pounding of blood in his ears. Then finally, she stirred. Not enough to fully rouse her, but Dean would take proof of life over fully unconscious any day of the week.

He was so looking forward to giving Sam an 'I told you so' when he finally figured a way out of this. Dean pulled on the restraints again but only succeeded in digging them further into his skin. Crap. There wasn't even enough give for him to reach the knife stashed in his boot. And he had no idea who had jumped him beyond the fact that it was a man. Double crap.

The manager was probably the best bet with how squirrely he had been earlier, but who was to say he didn't also have an accomplice? At least it wasn't a ghost. That was genuinely a bit surprising, considering where they were.

Dean twisted his hands every which way but eventually gave up and blew out a frustrated breath. Then he began yelling.

His voice was horribly muffled by the tape but maybe someone would hear him. Eventually. Right?

Without the ability to look at his watch, Dean had no idea how much time was passing. He only knew that his voice was getting more and more hoarse and Mandy had yet to become fully aware of her surroundings.

Discouraged, Dean stopped for a minute to catch his breath and reassess the situation. Maybe if he squinted harder he could pick out a metal pipe on the wall or something else he could somehow shimmy the chair over to and cut his binds on—

There were thuds from up above. Hurried footsteps crossed over the floorboards. Dust fell into Dean's eyes as he started yelling again.

The footsteps came back, stopped, and then vanished again.

Dean mentally cursed himself. Could it be that they were too far underground and his voice too muffled to make it through the wood?

Just as he was beginning to worry that could indeed be the case, a heavy clang sounded on the wood above the stairs. It repeated at regular intervals and almost sounded metallic. Gradually, a larger shaft of light began to illuminate the staircase.

"Dean!" Sam shouted from up above.

"Here!" Dean yelled back, continuing to curse the duct tape as he did so.

Thankfully, Sam seemed to have gotten the memo. He went for another few hits before he dropped whatever he had been using. With the amount of light coming through, the hole was probably big enough for him to fit through now. And finally he did.

Dean heard him thunder down the steps, which creaked in protest, and then he was there. Dean's shoulders sagged in relief, too glad to see him to overanalyze the missing relief on Sam's own face. Sam looked between him and Mandy and, after freeing Dean's hands, got to work getting Mandy free.

"The hell happened?" Dean asked after he had painfully pulled the duct tape off his face. He shook out his hands and came to stand behind where Sam was crouched in front of Mandy.

"You were late and my search didn't turn up anything so I came to see if you found something. The manager attacked me on my way in. Guess he had clocked us earlier."

Dean let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, you could say that. Where is he now?"

"Dead on the floor upstairs," Sam said blankly.

Oh. Well, one less thing for Dean to worry about then. He watched as Sam got the tape off Mandy's mouth, thankfully being careful about it, but lost interest when he noticed a dark stain on the arm of Sam's jacket. He stepped forward and brushed light fingers against it. They came away red and slick.

"He nicked me, it's fine," Sam said by way of explanation. When he moved to pick up Mandy, Dean held out a hand to stop him. His dizziness had faded in his time spent awake so he figured why bother straining Sam's injury?

He was only slightly surprised when Sam backed off. Sam was first up the stairs out of the basement, calling for emergency services as he went. Dean followed closely behind, cradling Mandy in his arms and praying they weren't still too late.


In the end, they didn't even really have to lie to the authorities. They were ghost hunters curious about the disappearances in the hotel. Dean had gone ahead to investigate when the manager knocked him out and locked him up. When Sam had come to check on him later, he had been forced to kill the manager in self-defense. It was pretty cut and dry by their standards.

Dean did most of the talking, with Sam only pitching in for the parts Dean hadn't seen for himself. The fewer people Sam unintentionally pissed off due to his current bluntness, the better. They were let go after being told to stay in town for further questioning.

Sam wanted to get the hell out of Dodge the instant they made it back to their own hotel, but Dean bullied him into getting his arm fixed up first.

"Because I don't want you bleeding all over Baby's seats until we can find another place to stop, that's why!" he insisted as he rifled through the medical bag.

"It's not life threatening."

Dean rolled his eyes where Sam could see. "Precisely. So it'll take a few minutes to patch up and then we don't even have to worry about it." Dean wasn't worried about the cut itself, even though it was still bleeding. But all the dust and debris in the hotel and basement were definitely cause for concern for infection, especially since Sam had apparently tousled with the manager on the floor before getting a handle on the situation. Sam catching a cold would be one thing. Dean was not willing to screw around with possible sepsis.

"Just let me fix yo—it up, and we'll get a move on." Dean pulled out the antiseptic and the suturing kit and pulled up a chair to the corner of the bed where Sam was sitting.

Sam still didn't make a move. Instead, he regarded Dean with a look that he didn't quite know how to read. Curiosity? Pity?

"You know I'm not him, right?" Sam finally asked. He shucked out of his jacket and overshirt.

Dean bought himself a few seconds by wetting some gauze with disinfectant. Their last conversation where Sam had flat out told him he wasn't his brother was seared into his brain for all eternity. "Yeah, I'm well aware." Sam didn't even flinch when Dean applied it to the cut. He was different, sure, and Robo-Sam freaked him the hell out and pissed him off but at the same time, it was still a Sam of a sort. And there was the possibility that one day he could get the real Sam back. And if that possibility came to be a reality, he didn't want Sam walking around with a jagged mystery scar on his arm for the rest of his life. So until then, Dean just had to put up with this. But that being said… "Gotta be honest, I'm a little surprised you came for me at all."

Sam was silent as Dean began the stitches. Then he shrugged with his uninjured shoulder. "It's like I said. I need your help. As for the girl, she was there." He paused. "Saving her seems like the kind of thing he would've done."

Dean's hands stilled for just a moment before he tied off the stitch and began another. Hearing Sam refer to himself in the third person as a separate entity was never something he would ever get used to hearing, nor was it something he ever wanted to hear again. But maybe real Sam could be a sort of conscience for him? Something to strive towards if he ever found the ability to care about something like that again?

Until then, it was looking like Dean would have to be that conscience for him.

He finished the stitching in silence and once Sam was bandaged up, they hit the road. They had just put Carson City in the rearview when Stephanie called to thank them and say that Mandy would make a full recovery with plenty of rest and fluids. Dean smiled a little at that.

She ended the call by mentioning that the other two missing persons still hadn't been found, but a much more thorough investigation would be taking place in the following days.

"The manager said he couldn't stand having the only non-haunted building in town. Looks like maybe he got his wish," Sam said after he hung up. Even though he lacked empathy, Dean could still hear the distaste in his words.

"Let's hope not."


Months later, Dean and a re-souled Sam found themselves in Reno after chasing a pack of werewolves around Lake Tahoe. They stumbled back into the motel right as the sun was beginning to rise and immediately set to work piecing each other back together. Sam popped in Dean's dislocated shoulder, only giving him until 'one' on the countdown to prepare himself, the jerk. After Sam took a shower, Dean took up residence next to his right arm and used a pair of tweezers to pull out slivers of wood and debris that hadn't been flushed from Sam's gash.

Sam turned to the other side for most of it and winced whenever Dean had to dig particularly deep. Dean, in turn, muttered quiet apologies, but did what was necessary.

"I've got a whole handful of these now, and I don't even know where they came from," Sam said out of the blue.

Dean looked up from his most recent battle with a fairly long splinter. Sam was looking at his upper left arm. At first, Dean only stared at him in confusion before he leaned forward and realized Sam was staring at the scar from The Silversmith.

He held his tongue. There were new scars on Sam that even Dean didn't know the story behind, and he doubted he ever would. That one though, that one he could give Sam. He could take away just a little of the agonizing not-knowing. For a moment, it was tempting to do so. But only a moment.

"Don't you go poking at that wall looking for answers," Dean warned and got back to work.

Sam sighed, obviously annoyed with Dean's lack of a story for said scar and unwillingness to budge on the whole hell-soulless-memory issue. He reached for the remote and changed from the news channel while Dean extricated the splinter. He finally settled on something and it wasn't until Dean looked up that he realized said something was the Huckleberry Finn movie from the 90s.

"Seriously? That's the best you've got?"

Sam only shrugged and looked pleased with himself as he did so. "You know, Mark Twain first used that pseudonym in a town about half hour from here."

Dean had to physically force himself to keep working and not pause in the slightest. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam said and flinched a little as Dean pulled out another small piece of debris. "He went to Virginia City in Nevada to become a miner in the 1860s. When that didn't work out, he wrote for the newspaper and used Mark Twain as his pen name." He kept talking even when Dean didn't comment. "The town is supposedly one of the most haunted in the states. Could be worth a drive through one day?"

Dean pulled out the last splinter and flushed the wound again before he grabbed a bandage. When he righted himself, Sam was staring at him. "What?" Dean asked.

"Virginia City. Haunted. We could investigate."

Dean looked at him for a second before he shook his head and ripped open the bandage. "Nah, leave that one to the TV personalities." He would've left it there, but then he saw Sam's mouth open with a rebuttal. And he knew exactly what it would be. Dean turning down an opportunity to visit a western town was a definite red flag. "I mean, how many old western ghost towns are out there? We'll run into some sooner or later, no big deal missing this one."

Virginia City had better be on the later side of things. Maybe once they knew just how sturdy Sam's wall was, Dean could divulge some of the details. But for now, it was safer if they both stayed far away from the city, both physically and mentally.

He gently smoothed on the bandage and stood to dispose of the packaging in the bathroom. Dean hoped it would effectively end the conversation and when Sam didn't shout a follow-up, Dean considered it a victory. He took a moment to wash his hands in the sink and take a few deep breaths. Eventually they'd run into someone or something or some town that Sam had come across while soulless. But not today, and he sure as hell was not driving them there tomorrow.

Dean made to walk out of the bathroom but paused in the threshold to watch Sam. He was watching Huckleberry Finn through half-closed eyes. His shoulders were slumped ever so slightly. Robo-Sam had always been wide-awake and ready to go. Dean never thought he'd be so glad to see Sam tired and worn out.

"Alright, bedtime," Dean said. He walked into the room, snagged the remote, and turned the TV off before sinking onto the other bed to toe off his shoes.

The sun was steadily lighting up the sky, only partially blocked by the poor excuse for curtains over the kitchen window. Dean lay on his side facing Sam, away from the light, and sighed.

"You good?" Sam asked quietly as he got himself situated.

Dean couldn't remember Robo-Sam asking him that if he hadn't been obviously injured. He had to admit, he had missed the little check-ins, no matter how annoying they could be should Sam decide to not drop a particular line of questioning. Because Dean hadn't just missed them the last few months, he had missed them the whole year he had thought Sam was dead.

And then he had Sam back, but it hadn't been Sam, it had been a guy he could hardly trust and who never mastered Sam's puppy dog eyes and who was more off-putting than welcoming to witnesses, which was supposed to be Dean's job. All it took was two words to truly cement that Sam was indeed back where he belonged.

Dean smiled so Sam could see. "Yeah, Sammy," he said, the nickname almost foreign on his tongue from disuse, "I'm good."


I had a lot of fun researching for this story. Aside from The Silversmith itself, which was created for this story, all the named buildings, rumors, and bits of trivia about Virginia City are true! After reading more about it, I'm honestly surprised the brothers never went there in the show. Chalking it up to it being hard to make Vancouver look like the Nevada desert. One less opportunity for Dean to live out his cowboy dreams *sigh*. Thank you all for reading!