Well, hello again. It's Friday - so I'm playing again.

This one will be a short one - only a few chapters, I think. Some stories lend themselves to a lot of chapters, and sometimes the subject matter is such that it doesn't require a long time to tell the tale.

Thanks to the usual suspects, Ziggy and Chasidern - Sarah and Chris, for beta-ing and banner-ing, respectively.
Sarah is my safety net, among other things, and she catches what I miss. She also does a fair bit of hand-holding when I'm fretting over a story or a scene that just won't go down on paper the way I can see it play out in my head.
Chris makes all my pretty banners, and she also very kindly will pop out a banner by request for anyone who wants one. Just PM her or me, and let us know what your preference is - Sam, Dean, or both brothers, and she will quite happily create a pretty for you.

And special thanks to the awesome SupernaturalGeek, and a lady called Carolyn, one of my faithful lurkers who keeps in touch with me via email. They very kindly looked over the rough draft of the story, as I was worried about the final chapter, and their opinions and help has been very much appreciated. Thank you, ladies.

Anyway, time's marching on, so I'm shutting up now and getting on with it. Ooh - and guess what? I have admirably restrained myself with this story, and have not written one cliffie. Nope, not even a little one. Aren't I good?

Bless you all,

Jules



Fallout – by Mizpah
A hunt gone wrong brings back a painful memory
Set in Season 2, after the episode What Is And What Should Never Be

Chapter 1 - Explosion

“You with me, dude?”

Dean’s softly murmured query sounded unusually loud in the hushed stillness of the tiny cemetery. Sam jumped, blinking rapidly to re-focus his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at his smirking big brother. “What? Where the hell else would I be,” he hissed back.

“I don’t know – but you weren’t here, that’s for sure. So, where were you – off having hot sex with Angelina Jolie?”

“Bite me. I was just thinking, that’s all.” Sam waved his shotgun-filled hand toward a small headstone. “There he is.”

“Thinking, huh?” Dean appraised his taller sibling for a long moment. “What about?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, stuff. Like how much I love the smell of freshly turned earth and burning bones. Better than pancakes and coffee any day.”

Dean shook his head as he stripped off his jacket. “You’re a real smart-ass, you know that?”

“So sue me.” Tossing his own jacket over a nearby headstone, Sam laid the shotgun down within easy reach and grabbed the second shovel from Dean’s hand. He drove the blade into the ground, slamming his booted foot hard against the edge to force it deeper.

“Dude – what did that shovel ever do to you?”

“Can we just get on with it?”

Shrugging, Dean held up a placating hand and joined his sibling in excavating the grave. The brothers soon fell into a familiar rhythm, focussing their energy on digging, and within an hour had uncovered the varnished lid of the coffin. Sam climbed from the hole while Dean smashed the cedar lid with the blade of his shovel.

Stretching up a hand to his sibling, Dean passed Sam the shovel before hoisting himself free of the grave. “Sure this is her?”

“Little late to be fact-checking, wouldn’t you say?” Sam replied testily. “And it’s him, not her.”

“Well, it was a her. Technically, it’s a her.” Dean pursed his lips, staring down at the rotting corpse. “Or an it.”

“You want to piss off the ghost?”

“I’m just sayin’…”

“Well, don’t, all right? Let’s just burn her bones and get the hell out of here.” Sam shook his head sharply. “His bones.” He snorted in disgust when he heard his sibling’s sarcastic chuckle. Kicking aside one of the discarded shovels, he perched on a nearby gravestone and stared out across the dark landscape, a scowl on his tanned face.

“What’s wrong with you, anyway? Why are you on the malevolent spirit’s side all of a sudden?”

Sam shrugged, keeping his gaze averted.

“Talk to me. What’s goin’ on in that freaky head of yours this time?” Dean grabbed the container of salt from the weapons bag on the ground and began to sprinkle the tiny white crystals on the bones, keeping one eye on his brooding sibling.

“I don’t know. I guess – I just know how he feels, that’s all.”

Dean froze, his fingers gripping the canister tightly, his green eyes widening in disbelief. “You – you want to become a chick?”

“No, smart-ass!” Sam picked up a clump of dirt and threw it at his brother, who ducked just in time to avoid being hit in the forehead. He resumed his study of the surrounding trees as Dean straightened up, and continued his explanation, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “I know what it’s like – to be called a freak.”

The elder Winchester chewed on the inside of his cheek while he contemplated his brother’s statement. He swapped the salt for the gasoline, and poured it carefully into the grave.

“He just wanted to be left alone,” Sam added softly, his gaze unfocussed, his hands dangling loosely between his knees. “Just wanted to live out his life the way he wanted to. He didn’t deserve to be murdered just because he used to be a her.”

“Look, it sucks that he got beaten to death by that bunch of guys. I get that, I do. But now his spirit’s killing people, Sam. Innocent people – not just the guys who beat the crap out of him. We gotta burn him.”

“I know, it’s just…” Sighing gently, the young psychic looked at the ground. “It isn’t fair, that’s all. He wasn’t hurting anyone. According to his best friend, he’d saved up for fifteen years for that sex change operation. It was his choice, you know? His wish – his dream of a normal life. And he never got to enjoy it.”

Dean stepped back from the excavated grave and twisted the cap back on the gasoline can. He patted his pockets, searching for a lighter or a box of matches, scowling when he found nothing. “Yeah, okay, it’s sad and it sucks. But we can’t do anything about what happened. What we can do is torch his corpse so he doesn’t kill any more innocent people. You got a lighter?”

“What?”

“Lighter? Matches?”

Sam patted his pockets, and then reached for his jacket. Finally he shook his head. “No, I haven’t. Check the weapons bag.”

Crouching beside the duffle, Dean made short work of checking the contents. “Son of a bitch. Nice work there, Sammy. How are we supposed to burn the corpse with no lighter?” Dean shook his head in frustration before heading to the Impala.

“And how is this my fault?” Sam snapped, turning to watch his brother stomp away.

“Whose turn was it to pack the weapons bag, genius?” Dean shot back. He waved a hand at the deserted cemetery. “Keep a look out for ghost bitch. Or ghost whatever.”

Sam huffed in annoyance and scanned the area, giving careful attention to the deep shadows under the nearby trees. Nothing moved, and he soon found his thoughts again turning to the tragic life of the man whose remains they were about to burn. Sam sympathised with the man because he, too, felt like a freak of nature due to his visions and his connection to the yellow-eyed demon, but he could also see the parallels between the dead man and his own brother.

Not that Dean would see it that way, he mused wryly. But Dean, too, had had his dreams of a normal life crushed into the dust. Not only because of their mother’s death at the hands of the demon, but recently Dean had been put through the ringer by a Djinn, who had seemed to hand the elder hunter his wishes on a plate – except for the part where Dean’s relationship with the dream Sam was jacked. Oh, and there was also the little matter of Dean dying as the wish was played out in his mind while the Djinn fed on his blood and life force.

The psychic couldn’t understand where that dream version of Dean had come from. Did his brother have such a low opinion of himself that he thought he’d be nothing but a drunk and a waster in the real world? Or that he and Sam would have nothing in common except for hunting? They were different, sure, but they were still brothers.

As usual, Dean had refused to talk about it after his brief slide into chick-flick territory back at the motel in Joliette, Illinois. Sam rubbed at his temple, thinking of his brother’s life-long sacrifice for the job. Dean deserved better. It just wasn’t fair.

* * * * *

Dean muttered under his breath about pain in the ass little brothers while he rummaged through the trunk, finally finding a matchbook wedged between the false lid of the weapons cache and the wheel arch. He bounced the matchbook against his palm and slammed the trunk closed, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets as he headed back towards the grave. Dean could see his sibling still sitting on the headstone with his shoulders bowed. “Thinking again,” he muttered. “Kid does way too much thinking, if you ask me.”

Opening his mouth to pull his brother’s attention back to the hunt, Dean raised his brows when his breath curled from his lips in a faint fog. The hunter shivered, feeling a chill flow over his arms and chest, and stepped back warily. A wispy shape grew out of the darkness two feet away and Dean swore, his gaze on the shotgun lying between his brother and the coalescing spirit. Just freakin’ perfect. “Sam,” he began cautiously.

Hearing his brother’s softly spoken warning, Sam jerked back to the present, spinning around on the headstone. He gaped at the spirit and lunged for the nearby shotgun, just as Dean was swept off his feet and thrown towards the open grave. The elder Winchester disappeared inside the excavated hole with a wild yell, followed by a splintering crash. Sam scooped up the salt gun as he landed on the ground, swiftly bringing the weapon to bear on the misty shape of the spirit.

The ghost leered at the young psychic, its hands crooked into talons. The gun boomed, and the spirit screeched in rage as it lost cohesion, swirling into nothingness. Sam grabbed one of the flashlights, scrambled to the side of the grave and peered over the edge, directing the beam into the hole. “Dean!”

The elder Winchester lay on his side on top of the coffin, his legs tangled together and one arm bent beneath him at an awkward angle. Slowly he opened his eyes, gasping in agony, and rolled his head to face his worried sibling. “Sa….mmy…” Dean whispered, beads of sweat breaking out on his brow.

Sam’s eyes widened in alarm when he saw a dark wet patch slowly spreading across his brother’ side. “Dean – don’t move, all right? I’m coming down!” He wedged the flashlight into the mound of dirt so that the light fell onto the injured hunter, and slid into the hole.

Dean moaned in pain, moving feebly as Sam landed on the shattered coffin beside him. His breath caught in his throat and he jerked, his head snapping back in agony.

Quickly dropping to his knees, Sam slipped a hand under his brother’s body. He felt a warm wetness and grimaced, his mind racing frantically while he gently probed Dean’s wound. A spear of wood from the shattered coffin lid had gone into Dean’s side, skewering him just above his left hip. Blood flowed sluggishly from the injury, seeping into the hunter’s tee shirt and the top of his jeans.

“That – bad – huh?” Dean gasped, trying not to breathe too much as the pain ripped into his side. “Can – you pull – it out?”

Sam swallowed; wiping a hand across his mouth. He reached for the knife sheathed inside Dean’s sock and carefully slid it free. “I don’t know how deep it’s gone in, man. You could bleed out. I’ll just have to bind it up the best I can till I can get a better look at it. Just hold still, all right?”

Sitting back on his heels, the hazel-eyed psychic stripped off his button up shirt and tee shirt. He used Dean’s knife to cut the shirt into strips. Making a pad from the tee shirt, Sam gently rolled Dean partway onto his back and packed the folded cotton material around the protruding shaft of cedar, binding it in place with the strips of shirt. The rough first aid done, Sam gently unstrapped the leather sheath from his brother’s leg, slid the knife back inside and fastened it around his own ankle.

Shivering in the cold night air, Sam shuffled forward to slip his hands underneath his brother’s shoulders and knees. “Easy, big brother – I’m just gonna get you out of here.”

Dean gasped as white-hot agony shot through his side. He clutched his sibling’s shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into Sam’s flesh as he was lifted off the ground. “Oh, Jeez…” Panting, Dean squeezed his eyes closed and rolled his head against the crook of Sam’s arm.

Sam studied the top of the hole before glancing down at Dean’s pale face. “Hey – it’s all right. I’ve gotcha. I’m just gonna lift you out of here, okay, big brother? Stay with me, man.”

Hoisting Dean’s body as high as he could, Sam shifted his grip so that his hands rested between Dean’s shoulder blades and against the base of his spine. His arms trembling a little from the effort, Sam slowly and carefully shoved Dean towards the top of the grave.

Dean reached out, grabbing a handful of grass to pull himself onto the cold damp ground. He gasped, curling into a foetal position around the stake protruding from his side. His movements drove it deeper, causing a fresh well of blood from the puncture. Vaguely through the waves of pain he could hear his little brother’s worried voice begging him to hold on. Arms lifted him, cradling him gently against a muscular chest, and for a moment he was a kid again, being swept up into his father’s arms. Dean opened his eyes, expecting to see his dad smiling down at him, blinking in momentary confusion when he met his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I gotcha. Just hold on, all right?”

Each jolt a searing agony through his body, Dean held on, his teeth clenched tightly to stifle any outcry as he was carried to the car and laid carefully across the back seat. He gripped his brother’s forearm with a trembling hand before Sam could shut the door. “Bones,” he gasped. “Finish – job.”

“What! No!”

“Sam-my – finish – job.”

“To hell with the job!”

“Got to...”

“Dean, no. You’re hurt – I gotta get you –”

“Please.”

Fisting his hands in his hair, the psychic groaned aloud. His brother rarely asked for anything. How could he refuse – especially since it was his fault that Dean had been hurt in the first place. “All right – I’ll go burn him. But I’m not filling in the hole.” Sam held up a hand as his brother opened his mouth to protest. “No, Dean. I’m not gonna risk you bleeding to death while I fill in a friggin’ grave!”

Dean subsided, knowing just how far he could push his little brother. Judging by the stubborn set of his jaw and the warning glitter in his eyes, Sam had just reached his limit. “Matchbook – pocket.”

Retrieving the matchbook, Sam hurried back to the grave and lit it, dropping it onto the prepared corpse. As the flames rose high and consumed the remains, he gathered the equipment together, sprinting for the trunk to dump the stuff inside. A final trip netted their discarded jackets and he shrugged into Dean’s while wadding up his own to make a pillow. Sam knelt on the front seat to reach into the back, drawing Dean’s head forward and sliding the jacket under his neck. “All right, big brother – I’m just gonna check your side.”

Blood soaked the folded tee shirt and the strips of shirt binding the wound. Sam chewed worriedly on his lower lip as he examined the makeshift bandage. The wound looked deep and dangerous, and Sam could only guess at how much rubbish had gone into his brother’s body along with the cedar spear. Probably a little dirt, and definitely some of the gasoline. God only knew what kind of internal damage had been done. Sam seriously doubted his ability to fix it. Returning to the trunk, Sam found a blanket and tucked it around his shivering sibling, murmuring an assurance he was far from feeling to calm Dean’s restless movements.

Sam ran a shaking hand across his face while his mind raced. Dean needed a doctor, but the hospital was out of the question. Someone was bound to recognise the two fugitives, and the cops would be on them in the blink of an eye, followed by the ever-vigilant Agent Henricksen. After their little vanishing act from Green River Detention Centre, the obsessed FBI agent would be practically foaming at the mouth in his eagerness to get his hands on the Winchesters again. Sam retrieved their dad’s journal, thumbing quickly through the pages to see if there were any contacts he could call that might be able to help.

A groan from the back seat had him twisting around, reaching out to place his hand against Deans’ chest. “Easy, bro – I’ve gotcha. I’m gonna get help, okay?”

“No – hospital,” Dean gasped, tremors wracking his body as he went into shock. Cold sweat beaded on his pale face, trickling down to drip onto his tee shirt. “Cops…”

“I got it covered, man. Don’t worry, all right? You just hold on, Dean.” Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he studied his brother’s wan face. He pulled out his cell phone and called up Bobby Singer’s number, tapping his fingers restlessly against his knee while he waited for the bearded demon hunter to answer. The phone rang out, going to voicemail, and Sam swore softly. “Bobby, it’s Sam – call me back as soon as you get this, all right? It’s urgent.”

The young psychic pressed his free hand against his forehead and briefly closed his eyes before searching his list of contacts again. Mentally crossing his fingers, he rapidly dialled another number. The phone rang twelve times before a cheerful female voice picked up the call at the other end.

“Harvelle’s.”

“Ellen?”

“Sam? That you?”

“Uh – yeah. Look, uh – I’m sorry to bother you so late…”

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“Uh…” Sam glanced at his brother; worry clouding his eyes. “It’s Dean – he’s hurt – it’s pretty bad – we can’t go to a hospital…”

“Where are you?”

“Um – just outside of Lancaster, Wisconsin. On a job.”

“What do you need, sweetie?”

Sam felt a little of the tension leech from his body. “I need a doctor who won’t turn us over to the cops as soon as he recognises us.”

“Hold on.”

Gripping the phone tightly, Sam tugged the blanket a little higher on Dean’s shoulders. He fidgeted, listening to a faint murmur of voices in the background before Ellen’s rich tone sounded over the speaker.

“Sam? I know someone, and he’s only about a half hour north of Lancaster – he won’t turn you in, but…”

The tense knot grew once more in the young hunter’s stomach. “But what?”

“He’ll need money – to buy his silence. He knows about hunters and what’s really out there. But he won’t get involved. And for that, you have to pay.”

“No problem.” Pulling an old gas receipt from the glove compartment, Sam scribbled down the address and phone number that Ellen supplied. “Hey, Ellen – thanks.”

“I’ll give him a call and let him know to expect you. You let me know when Dean’s okay, Sam, you hear?”

“I will.” Sam squared his shoulders as he ended the call and fed the address into the nav programme in his phone. Settling himself behind the wheel, he clenched his jaw in grim determination. “I’ll fix this, Dean. Just hold on.”

* * * * *

The grizzled doctor barely raised an eyebrow when he pulled open the door in answer to the insistent knocking. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and stepped aside, allowing the tall young man to edge past him. Sparing hardly a glance at the blood-soaked hunter cradled protectively in the stranger’s arms, he led the way into the kitchen and swept the remains of his dinner into the nearby sink. “Put him on the table.”

Sam grimaced at the faint smell of alcohol emanating from the man and gently laid Dean down on the kitchen table. He hovered at his sibling’s side, his face settling into grim lines when the doctor cut away the makeshift bandage and Dean’s blood-encrusted shirt to reveal the sharp dagger of wood piercing his side.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. When did this happen?”

“About a half hour ago.” Sam curled his hands into fists. “We were on a…”

The doctor raised a hand. “Don’t want to know. Don’t need to know. Just need two things – well, three. His blood type, allergies…” The man licked his lips, and eyed the tall hunter speculatively. “And money. I know you – you’re Winchester. You and him – you’re wanted men.”

Sam pulled out his money clip and removed the small wad of bills. It represented almost every cent he and Dean had – he’d stripped his brother’s wallet clean before carrying Dean from the Impala. He tossed the money onto the table near Dean’s shoulder. “Will that cover it?”

Riffling a thumb across the folded notes, the doc tallied up the amount. He pursed his lips. “Three hundred more.”

The tall young hunter’s eyes narrowed in anger and he took a step closer, towering threateningly over the much shorter man.

“I meant two hundred,” the medico hastily amended, deciding not to push his luck. He breathed a tiny sigh of relief when Sam backed off a pace.

Sam gripped his brother’s arm. “I’ll be sure to let Ellen Harvelle know how helpful you’ve been,” he muttered, a hint of warning in his deep tone.

“No need for that.” Nervously clearing his throat, the doc turned his attention to his patient. He confirmed Dean’s blood type and lack of allergies before heading into the tiny living room to retrieve his black bag. Setting the bag up on the nearby counter, he withdrew a set of surgical instruments and set some water in a pot on the stove to boil. “What’s your blood type?”

“Same as his.”

“Sit down and give me your arm.”

Sam stripped off Dean’s jacket and sat on a chair, resting his left arm on the table by his brother’s side. He shivered a little in the cool air as the doctor siphoned off some of his blood into an IV bag. Glancing down at his bare torso and then up to Dean’s blood-smeared side, he made a note to stop at the next town to pick up some replacements for their ruined shirts. Sam turned his attention back to the doctor as the man removed the syringe from his arm and pressed a gauze pad to the needle mark. He held his thumb against the gauze while the doc put a small strip of surgical tape across it to hold it in place. Slipping Dean’s jacket back on, Sam zipped up the front and rolled his shoulders.

The doctor glanced up as the hunter got to his feet. “What about the rest of the money?”

“You want it now?” Sam shot the man an incredulous look. “What about my brother? What about your Hippocratic Oath?”

Folding his arms, the man took a cautious step away from the tall hunter. “I’m just tryin’ to make a livin’. How do I know you won’t stiff me? Cash first, then the treatment. That’s my rules.”

Sam felt a tiny flutter of fear in his belly. There was only one reasonably safe way he knew of to get hold of some quick cash – and that meant leaving his brother alone and unprotected with a total stranger. Despite Ellen Harvelle’s recommendation, Sam didn’t entirely trust the man. But he couldn’t patch up his brother himself, and he didn’t know where else to turn. Forcing the fear to the back of his mind, he prepared to negotiate. “All right – I’ll go get the rest of the money – on one condition.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you fix up my brother while I’m gone.”

“And what if you don’t come back?”

“I’ll come back. You have my word. And if that’s not enough, then ring the Roadhouse and talk to Ellen. She’ll vouch for me.”

A dubious frown creased the man’s leathery countenance as he craned his neck to make eye contact with his visitor. Finally he nodded reluctantly. “Fine – I’ll patch him up. You just get that money.”

The young psychic stared for a long moment at his unconscious sibling. Finally he looked up, meeting the elder man’s wary gaze. “Fine. Where’s the nearest bar with a pool table?”

“Bar? You want a drink, I got whiskey here.”

Sam’s lips curled in a faint sneer. “Just tell me where the nearest bar is.” Wishing for the first time in his life that he had the same uncanny knack for finding such bars as his brother did, he waited with ill-concealed impatience while the puzzled doctor gave him directions. Giving a terse nod of thanks, he strode toward the door.

“Hey! You sure you’re not ditchin’ him?”

Turning at the door, Sam drew in a deep, calming breath. “I’d never ditch my brother. If he wakes up, just tell him I won’t be gone long. I’ll bring you back the money – you make sure you do a good job of patching him up.”

The door closed behind the tall hunter and the doc blew out a sigh. He glanced down at his silent patient as he began to prep Dean for surgery. “If he does ditch you, boy, I’m callin’ the cops to come pick you up. You may be friends of the Harvelles, but there’s a nice fat reward out for your ass, and I could use that money.”

* * * * *

Sam turned the beer bottle idly between his fingers while he watched the current game progressing at the pool table in the corner. He’d already picked his mark, and like a true hunter was now waiting patiently to spring his trap. A faint feeling of unease pervaded his body, but cold resolve hardened his heart. This was what he had to do. They needed money to buy the doctor’s services for Dean, and hustling pool was the only way to get it, unless he wanted to do something crazy and utterly stupid like try to rob the nearest gas station. Sam had to fix things for his brother – he had to make it right. After all, he was the one who’d screwed up. If he hadn’t had his head in the clouds during the salt and burn…

“Yeah! We have a winner!” The stocky guy with a military style buzz cut pumped his fist in the air as the eight ball sank into a corner pocket. Grinning in triumph, he accepted a wad of bills from his dejected opponent and looked around the bar. “Come on, who’s got the guts to take me on next? I gotta tell you, though – it’s my lucky night!”

Clearing his throat, the young psychic put on his best innocent expression and hesitantly raised a hand. “Um – I guess I’ll give it a try.”

Buzz-cut eyed the tall hunter up and down, and his grin grew wider. The young stranger looked as green as grass – he would be an easy mark. “Show me the colour of your money, kid.”

Sam hauled out their last fifty dollars and laid it on the table. Moving with less than his usual fluid grace, he plucked a cue from the rack on the wall and clumsily chalked the tip.

* * * * *

The doctor swabbed at the dribble of blood leaking from the hole in the hunter’s side and peered into the wound. He checked that his patient was still under the anaesthetic before reaching for another instrument from the sterile tray set up on the nearby kitchen bench. Swallowing determinedly, the doc glanced at the clock on the wall before he bent to his task once more. “That brother of yours has been gone over an hour, son. Maybe he did ditch you, huh? Guess I might just have to get myself that reward after all.”

Dean moaned softly, rolling his head to one side. “Sam,” he murmured groggily, his eyelids fluttering. “Sammy…”

Quickly stripping off his bloodstained gloves, the doctor reached out to restrain the weakly moving hunter. “Rest easy, son. Don’t move.”

“Sammy…”

“He’s – he’s g… he’s just outside, okay? Your brother’s right outside. Now, just you keep still.” Slipping the cap off a syringe, the doc administered another shot of anaesthetic and waited for it to take effect.

Slowly, Dean’s feverish green eyes closed, and his pale face relaxed as he slipped back into a drug-induced oblivion.

“Now, why the hell did I tell the kid that?” Something about the way his patient had called for his brother had gotten to the hardened medico. Maybe the young man hadn’t ditched his sibling after all, he mused. He couldn’t imagine ‘Sammy’ just taking off and leaving his brother hurt and in the hands of a stranger. Could he? Shaking his head in disgust, the doctor washed his hands, pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and set to work. “Must be getting soft in my old age.”

* * * * *

Sam glanced surreptitiously at his watch. He’d been away from his brother for over an hour. Time to wind this up and get back to Dean. He didn’t fully trust the doctor, which wasn’t helping the mounting tension in his gut. Sam leaned the pool cue on the toe of his boot while he studied the table, allowing a worried frown to crease his brow.

He’d won the first game, orchestrating his moves so it looked like the victory was hard-won. Then he’d deliberately lost the second one, setting up his mark for the third and final game. Sam had played the man like a fish on a hook, pretending to be crestfallen when he revealed that he had no more money to bet with. When the man had pressured him, he’d hesitantly admitted the only thing he had of value was the Impala. Squashing a momentary flutter of panic at daring to wager his brother’s pride and joy, Sam had kept his focus on his end goal – he needed the money. Dean needed the money. With a reluctance that wasn’t entirely feigned, Sam put up the Chevy.

The elder man had practically salivated as he took the bet. A thick wad of cash rested on a corner of the table, representing his entire winnings for the night plus what money he had in his wallet. Running a hand over his close-cropped hair, he allowed a triumphant smirk to crease his rugged face while he waited for the young hunter to take his shot.

The local man thought he had the game in the bag. He’d managed to manoeuvre the white ball into a seemingly impossible position. A skilled player could get out of the block, but so far the tall shaggy haired kid hadn’t shown much of that. He’d bet all of his cash against the kid’s Impala standing in the parking lot. Over eight hundred dollars sat on the table – a bargain compared to the beautifully restored classic sitting outside. He could already imagine himself sitting behind the wheel, gunning the engine as he raced down the highway. Stifling a chuckle, he eyed the worried young man at the other end of the table. “It’s your shot, kid.”

Sam pretended to startle at the prompt. His eyes flicked up, widening a little before dropping to study the table once more. He had two balls left on the green baize surface, along with two of his opponent’s, and the eight ball. Sam could see the man’s smirk almost splitting his face in two as he leaned over the table. Bridging his fingers, Sam slid the cue back and forth twice before stabbing it toward the white ball.

A sharp click punctured the stillness. The white ball shot to the cushion and bounced off, spinning at an angle across the table. It clipped the side of one of Sam’s remaining balls in passing, dropping it neatly into the side pocket. Caroming off the side cushion, it arrowed for the last of Sam’s balls and knocked it into the corner pocket before brushing the eight ball. The black ball rolled slowly toward a corner pocket, teetered on the edge for a breathless moment before falling into the hole with a soft thunk. Sam straightened up and rested the pool cue over one shoulder. “Guess I win,” he murmured softly, meeting the shocked gaze of his opponent.

Buzz-cut’s jaw dropped as he stared at the table. He blinked, closing his mouth with a snap, annoyance spiking in his gut while he watched the young hunter gather up the cash and shove it in his pocket. Ignoring the hand held out to him, he snarled in wordless anger and dropped his gaze to study the table once more. He had a feeling he’d just been suckered, and his annoyance boiled over into anger.

Sam shrugged one broad shoulder, and put the cue on the rack before leaving the bar. Casting a cautious glance around out of habit, he headed over to the gleaming Chevy parked near the end of the lot. He heard the bar door open and the crunch of rapidly approaching feet on the gravel surface, and his hunter’s instincts screamed a warning. Sam swung around, ducking just in time to avoid a punch to the head from the man he’d just fleeced.

Giving a wild yell, buzz-cut launched a savage blow that would have split the hunter’s head open had it landed. Brass knuckles flashed in the glow of the nearby streetlamp as his fist brushed Sam’s hair in a near miss. Sam’s elbow cracked against his jaw and he grunted, his head snapping back.

Staggering back a few paces, the elder man quickly caught his balance and stopped the young hunter in his tracks with a looping left that split Sam’s cheek and jolted his head to one side. Shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears, Sam fell back against the Impala and raised his right leg, catching the man in the stomach and shoving him back. Gliding forward, he shot out a rock hard fist that caught buzz-cut on the point of his jaw and dropped him to the ground.

The man snarled, spitting blood, and rolled onto his side. Pulling a knife from a sheath tucked into his boot, he sprang to his feet and dropped into a crouch, one hand splayed to the side for balance. “You son of a bitch!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed when he spotted the wicked blade gleaming in the man’s hand. His own hand moved, darting to his waistband to grasp the butt of his pistol. Bringing up the weapon, he bent his knees slightly, turned his body to the side and wrapped his left hand under his right to support the gun. “Don’t do it!” he barked, doing his best John Winchester imitation. He didn’t have time for this crap – he had to get back to Dean.

Buzz-cut froze, staring into the yawning bore of the handgun that had seemed to appear out of thin air. He swallowed nervously, his wide eyes flicking from the muzzle of the gun to the grimly determined face above it. There was no doubt in his mind that the stranger would shoot if he made a wrong move. He held his breath as he noted the coiled readiness in the young man’s stance, wondering how the hell he’d ever mistaken the man for a wet-behind-the-ears kid.

“Drop the knife.”

Obeying the menacing voice, the man let the knife slip from his suddenly numb fingers. He slowly raised his hands, unable to tear his gaze away from the deadly young man standing before him.

“Walk away,” Sam instructed coldly, staring the man down. He moved forward as the man turned to stumble back to the bar, and kicked the knife under a nearby SUV. Waiting until his would-be assailant disappeared inside, he let out a relieved sigh and slid behind the wheel of the Chevy, licking suddenly dry lips as he shoved the key into the ignition. The V8 engine rumbled to life, and Sam patted the steering wheel before putting the Impala into gear. “That was close, girl. Way too close.”

The adrenaline rush had all but died down by the time he pulled up outside the doctor’s run-down home on the edge of town. With hands that shook slightly, Sam split two hundred dollars from his winnings and stuffed the rest of the money in the glove compartment. Sucking in a deep breath, he exited the car, strode quickly up the rickety steps to the front door and hammered on the door.

The door opened a few minutes later, revealing the grizzled medico. “Huh – you came back,” he observed, eying the tall hunter in surprise.

Sam ignored the man, pushing past him to head for the kitchen, drawn to his brother like iron filings to a magnet. He examined the neat bandages covering Dean’s side before resting the back of his hand against his brother’s cheek. Not bothering to look up as the doctor came to a halt at the other side of the table, Sam kept his gaze on his sibling’s pale face. “How is he?”

“Lucky,” the doc grunted. “Nothing major punctured – some muscle damage. Nothing that won’t heal in a few days.” He glanced up at the shaggy haired young hunter, one eyebrow lifting in surprise when he saw the reddened mark and trickle of blood on the side of Sam’s face. “Got in a fight?”

The young psychic raised a hand and swiped it across his cheek, glancing distractedly at the smear of blood. “It’s nothing. Walked into a door.” He pulled the wad of bills from his pocket and handed it to the doctor. “Here’s your money.”

Chewing on his lip in speculation, the elder man counted the bills, greed over-riding any compassion he might have felt for the injured hunter. “Did I say two hundred?”

Sam stiffened, his eyes narrowing in wariness. “Yes, you did,” he stated flatly.

The man nodded slowly, turning his gaze from the money to the unconscious boy lying on the table. “Know what he’s worth to the cops?”

“No. And I don’t care.”

“My silence…” The doctor broke off, stumbling back a pace in shock as the young hunter suddenly loomed over him.

“Is already paid for,” Sam snarled, fury at the man and fear for his brother shaking his tall frame. “Give me some antibiotics and painkillers, and then I’m taking my brother out of here. And if you set the cops on our trail, I swear to God you won’t live long enough to collect one penny of that reward.”

His chest heaving, Sam followed the doc from the room to a small dispensary at the back of the house. He snatched the packets of pills from the man’s hand and examined the labels before nodding jerkily. Motioning for the doctor to return to the kitchen, he slid Dean’s knife from his boot and cut the phone cord on his way through the living room. “Cell phone,” Sam demanded bluntly as he stepped into the kitchen, startling the doctor.

Worry creasing his brow; the doc handed over the cell phone. He watched in astonishment as the long fingers opened the case to extract the SIM card and battery. “What are you doing?”

Sam flicked the items out the nearest window into the darkness, and tossed the useless cell phone back to the elder man. “Leading you not into temptation,” he growled softly. Stuffing the packets of pills into his jeans pocket, he slid his arms beneath his brother’s body and carefully lifted Dean from the table. “I’d thank you, but I guess you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Cradling Dean’s lax frame to his chest, Sam stared coldly at the doctor until the man got the hint and opened the front door. Crowding after the older man, Sam inclined his head meaningfully at the rear door of the Impala, turning a deaf ear to the muttered cursing as the doctor complied with his unspoken request. He carefully manoeuvred his brother onto the back seat and settled him as comfortably as possible, covering Dean with the blanket he’d used before. Without looking back, he slid behind the wheel and gunned the engine, steering the Chevy down the short drive and onto the road.

Sam blew out his breath in a rush, his shoulders slumping as the anger drained from his body. “Oh, God,” he muttered shakily, wiping a hand across his face. Ignoring the sting of his cut cheek, he headed for the motel they’d booked into the night before to pick up the rest of their stuff.

Checking the parking lot warily as he exited the room, Sam slung the bags into the trunk and climbed back into the driver’s seat, two pillows and an extra blanket tucked under his arm. He knelt on the seat, leaned over the back and pulled Dean gently forward, stuffing the pillows behind his brother’s head and shoulders. “Hold on, big brother. Just a little further, all right?”

Pressing the back of his hand against his brother’s forehead, Sam checked Dean’s temperature, smiling faintly as he imagined his sibling’s reaction to such a girly gesture. Dean’s skin felt reasonably cool to the touch, and Sam nodded in satisfaction as he spread the second blanket over him. Settling back behind the wheel, he checked the map for the shortest route to the interstate.

* * * * *

Well, there you go. We're off and running with another one. Next week: Chapter 2 - Shockwave. :evil

:cheer :cheer :cheer YEAAAAAAAA I'M FIRST!!!! :clap :clap FANTASTIC FIC ALREADY SIS...OH DEAN IS HURT( TRAMPLED BY NURSES FOR DEAN) :thud ...AWWWWW I FEEL SORRY FOR THAT GHOST...PEOPLE R SUCH ASSHOLES AT TIMES :angry: ....LUVED THE DIALOGUE IN THE GRAVEYARD AND THAT SO CALLED DOC IS A JERK :bruce , GREAT BAR SCENE COURSE U ALWAYS WRITE EVERYTHING SO WELL...OK PUTTING IT ON ALERT



LUV YA HEAPS
LORRIE :evil :fire

OOh I'm first boat off the beach :lol: Damm I was but took too long typing, Lorrie you pipped me at the post. <_<

What have you done to Dean :o my poor boy needs tlc.

Hmmm kick ass Sam :cheer Go baby, knock the crap outta of the sod.

Sams on the warpath, :bruce cutting the Doc's phone line and hoying the mobile as well. wow.

Roll on next week.

Chris

Another great start to a new story :clap

Poor hurt Dean. That doc was a totally ass, he knows what these guys are doing to save peoples lives and all he's worried about is his money.

Go Sam :cheer

Looking forward to next week already :D

x Loz x

HEY LOOK I'M 4th!!! Since we are all stating our positions! :D

Oh Jules, look you left a hurt Dean for us to fuss over. You are so good to us!!! :wub: Can't help it, that boy is so damn FINE!!! ;)

I love the way Sam handled both the doctor (not so nice) and the guy at the bar. That was really fantastic! Especially the "John voice".

Can't wait till next Friday!!!

Michelle

Hey
I always enjoy protective Sam. Cool story, looking forward to reading more
Lisa

It's okay, Dean.... I'm here!! I'll take care of you :P

Gonna be another great ride - hurt!Dean and Sammy doing a spot of hustling - great stuff.

And a Season 2 story always gets my attention - Jules, you rock! :hi5

Roll on next week!

Sarah

ooh dean!hurt
yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
i mean...0_o, that's really awful :blink:
but now i can totally look over him, thinking about him all hurt and weak..unable to stop me.. i mean..someone from taking advantage of him
dun dun dun
lalllaalalla
not that i.. i mean...someone would ever do that :D

i cant believe the nerve of that doctor!! Should have just KOed him on their way out the door

Well I am joining the party of reviews very late! :lol: Busy day and lots of interruptions when reading! :rolleyes:

A fantastic start as usual Jules :clap

OMG Dean injured with a splinter of coffin embedding itself in his side when Sam's reactions are a little slow when he is thinking and not totally on the ball! :o The guilt will certainly play on the younger Winchesters mind!

Can imagine why Sam felt sympathy for the ghost, people can be jerks and discriminate against those who are not who they consider 'normal'! But as Dean said, the ghost needed to be dealt with as it had turned into a malevolent spirit and was killing not just those who were guilty.

Good that Ellen came up with a doc for Sam to take Dean to but typical of their luck that he was such a money grabbing jerk! :wacko: Sam had to be desperate to leave his brother and hustle pool for the money - and betting the Impala :car on the last shot - just hope Dean never finds out! :rolleyes: And what a sore loser 'buzz cut' was, he was happy enough when he fleeced the other guys - good job Sam had the gun! :uzi

At least now the doc is paid off and Sam had disabled his phones to stop him ratting on them to the police! :) And he has cleared out their motel room and is heading for the interstate, getting further away from the doc, and the unfilled grave with each mile! :)

Totally gripped by this story already hon, and thanks for your kind words in your a/n! :)

Looking forward to next Friday! :)

:hug Sarah :wave

Very nice little story, I'm looking forward to the next chapter :cheer

Yay! :skip Another new story! :D

I've mostly been a lurker for your other stories as it seems I only come across them after they've been up for a while. lol

But I didn't miss the train this time. :D


Gah that so-called doctor! Sam had him shaking in his boots, but for how long? That greedy jerk will be siccing the cops on the boys in no time.

Oh btw, I loved this line:

haha Cracked me up! :)

And when Dean freaked when Sam said that he knew how the guy/girl ghost felt... Omg I was rolling! I could just imagine the expression on Dean's face! :rotfl:

I also loved that you had Sam hustling pool. :) He's got that whole innocent-on-the-surface-but-can-kick-your-ass-in-a-heartbeat thing going on. lol And oh Sam would have died a slow death if he had lost the Impala. I imagine if Dean finds out that there was even the tiniest chance of losing the Impala, Sam's toast. lol. But I figure Sam values his life enough that he won't tell him. ;)

Another great fic and even though you didn't end the first chapter in a cliffhanger, I'm on the edge of my seat waiting to find out what happens next!

:wave:

-Leyna

Wow!What a start Jules, that was intense.
Dean badly hurted, Sam in protective mode, I love that :)
That "doctor" was a bastard :angry:
Can't wait to know what'll happen Friday :)

It's taken me ages to get settled down to read this but I'm so glad I had some spare time today. Great start Jules. It's a refreshing change to see the boys roles reversed and Sam hustling was (smokin' hot!) awesome.

Also I really liked the fact that you showed not everyone is chomping at the bit to bend over backwards to help the boys - not without a cash incentive anyway.

:bang Oooh and I'd already put in a request for a new banner (for a fanfic) before I read your post *kicks self* but I'd love a Chaisdern banner so I'll get in touch with her about one.

Great start! I love the way you have Sam dealing with his injured brother.:D

:clap
OMG,!! that was a great start!!!
I cant wait for the next chap.!!!!

God i have missed reading your stories. :cloud9


love ya mum


:wave

I love this story!the way in which sam tries to save his brother is so touching,he does also the impossible to save him!when he was at the pool table I was so scared that he could lose the impala :D
beautiful story ;)

Wow - I actually have some form of energy tonight, not much, but enough. I really enjoyed the read tonight, Jules! I was so looking forward to this story and then I was too sick to read it until today, but it was well worth the wait - you definitely got it off to a jump start beginning didn't you? I mean tossing Dean into the grave and look at what happened! Man - those poor boys need a break from all the angst. LOL. Not like that will ever happen because we enjoy torturing them too much but still - it's the principle of the thing. LOL.

Man, Sam's dark side is definitely coming out - I'm surprised he didn't clock that doctor - I would've. He was definitely asking for a good punch to the eye. I mean he wouldn't even look at Dean for the money that Sam offered - insisting on two hundred more, but at least he was willing to work on Dean while Sam went out to get the money, which was nice I guess, and he did try to comfort Dean when he woke up for a minute. But that sure as hell didn't last long as he was only too eager to get his grubby hands on all the money that Sam had just brought in. No wonder Sam was pissed! He's lucky he got his two hundred extra without a clobbering to the face. Although that would have been fun to see. LOL.

Sam would certainly be up to it - he's stressed enough that he would have, if it hadn't been for the fact that he was eager to get his brother out of there. But he has taken up the role of protector while Dean is down and helpless. I loved the bar scene - especially when Sam won all the money and has that innocent face as he gathers up his winnings. LOL. That was too priceless - definitely channeling a little Dean there. LOL. He held his own too when that guy came after him and certainly scared him to death, he is very threatening when he wants to be.

A wonderful beginning, Jules, as always and I look forward to seeing the next part.

I know - it's Thursday! But Chris and I are going away for the weekend, and we're leaving on Friday morning, so it was either post tonight or post Monday night, and I can already guess what the vote would have been for - :lmao

So I'm just letting you know that I will be posting on Monday night......

just kidding.... :lol:

Lorrie – man, you’re quick off the mark! Thanks hon. And oops – sorry we trampled you in the rush to get to poor, hurt Dean. :blush Hope we didn’t break your other arm. But you know how we Dean girls can get – LOL! Ooh – you liked the bar scene? Thank you – glad you enjoyed your boy doing a bit of arse-kicking. We all know he’s quite capable of holding his own.

Chris – nope, second boat off the beach. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to beat Lorrie. Hmm, hang on – we’re fourteen hours ahead of her….strike that – lol. :rolleyes: What have I done to Dean? Oh, I just tossed him into a hole like a sack of spuds – nothing much, really… Glad you like Sammy on the warpath. I think he could be quite intimidating when he wants to be. And you know what they always say – it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch.

Loz – the doc was pretty bad, wasn’t he? :bruce I usually have at least one nice OC in my stories, because basically I’m a Pollyanna, and I believe that there is some good in the world. But this time I sort of left the boys hanging out to dry. Ahh, you like Protective!Sam too, eh? He is pretty cool, isn’t he? Makes a really scary mother hen…

Michelle – LOL! And the race is on…I did leave a hurt Dean for us to cuddle – or is that coddle? Nope, think I was right the first time. Oh, you liked Sam channelling his inner Dean and inner John? He was pretty scary, wasn’t he? :o I would have dropped the knife and run like hell, myself. But then again, I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to go for him with a knife in the first place….Okay, here’s the motel address where Dean’s recuperating – come closer so I can whisper it…*whisper, whisper, whisper*… I’ve got the bandages – you bring the towels, Sarah2 can grab the hot water, and Shannon can bring the painkillers. Right – all set? Let’s go nurse Deany-babe! Oh – who’s got the Do Not Disturb sign?

Lisa – thanks for that. I think Sam is just as protective as Dean is. He’s got such a big heart, and that can make him a fearsome fighter when someone he cares about is threatened. Hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

Sarah2 – see my reply to Michelle for your list of supplies to bring so we can tenderly nurse Dean back to health – lol. As for Sam doing a bit of hustling – just wait until big brother finds out he wagered the Impala! He might have to a quick exit until Dean calms down – or swap out one of his pain pills for a sedative – :lmao Ahh, you like season 2 stories better? It’s a bit hard to lighten out season 3, isn’t it? The deal and its looming consequences sort of cloud everything. But I’m working on a bit of a humour one that will take place immediately after Ghostfacers – it actually starts with the boys going back to the car after Dean’s little trick with the electro-magnet. It’s a long way from being finished, but hopefully it will be completed soon and ready for posting. The next one after this will probably be a season 1 story – but then again, the muse could point me in a completely different direction…*sigh*….

Shannon – get in line, hon – there’s a few of us lining up to take advant…I mean to help nurse Dean. LOL. See my reply to Michelle for your designated duties. And don’t get the giggles when we sneak into the motel – you’ll wake Sammy. That doc was a nasty piece of work, wasn’t he? I think Sam would have been tempted to knock a few of his teeth down his throat, and Dean probably would have, if the situation had been reversed. Hope he learned his lesson….hope he didn’t find another means of communication and call the cops….

Sarah – you are a bit later than usual, sis. Yep, I had Skewered!Dean – or was that Dean-on-a-spit? Feel free to come with the Nurse Dean Brigade and distract Sam while we tend to big brother. And yes, typical of Sam to empathise with the dead person, who was really a victim before turning into a vengeful spirit. Hope you liked your boy in full on protective mode. But that guilt will come back to bite him on the freckle, along with some old guilt from a little while back. Angst coming soon…

Kristy – thanks for that. Glad you could come join the party. Now, are you a Dean girl or a Sam girl? I’m a Dean girl, but I have a huge soft spot for his dewy-eyed little brother. I mean, you can’t have one without the other – they come as a matched set. And rightly so. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Leyna – welcome back! I wondered where you’d shot off to – lol. I’ll give you a hint – I post every Friday night my time (Australian Eastern Standard), so if you’re in America, you should see something on Friday morning your time. And when I finish a story, I always try to post the link to the new one in the thread of the old one. Yes, that doctor could mean trouble – that’s why Sam’s in such a hurry to put some distance between them and the town. Glad you liked the leading not into temptation line. Oh, and Dean’s face – precious! And yes, Sam can do the innocent butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth act so well. But threaten Dean, and look out! That mother hen has teeth, and he will bite! And yep, if Dean finds out Sam bet his baby on a pool game, I think he’d better start packing his bags – lol.

Oceane – glad you like Protective!Sam, hon. He really does that well, doesn’t he? He’s had a pretty good teacher for most of his life. And we all know that Sam would trade his life for Dean’s – we saw that in the season 3 finale when he told Lilith to let Dean go as she had him instead. And no, I don’t think the doctor will be winning any popularity contests any time soon. Let’s hope the boys escaped unscathed…. :o

Liz – ahh, you like big brother Sam, eh? He is pretty cool when he’s all protective and indignant, isn’t he? I’ve watched Jared’s body language in his portrayal of Sam, and it’s interesting – Sam usually tries to be unobtrusive, even to the point of ducking down a tiny bit to minimise his height. And always (well, until season 3) staying slightly behind his elder brother. But I think if he was pushed, or if Dean was threatened, he’d lash back hard. And he has the build and the skill to be really intimidating if he wanted to be. I don’t know about you, but I think I’d have a quiet little accident in my knickers if six feet four of pissed-off Sam Winchester was looming over me…. Oh – the doctor – well, I usually like to have a helpful OC in my stories – like I said to Loz, I’m a Pollyanna. So this time I changed tactics – I really wanted to isolate poor Sam a little bit – Dean’s down, he’s surrounded by people whom he can’t trust, so he’s having to come out swinging at every turn. The hustling is a prime example of the desperate measures Sam has to go through to get his brother the help he needs.
Oh, and I told Chris about your banner request, and she said she'd be only too pleased to do one next time for you.

QueenBee – welcome! Pull up a chair, grab a cup or glass of whatever takes your fancy, kick off your shoes and make yourself comfortable. Oh, and feel free to call me Jules – everyone does. Glad you like Sam in full on threatening mother hen mode – lol. Protecting Dean is his number one priority right now. But that guilt and the tension is going to come back to bite him – very soon…let’s see how he goes when it comes time to crash and burn – but not just yet – he’s still got some miles to go.

Liz – :hug: OMG!!! daughter!!!!!!!!! *super hugs *…. It’s so good to see you back on the boards. Hopefully my other awol daughter will come back soon, too. Then my little adopted family will be complete again. Thank you – did you like your boy channelling his inner Dean? There’s a little more to come before Dean wakes up. Thanks hon.

Ilaria – hello again! LOL – glad you liked the hustling – Sam was pretty desperate to get Dean that money. But for him, failure was no option – his big brother needed the help, so Sam was prepared to do anything to get it. But sooner or later he’s going to start coming down from this huge adrenaline rush….and then we’ll find out why the story’s called Fallout – lol. Great to have you along for the ride.

Candace – thanks hon. I pray that you will be feeling better soon, sweetie. May God’s healing hand rest upon you and hold you up. :hug
Yep, I was pretty cavalier with Dean, wasn’t I? Tossing him around like a bunch of rags. LOL – actually, I’m working on a day in the life story where they don’t get one scratch on them – yep, truly – not even a shaving nick. But it’s a long way off being finished yet. As for Sam’s dark side – well, I have a theory about that. See, I think Sam’s got a huge soft heart, and that’s where he fights from. Dean takes delight in putting down the evil entities and making this jacked-up world a better place. Sam aches for the victims and kills in defence of them. But threaten his family – especially his precious brother – and don’t forget to write out your will. As for the doctor – well, I think if the roles had been reversed and it had been Sam on the table, Dean’s quick temper wouldn’t have held, and the doc would have been missing a few teeth… not that Sam thinks less of his brother – but Sam’s not the swing first, ask questions later kind of bloke. And yes, he’s pretty stressed out right about now – he’s riding on an adrenaline rush, protecting Dean, getting him as far away from the doc as he can safely get without causing Dean any more pain. But sooner or later Sam’s going to come crashing down, and then…well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?

Well, let's get to it, shall we?

Have a great weekend when it rolls around, everyone. I'll be thinking of you all when I'm sitting on the motel balcony overlooking the lake, having a glass of wine and dreaming of the boys....

Oh, and thanks so much to my wonderful SN sis, Lorrie, for an Aussie-American translation - lol. Some things are called the same, and some things are wildly different, and sometimes I get stuck - thankfully there are a few awesome people I can PM and pick the brains of, and Lorrie's one of them. Thanks sis, for the counter top thing - we call it a bench, or cupboard.

Jules


Chapter 2 - Shockwave

Almost an hour later Sam heard a faint gasp from the back seat and quickly pulled over, twisting around to check on his sibling. “Dean – hey – it’s all right.”

Dean groaned softly, rolling his head toward the sound of his brother’s voice. “Mmm…”

“It’s all right. I’ve gotcha. You’re safe.” Sam squeezed Dean’s shoulder in reassurance. “It’s just a little further, and then you can rest, all right?”

“…’kay…” the elder hunter murmured groggily.

Sam tapped his fingers against the steering wheel for a long moment, staring out at the dark countryside. He finally gave a tiny sigh and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Dialling directory services, he asked for the Lancaster phone company, darting a glance at his brother in the rear view mirror while he waited to be connected. “Well, I’ve channelled Dad, then you tonight – guess it’s time to go back to being myself,” he muttered, feeling the heat of a blush spread across his face. He sat up straighter in his seat as an operator came on the line.

“Uh, hi,” Sam began, roughening his voice. “My name is Doctor George Swenson. I’m calling from my cell – I’ve uh – I accidentally cut through the cord of my house phone, and I need it repaired right away. The address? Hold on…” Sam dug into his pocket for the address and quickly gave it to the helpful operator. He thanked the girl and pocketed the cell phone, lifting his shoulders in an embarrassed shrug. “I know, I know – he’s probably gonna call the cops as soon as the phone’s repaired – but he’s a doctor, Dean. I couldn’t just leave him cut off like that.”

Dean didn’t stir, and Sam tucked the blankets a little tighter around his sleeping sibling before pulling back onto the road. Ten minutes later he spotted a sign for gas and food and took the next exit, letting the Chevy coast down the drive while he looked for a secluded place to park. He found a spot near the end of the lot and turned the motor off, leaning wearily against the back of the seat while he pulled out his cell phone to make another call.

“Hey, Ellen – it’s Sam…. no, no, no – he’s all right. We uh – the doc patched him up…. we’re on the road…. no, no trouble…. look, I gotta go – I’ll call you when we find a motel and settle in, all right? Thanks.” Heaving a sigh, the young hunter stuffed the phone back in his jeans pocket and rubbed his gritty eyes.

Realising that he was running on not much more than adrenaline and dangerously depleted reserves, Sam glanced toward the tiny diner as he reached for the glove compartment. He stuffed two twenty-dollar bills into his jeans and strode to the trunk, rummaging in his duffle for a clean shirt and tee shirt. Sam slipped Dean’s jacket off and donned the clothes, feeling moderately better. He slipped the borrowed jacket back on and flipped up the collar. Grabbing a handkerchief and a bottle of holy water, he cleaned up the cut on his face as best he could before heading into the brightly lit diner.

Nodding a polite greeting to the middle-aged woman behind the counter, Sam ordered an extra large takeout coffee, a bottle of water and two doughnuts, and absently began shredding a napkin into thin strips while he waited. Paying for his purchases, he returned to the Chevy and put the drink and food on the front seat. Sam carefully opened the back door and leaned over his brother.

“Dean – hey, man, come on – wake up for me,” Sam pleaded softly. “Dean – wake up.”

The long sooty lashes trembled before slowly lifting to reveal jade green eyes dulled with pain. “Sam?”

Sam held out two of the painkillers he’d gotten from the unfriendly doctor. He hated to wake his brother, but he wanted to put some miles between them and Lancaster, and that meant driving for a couple more hours at least. Sam wasn’t about to risk Dean being put through any more pain than he already had. “You gotta take these for me, all right? Then we’re gonna hit the road for a while.”

“Why,” Dean murmured groggily, eyeing the little white pills in confusion.

“We gotta bail, okay?” Sam felt a twinge of guilt at having to force Dean to endure a long drive so soon after being patched up. “Trust me, all right?”

Instantly his big brother snapped into protective mode. “Cops? Hunters?”

“Maybe no one.” Swallowing nervously, the psychic slipped the pills into his brother’s mouth and held the bottle of water to his lips. “But I won’t take that chance. The doc – he didn’t exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

Dean frowned up at his sibling. “Hospital? Told you…”

“Dean – you were practically bleeding out! What the hell was I supposed to do?” Sam shook his head in frustration. “Look – it wasn’t a hospital, all right? Ellen gave me the name of a doctor she knew – I went to his house, got you fixed up.”

Wearily the elder hunter sank back against the door, his eyes sliding closed. “Okay,” he muttered softly as Sam pulled the blankets up around his shoulders. He was asleep before the Chevy left the parking lot.

* * * * *

The doughnuts were gone after the first two miles; the coffee took ten more. And then there were no other distractions apart from some light traffic as the Impala stretched her long legs and barrelled down the highway. Sam kept the music turned down so he could hear if Dean stirred in the back seat. Angling the rear view mirror so he could see his sibling as well as the road, Sam divided his time between his silent passenger and their back trail, keeping a wary eye out for any signs of pursuit.

Just under three hours after leaving the gas station, Sam sent a silent prayer of thanks to the star-studded sky when the Chevy flashed past a sign saying Redwood Falls – next exit. He dropped his speed, rubbing wearily at his gritty eyes as he took the turnoff. Guiding the black classic through the almost empty streets of the town, Sam found a motel on the other side with its Vacancy sign lit. He pulled up in a quiet corner of the parking lot not too near the office, got out from behind the wheel and stretched the kinks from his tall frame. A quick check of the rear seat reassured the hazel-eyed hunter, and he leaned back inside to grab some more of his hard earned winnings to pay for a room.

Luckily for Sam, the night manager didn’t feel inclined to be chatty, and he was back outside in just under five minutes, the room key clutched firmly in one hand. He steered the Impala to a vacant parking space across from the office, unlocked the room and turned the covers down on the bed closest to the door before heading back out to the car.

Carefully opening the rear door, Sam held one hand against the pillows to stop his sibling from falling backwards. He leaned inside, ghosting his other hand over the top of Dean’s head in a gesture of affection he wouldn’t dare use if the elder Winchester was awake and aware. “Dean – hey, big brother. We’re here.”

“M’rived?” Dean slurred, blinking slowly up at his brother.

“Yeah, dude, we’ve arrived. Okay, come on – let’s get you inside. Put your arm around my neck, all right?” Sam removed the pillows and blankets and dumped them on the front seat before guiding Dean’s arm across his shoulders. He gently pulled the green-eyed hunter from the car, scooping him into his arms as soon as Dean’s torso was clear of the vehicle. “All right, I gotcha.”

Dean was a dead weight in Sam’s arms, but the young hunter didn’t feel the strain. He carefully manoeuvred his brother inside and laid him on the bed before stripping off his bloodstained jeans and boxers. Sam dressed his sibling in a clean tee shirt and boxers, making sure Dean was comfortable before tucking the blankets around him. The elder Winchester was asleep again almost as soon as his head was settled on the pillow, his chest rising and falling steadily with each breath. Only the pale cast to his skin and the slight frown between his brows gave a hint of the ordeal he’d been through. That, and his heavily bandaged side. Sam blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his bangs as he headed back to the Chevy for their duffle bags.

Once back inside, the psychic made short work of laying a salt line across the bottom of the door and along the windowsills. He wandered around the room, unpacked and repacked the weapons bag, sorted through his duffle, checked on his sleeping brother, made a pot of coffee from the supplies provided by the motel, checked on his brother again, drank two cups of coffee, sorted through Dean’s duffle, and finally perched on the end of his bed, resting his hands loosely over his knees as he looked over at his brother.

Sam fidgeted, one leg jiggling nervously, his gaze on the face of his sleeping sibling. There was a small graze on Dean’s temple that Sam hadn’t noticed back at the cemetery in Lancaster. He figured it must have happened when Dean had been thrown into the grave, and flinched guiltily. Sam ran a hand across his jaw and sprang to his feet to make another pot of coffee, desperate for something to do to take his mind off how badly he had screwed up earlier that night.

Shaking his head, he leaned against the counter top and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes straying to the occupied bed. “I’m sorry, man,” Sam murmured quietly, finally giving in to the insistent demands of his conscience. “If I hadn’t been so – distracted…” Negligent, his mind helpfully corrected, sounding uncannily like his father. Sloppy – careless – stupid… “Damn it!”

Pacing the confines of their room like a caged tiger, Sam felt a growing anger in his gut. Anger at himself for letting his brother get hurt – again – because of him. Each circuit of the room took him past the end of the occupied bed, and each time he paused to check on his sibling before moving on in an endless circle.

“Stop this! Gotta focus!” The tall psychic finally slammed to a halt in the middle of the room and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. He scrubbed his hands over his face, walked over to the weapons bag on the floor just inside the door, and swung it up onto the table. Laying the guns out in a neat row, he settled onto a chair and proceeded to strip down and clean each one, his eyes flicking to his brother every few minutes.

* * * * *

Sam stood at the window, his fingers curled around the edge of the curtain while he watched the sun come up. The guns had been cleaned and repacked into the bag, the table wiped down, and the dirty rags stuffed into the small rubbish bin near the counter top. The laptop now sat in the centre of the table, the glow from its screen the only artificial light in the semi-dark room. Slowly the first rays of sunlight filtered through the window and the young hunter stepped back, letting the curtain fall back into place.

He strode over to the counter top and rested his hands on the surface for a few moments, debating whether to pour another cup of coffee or not. Sam decided to pass, settling for a glass of water instead. He’d lost count of the amount of coffee he’d consumed during the early hours of the morning. The complimentary tray was empty apart from a couple of packets of sugar and a lone tea bag, the last of the coffee slowly cooling in the half-filled pot next to the sink.

A soft moan sent him hurrying to his brother’s side. He leaned over the bed as Dean’s eyelids fluttered open. A tiny smile of relief curled his lips when the jade green eyes tracked to his face. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean frowned in confusion as he let his gaze wander around the room. “Where are we?”

“Redwood Falls, Minnesota.”

Cautiously, Dean felt along his side, his fingers sliding gently over the bandages.

Sam held up a hand. “Don’t…”

Dean hissed as a sharp pain ripped through the wound.

“…poke at it,” Sam finished, frowning in exasperation at his sibling. “Dumb idea, Dean.”

“I – hear that.” Sucking in a cautious breath, the elder hunter glanced up at the concerned face hovering over him. “How did we get here?”

“We drove – well, I drove. You slept pretty much the whole way.” Sam settled onto the edge of the bed, being careful not to jar his brother. “What do you remember?”

“Uh – the hunt – we were in Lancaster. Ghost bitch-boy showed up…” the elder hunter chewed distractedly on his lower lip. “I fell – something stabbed me.”

“You fell onto the coffin – you got a broken piece of the lid in your side.”

“Huh.”

Sam grabbed a glass of water and the packet of painkillers, bringing them back to the bed. He palmed two of the pills and handed them to his sibling. “Here. You’re gonna need these for a while, dude.”

Dean took the tiny pills with barely a grimace. The dull throb in his side was bearable for the moment, but he knew it would turn into screaming agony before too long. He arched his brows at the second lot of pills his little brother held out to him. “What’s that?”

“Antibiotic.” Sam sighed heavily. “The wood was varnished, and there was gasoline and dirt all over it. Some of that crap ended up in the wound, Dean, so you gotta take these to stop any infection. There’s a diner across the street – I’ll go see if I can get you some soup or something, ‘cos you gotta take them with food.”

“Soup’s not food – get me a burger,” Dean suggested half-heartedly, sinking back against the pillows. He rolled his eyes at his brother’s annoyed huff, and drew in a cautious breath as the motel room door closed. Sliding one hand across the bandages, Dean probed delicately at the hidden wound. A sharp stab of pain took his breath away, and he let his hand drop to the mattress while he fought down a sudden attack of nausea. “Dumb idea, Dean,” he muttered softly, doing his best to imitate his brother’s worried, slightly breathless tone. “Don’t poke at it.”

He moved his head to scan the room, noting the weapons bag packed neatly and lying beside the small table. His gaze roamed over the unbroken salt line under the door, and he nodded approvingly. Sliding one hand up under his pillow, Dean grinned in relief when his fingers skated over the hilt of his favourite bowie knife. Trust his geek brother to think of everything, he mused fondly.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes after checking out the rest of the room. The décor wasn’t too bad – twin double beds with dark gold bedspreads, brown and gold carpet, dark cream wallpaper with an embossed leaf pattern. At least it didn’t look like a decorator’s nightmare, or a throwback from the seventies disco era like the motel back in New York. The ache in his side was receding as the painkillers took effect, and he let himself drift into a hazy oblivion.

* * * * *

Sam pushed open the door, juggling a cardboard tray holding two takeout coffees and a paper bag of food balanced precariously on top of the cups. “Hey – I got…” His gaze tracked to the bed, and he smiled faintly when he saw that his brother was sound asleep. “Food,” Sam whispered, striding to the table and unloading his purchases. “Lucky this place has a microwave oven, huh?”

He removed the container of soup from the paper bag and placed it inside the microwave. Settling onto the chair in front of the laptop, Sam pulled the lid off one of the cups of coffee and reached for the cheese sandwich he’d gotten for himself. With one last check on his slumbering brother, he pulled the little computer closer and lost himself in research.

* * * * *

“If you’d killed that damned thing when you had the chance, then none of this would have happened!”

Sam woke up with a jolt, knocking the empty coffee container off the table. He slowly straightened in the chair, his chest heaving, and grasped the edges of the small table. His father’s angry words echoed inside his head and he shuddered, turning his head to check the slumbering figure in the bed. Dean didn’t stir, and slowly Sam released his death grip on the table, raising his hands to wipe the light sheen of sweat from his forehead.

He pushed away from the chair and stumbled to the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some cool water onto his face. Resting his hands on either side of the sink, he leaned forward, staring at his haggard reflection in the mirror.

The memory of his last bitter argument with his father came crashing over him. Sam blinked rapidly, remembering the hurt and disbelief he’d felt as his dad’s accusations had cut him more deeply than any blade ever could. He recalled the hot anger burning like acid in his gut, and the tiny flicker of fear that John had been right – that it had been his fault that Dean was near death.

And now he had done it again – he’d almost gotten his brother killed because of his own carelessness. Sam shuddered, dropping his gaze to the sink for a moment, unable to face the accusation in his own eyes. He slowly straightened up, reaching for a towel to pat his face and hands dry. Checking his watch, he was surprised to find it was just after two pm. He’d been asleep for less than half an hour.

Returning to the main room, Sam checked on his brother. Dean slept peacefully, with no sign of fever or pain, and Sam said a silent prayer of thanks as he strode over to the tiny counter top to fill the coffee machine. He’d risked leaving Dean alone about an hour ago to make a quick trip to the nearby mini-mart for some more supplies. Tearing the corner off the bag of coffee grounds, he dumped two spoonfuls into the filter bag, hesitated, and then added another. He didn’t want to fall asleep just yet – not while the previous nightmare was still so fresh in his mind. Sam added two spoonfuls of sugar to his cup and waited for the water to boil.

He turned his head as a soft grunt broke the silence. Seeing his sibling begin to stir, Sam grabbed a glass of water and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed.

Dean rolled his head on the pillow and slowly peeled his eyes open. A familiar face framed by a mop of shaggy dark hair swam into view, and the groggy hunter blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Hey – you’re awake.”

“I am?”

Sam’s dimpled grin was forced. “Well, I think you are.”

“Huh.” Shifting a little on the bed, Dean winced as the wound in his side burned. “Ow.” Slowly, he raised himself up on one elbow and squinted at his hovering sibling.

“Here – take these.”

“More freakin’ pills?”

“More friggin’ pills.” Sam waited until Dean had popped the pills into his mouth before handing over the water. “You ready for something to eat?”

“I was ready hours ago.” Frowning slightly, Dean watched his brother push the buttons on the front of the microwave oven. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.” Sam rested his hands on his hips while he waited for the soup to heat. “You feeling all right?”

“You mean besides feeling like I’ve been stabbed in the side with a stake?”

“Yeah, besides that.”

The microwave beeped, cutting off Dean’s answer. Sam removed the heated food, grabbed a spoon from the courtesy tray on the counter top and returned to Dean’s side. He helped his sibling to sit, propping him up with pillows before handing him the soup.

Scrunching up his face in disgust, Dean eyed the steaming container. “That’s not a burger, Sam.”

“Let’s just start with the soup first. Then if you keep that down, maybe I’ll get you a burger later, all right?”

“Your bedside manner sucks, man.” Dean dipped the spoon into the fragrant liquid, failing to see the fleeting look of hurt cross his brother’s expressive face. “So – why did we have to bail?”

Sam fidgeted, not wanting to get into the discussion with his sibling right then. He twisted his hands nervously in his lap, glanced up to see Dean watching him, and drew in a deep breath as he pressed his palms to his thighs. “Uh – just wanted to put some distance between us and the job.”

“Why?”

“I just did, that’s all.”

“Cut the bull and tell me why we bailed in the middle of the night.” The green eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You took me to a hospital, didn’t you? After I told you not to. And someone recognised us. Damn it, Sam, what the hell were you thinking?”

“No, I didn’t!” Getting to his feet, Sam began to pace the room in growing agitation, clamping one hand across the back of his neck to try to ease the tense muscles. He stopped near the door and flung out a hand toward his sibling. “Look – you were badly hurt, all right? It wasn’t anything I could fix. You needed a doctor. So I called Ellen – she gave me the name of someone she knew – I took you to his house and he patched you up.”

“And?”

“And nothin’! Then we bailed.”

“Why?” Dean insisted. “Anything to do with that cut on your face? You slug the doc or something?”

Sam gave a guilty start and his hand flew to the cut on his cheek.

“What did you do?” Putting the half empty container of soup on the bedside table, Dean carefully folded his arms and glared at his brother.

“I – it’s nothing. Walked into a door.”

“You’re a freakin’ liar.”

The psychic pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and gave a heavy sigh. “Look – the doctor wanted money before he’d patch you up, all right? And – we didn’t have enough. So, I got some more.”

“From where?”

“I won it. In a pool game.”

“And got yourself into a fight. Without any backup. Brilliant move, genius. And you’re supposed to be the smart one.” This time Dean didn’t miss the flinch as his words hit home. He frowned, noting the dark smudges beneath Sam’s eyes and the tired droop to his shoulders, and decided to change tactics. “When was the last time you got any sleep?”

Shrugging, Sam turned back to the counter top and finished making the pot of coffee he’d been preparing before Dean woke up.

“Sam,” Dean prompted firmly.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does, ‘cos when you’re exhausted, you make crap decisions.” Dean jumped in surprise when his brother’s fist crashed down onto the counter, rattling the cup on its surface. He chewed speculatively on his thumbnail for a few seconds while he watched Sam fight to gain control. Deciding to back off until his plainly stressed out sibling calmed down and had a few hours rest, he threw the covers back and motioned to the tall young hunter. “Hey – help me up.”

Sam scowled at his sibling. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. Come on, shag ass.” Dean draped his arm across Sam’s shoulders, biting down on his lip as he was lifted to his feet. He took a step and sucked in a shallow breath as pain stitched a fiery path along his side. Gritting his teeth, he focussed on the bathroom door; ignoring the worried glances Sam was throwing his way. Finally they made it, and Dean turned at the door to push his hovering sibling away. “I can take it from here.”

“But –”

“No.” The elder hunter closed the door and sagged against it for a moment before making his way carefully to the toilet. He knew Sam would be standing right outside with his ear practically against the flimsy wood, listening for a hint that Dean might be in trouble. He did what he had to do, shuffled over to the sink and washed his face and hands. Dizziness washed over him and he swayed for a moment, grabbing onto the towel rail to stop himself falling. “Ahh, this sucks,” he muttered under his breath. “Sam!”

The door was flung open immediately and Sam hurried to Dean’s side, wrapping an arm gently around his back to steady him. Dean shook his head in frustration as he let his brother help him back to bed. Sinking gratefully onto the soft mattress, Dean let out a groan and closed his eyes. “This sucks out loud, Sam,” he muttered tersely. He hated feeling so weak and helpless. How the hell could he protect his brother if he couldn’t even get to the bathroom without support? Dean sighed; pulling the blankets up to his chin and letting sleep claim him.

Sam flinched, standing at the side of the bed until his brother fell asleep. He curled his hands into fists and swallowed convulsively. “I’m sorry,” he whispered raggedly.

The psychic moved slowly away from the bed, hearing his brother’s voice overlapping his father’s in his mind. Your brother would be awake right now…you make crap decisions…you’re supposed to be the smart one…none of this would have happened…brilliant move, genius… He lowered his tired frame down onto one of the armchairs facing the tiny television and stared at the blank screen.

He had been continually on the go since the moment Dean had gotten hurt – finding help, getting the money, taking his brother out of the state, looking after him while he was in and out of consciousness. But now Dean was getting better, and Sam didn’t have anything else to do except to think, and face the consequences of his screw-up.

* * * * *

Next week: Chapter 3 - Fallout. And if you want a hint as to what's coming up, there is a big clue in the story banner - there's a reason why I wanted that particular piccy of Sam from Playthings..... :evil

Jules, I totally agree with you. I think when Jared plays Sam he does try to almost shrink in on himself in certain scenes but that serves to make it all the more impressive when he moves into protective brother mode - like the scene in Mystery Spot where the boys are pretending to be reporters and the scene in Jus in Bello with Hendrickson...Sam only sits up on the jail cot in that scene but he looks pretty damn intimidating.

Yep, I loved what you did with the doctor because it really did emphasise Sam's isolation and desperation. Not that I like being mean to the boys or anything (oh no :unsure: ) but I always enjoy it when things don't work out for them...because then there's lovely angsting and brooding and maybe even, just occasionally, puppy dogs eyes or pouting. :D Not that I go in for that kind of suffering or anything...

Oooh can't wait for Chapter 3, your hinting has got me all excited.

This is a fab story! :cheer


Liz x

OK, I will bring the towels as long as you don't intend on covering him with them. I would prefer to ogle him without anything hindering my view!! ;)

Poor Sammy, I see a binge of alcohol on the way! He is feeling really guilty. And Dean with his temper and protectiveness is sending Sam off the deep end. I hope Dean is up to realing Sam back in after he goes off the deep end.

Plus Sam is completely out of energy so he has no logical thinking left.

Can't wait til next week Jules. Oh and how come I didn't get to change Dean out of his jeans and BOXERS???? OMG, I almost hit the floor with that little thought rolling around my head!

:evil :fire Michelle

Awesome chapter Jules! :) Have a great weekend up at the lake and don't fall in! :rotfl

Poor Sam he was definitely running on empty as he drove Dean as far as he could away from both Lancaster and the doctor! :( Typical though that he rang the phone company to go fix the docs phone, as he was after all, a doctor, however mercenary, and that he rang Ellen too, however brief the call! :)

With time on his hands after doing everything he had to do it is typical of the younger Winchester that he is going over the things his dad said again, adding to that Dean's thoughtless words from earlier! :rolleyes: And your little clue about the pic from 'Playthings' in your banner leads the reader to believe that Sam might try to drown his sorrows! :drink :rolleyes:

And good job Dean was out of it when Sam changed his boxers, though I can imagine a few Dean girls who would fight to do that, and even I wouldn't turn down the opportunity, despite being a Sammy girl! :drool1

Superb writing as usual hon, loving this story! :)

hugs sis :hug

Sarah :wave

the relationship between dean and sam is one of the best thing I've ever seen and in this story you described everything so well!I can't wait for an update,I love this story ;)

Hi Jules,im so delighted to find that you started a new story, :cheer Wow im loving it already,so the banners is a clue :D haa i have an idea what it is and if im right im gonna love. It i can't wait to see this ugg ive got to wait tilll next friday, nooooo :cry Have a great weekend away with your auntie and when you get back get to writting pleasssse, im so anxious for the next update.

SAM GETS DRUNK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! or he will next chapter :) :) ooh yeah


ahhh sam is having those 'im such a screwup' thoughts running through his head! mhmm him and dean are way alike in that regard.
still mad at that doctor, good thing he's fictional eh? LOL
kk im starving like crazyy right now and the microwave just told me that my food is ready so this review is short
sorry

but awesome chapter! as usual!! so good :D

;) :D IF SAM GETS DRUNK I'LL HOLD HIS HAIR BACK WHILE HE'S KISSING THE TOILET :lol: .. THEN OF COURSE HE WILL NEED TO BE WASHED UP :woohoo ....POOR SAM ALL THE GUILT ....DEAN ALL HURT AND SAYING THINGS HE DOESN'T MEAN :blink: NOT GOOD FOR SAM'S FRAME OF MIND RIGHT NOW :cheer :cheer TO A WONDERFUL UPDATE AS ALWAYS....HAVE FUN ON UR MINI VACATION


LUV YA LOADS
LORRIE :hug:

I'm more of a Sammy's girl but I still like Dean too...and I agree with ya, you can't have one without the other. It's really hard to imagine one without the other, I guess that shows that they're really family huh.

Very nice chapter :). I'm looking forward to reading the next part of this story.

Great update :hi5
Yep i love some protective Sammy.
Poor Sam feeling guilty and now he's running on empty and thinking over everything. I sense a drunk Sammy coming up :D
Hope you have a great weekend :)

x Loz x

Awesome update!

Aww poor Sammy in Protective mode!! *sigh*

Oh and btw, I have to say that I grinned like an idiot when you mentioned Dean's... *clears throat* lack of clothing. ;) Couldn't help myself. lol

Hope you have a nice vacation and thanks for the welcome back. :D I've really missed this place! *hugs computer* lol

*eagerly awaiting next update* :skip

-Leyna

Brilliant story. I only recently discovered Supernatural FanFiction (shall I correct that to Good Supernatural FanFiction? I've seen other stories on other sites but this place is overflowing with talent) and I'm on a reading rampage. This was brilliant - great imagery, superb characterization. But I need MORE! More, more, more, more, more! :)

~ Reem

Awesome update Jules :)
I love how Sam's taking care of his brother :)
Now that Dean is feeling better Sam has to much time in his hands like thinking how he screwed up during the hunt.
What've you in store for the brothers in your next chapter, can't wait to know :)

Hey Jules,

I've got all the supplies as you suggested earlier, but sounds like there's something of an entourage waiting to mop Dean's brow!! I'm sure we could have been of assistance changing his clothes too... Ha ha. Hope you enjoyed your holiday hon.

Seems like Sammy's spending a little bit too much time alone with his own thoughts whilst Dean's recovering, and we know what's coming next!! Someone take the tequila bottle off the boy, nothing good ever comes of that (and believe me I've done some research this weekend - alcohol is bad and I will not be drinking any more of it. Ever! Well... at least until next weekend anyway!).

Looking forward to the next update!!

Sarah :cheer

Wonderful update, Jules! Man Dean is really going through it with this energy - and so is Sam for that matter. But at least Sam was able to get Dean to a safe spot for now, hopefully long enough that it will give Dean some time to heal.

Of course - Dean isn't dumb and was bound to ask questions on why they had bailed in the middle of the night, Sam seemed really stressed out by Dean's questions, and that developed into aggitation in no time. I'm sure that surprised Dean a bit - just as the cut on Sam's face surprised him when he saw it.

Sam is certainly reaching the end of his rope - he's running almost on empty and it's bound to catch up with him. The nightmares and memories running through his head aren't going to help - so he's gonna try to do something to drown those out - I have a feeling it won't be pretty. LOL. Sorry this one's a bit short - but I'm really worn out, long hard week, and it's definitely taken it's toll. I look forward to the next chapter as always!

Well, hello,

Thank heavens it's the end of the week, that's all I can say. It certainly makes life interesting when your male boss has a hefty dose of PMS.... ;) I came very close to suggesting he start taking evening primrose oil, but I don't like to live THAT dangerously... :stupidme

Liz – yes, he can be pretty impressive. And he’s got that height to be really intimidating when he wants to be. I think Sam in a full-on rage would be a terrifying sight. Ahh, the angst – well, if it’s puppy dog eyes you’re after, you’ve come to the right place – lol. Thanks for that hon. And thanks for the email - *wink, wink*..

Michelle – no, the towels are just to mop him up after we clean him down. Wouldn’t want to have anything impede the …..view… Yep, Sam’s feeling nice and guilty – and that little nightmare/memory of his dad didn’t help matters. Hope Dean’s got his grog well hidden… :drink – if you thought that was pretty cool, wait for a WIP I’m playing with, where I have treated myself and my fellow Dean girls to a full on Dean shower scene. I’ve written the scene, but there’s not much else to the story, so it’s a long way from being ready for posting. But hang in there – I will complete it, I promise.

Sarah – thanks for that hon – we did have a good time. I’ve just got to upload the pics from my camera and email them to you. The view from the motel balcony was nice – it overlooked the old caravan park and the lake. And Chris’ muse was on fire – you should see the lovely walls she made while she was up there. She’s posted them up already. Bitchface Sam – lol. It’s a treat. Yep, typical of Sam to want to do the right thing, even though the doctor was a *not very nice person * And now he’s having a nice little brood, and we all know where that’s heading… Change Dean’s boxers? Ooh – pick me! Pick me! I’ve got warm hands!

Ilaria – thanks for that hon. I’m glad you are enjoying it. For your viewing pleasure, we have Drunk!Sam in the next chapter – lol. Hope you like it – and their little so-not-a-chick-flick-moment.

Sharon – yep, it is what you’re hoping it is. And thanks – Chris and I did have a good weekend away, even though I didn’t really start to de-stress until the Sunday. But we didn’t come home until Monday morning, so that was all right. As for my muse, well, I couldn’t get anything together while we were away, but I did have one new idea (and I need new story ideas like I need a hole in the head – lol – still at sixteen works in progress), which I have been working on this week after work. Fridays are still covered for a while yet – lol.

Shannon – yep, he gets sh*tfaced, all right. And he’s feeling pretty angsty and guilty right now. Oh, the doc – perhaps he should take lessons from Saul Collins, eh? That was the doc in Ripple Effect – well, the second doc. Wonder if I have a doctor complex? LOL – go feed your face – don’t let me stand in the way…hope it’s not popcorn – I don’t like popcorn – makes me sick…one of the ladies at work one day had some of that microwave popcorn – but she cooked it for way too long and it burned, so we had the delightful smell of burned popcorn all through the office – and I spent the next twenty minutes out in the foyer getting some air and trying very hard not to puke everywhere.

Lorrie – be gentle when you hold his lovely bangs out of his eyes, hon. And he will definitely need to be cleaned up and cuddled. I have every confidence in your cleaning/cuddling abilities, sis. You and your band of loyal Sammy girls can take care of the champion hurler, while we Dean girls slip into our nurses uniforms and change Dean’s – er – dressings….well, of course we have to take his underdaks off to get to the dressings. How else are we going to do it? Thanks hon – we did have fun, and Chris did two really awesome walls while we were up there. And no, Dean didn’t really mean it the way it sounded – he was frustrated with his injury, not blaming Sam for it. Ready for some more lovely Sammy angst? Let’s go then…

Kristy – I agree. I feel rather sorry for the ones who don’t get the brothers’ relationship – the ones who want one dead so the other one can carry on alone. That’s just so wrong, and so sad. We’ve already seen that the death of one will devastate the other. No, they have to stay as a matched set – there’s just no other way for it to work. Lol. Thanks for that – hope you enjoy Drunk!Sam.

Loz – he was pretty good, wasn’t he? And yes, now he’s got nothing else to do, and he’s overthinking everything again. And you sense right – Sam’s headed for a bottle. You must be good hunter material with instincts like that – lol. Thanks for that – we had a lovely weekend. Found this wonderful café overlooking the river just on the edge of Noosa. And the first night we were there, we went up to the local pub, which is 130 years old – or is it 150…? Anyway, we had a meal there in front of the fire – it was lovely and warm. Great meal, too. I also had a Kahlua and coke, and I was feeling pretty happy with the world by the time I got to the bottom of the glass. Please ignore my aunt who will try to say I was off my face… :rolleyes:

Leyna – glad you liked the sneak peek at Dean’s birthday suit – lol. Seriously, I didn’t think much of it when I wrote it – and me a Dean girl – shame on me… :rotfl . I did have a nice little mini holiday – a long weekend, actually. Left Friday, came back Monday. But it was worth it. Hope you like Drunk!Sam in the next chapter – he’s so sweet when he’s got a skinful…

Reem – welcome! Come in, have a seat, and I think the bar’s open – just give your order to Lorrie. And welcome to the boards as well. It’s a great place in here. We’re all crazy, but in a good way – lol. I must say, I think your siggy banner is way too cute – is that made up of avi’s? Aww, thank you for that – glad you’re enjoying the story. I usually post every Friday night, my time (Australian Eastern Standard). I’m a creature of habit – or is that just a creature…? Anyway, welcome once again, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Oceane – thanks for that hon. Yes, Sam’s been diligent in his care, hasn’t he? He’s a pretty good nurse. But now he’s got way too much time to think, and we all know that usually doesn’t end well. Let’s see what he gets up to when left to his own devices.

Sarah2 – yep, there’s a lineup – that’s why I thought it best of we all had a task. Oh, the changing of the clothes – well, I’m sure we can help him out with the next one. Clean undies every day makes a happy boy. :drool1 – now how did you know it was going to be tequila? Have you been peeking at my notes? Oh my goodness – you too? I think Sam’s going to make that vow after chapter 3. I didn’t have much to drink while I was away for the weekend – but then again, I’m a Cadbury like Sam, so it doesn’t take much to have me grinning inanely at the walls…

Candace – hope you’re feeling better hon, and getting plenty of rest. Yes, the boys are suffering in their own way. Especially since the roles are reversed, and Sam’s the protective brother for a change. But Sam’s running out of things to do to stop him from thinking about the screw-up, and that won’t end well… It’s gunna get messy…


RedDevilGirl – our own Sarah number 2, has a brilliant new story up in this section – it’s called Elephants On Parade. The first chapter is up, and I’m keeping everything crossed that the second chapter is ready soon. Lots of lovely Sam angst and the boys doing their usual ignore the elephant in the room bit – lovely. Here’s the link:
http://z14.invisionfree.com/Supernatural/i...showtopic=36221

And don’t forget to leave her a lovely little cookie (review) just to let her know you dropped by. Sarah is one of the up and coming writers of this forum, and her work is really top quality. While you’re trolling around the boards, have a look in the Humour section for her Giraffes Can’t Climb Trees, and in Horror/Ghost for All I Ask Of You – that got nominated and did very well in its category in the SN.tv 2008 Fanfic Awards.

Anyway, hope you enjoy Drunk!Sam. Take care, and I’ll see you all next week for the final chapter. Yes, only four chapters for this one. Just a quickie – lol. Minds out of the gutter, girls. On second thought – someone just start passing the drinks around – we might as well stay here!

Bless you,

Jules


Chapter 3 - Fallout

Dean woke to darkness, and for a moment he was disoriented. The memories of recent events came flooding back and he ran a hand gently across his side, feeling the slightly coarse texture of the bandages. The pain had faded a little more, and Dean sighed in relief before pushing up onto one elbow.

The room was as quiet as a graveyard. The hunter winced a little at the analogy, and craned his neck to look across to the next bed. It was empty, its covers undisturbed. A lone duffle sat in the middle of the coverlet, its green camouflage pattern faded to black and grey in the deeply shadowed room. Dean hoisted himself up a little higher and widened his search; finally spotting a dark figure slumped in an armchair near the window. A faint glow from the security lights outside the building filtered through the curtains, providing enough illumination to allow Dean to recognise the familiar silhouette of his brother. “Sam?”

The figure didn’t stir, and Dean felt a tingle of unease ghost down his spine. Sliding his hand under the pillow, he retrieved his bowie knife and got to his feet. Dean pressed a hand against his wounded side and made his way across the room, flicking on the overhead light as he passed the switch near the door. “Sammy?” Coming to a halt near the chair, Dean studied his brother in concern.

Sam’s long body sagged against the well-padded cushions as if his backbone had been removed. His arms trailed over the sides of the chair, an almost half-empty bottle of tequila dangling negligently from one long-fingered hand. Dean’s eyes strayed to the empty bottle of Jack Daniels lying on the floor beside Sam’s left boot, and flicked back to his brother’s face.

The psychic’s lean features might have been set in stone for all the feeling they displayed. His shadowed hazel eyes were dead – empty of expression as they stared at a spot on the distant wall. Dean chewed on his lip. This wasn’t his brother’s usual drunken behaviour. Sam got giggly, then maudlin, then teary and touchy-feely, in varying degrees according to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. This cold, unfeeling stranger sitting as still as a statue, his arms hanging limply by his sides – this wasn’t Sam. Who are you, and what have you done with my brother? “Sam? What’s goin’ on?”

The dead eyes blinked slowly before rolling slightly towards the sound of Dean’s voice. “You’re ‘wake,” Sam murmured, his tone as lifeless as his expression.

Wincing, Dean sat down on the armchair facing his sibling and held his hand against his injured side. He laid the bowie knife on the low coffee table within easy reach, and made a show of patting his face and chest, trying for humour to break the tension. “Yeah, this is me awake. Look – got my eyes open and everything.”

Sam didn’t look up, merely blinking again in acknowledgement. “You need anything?”

“No, I’m good.” Dean pursed his lips. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“Drinking.”

“I can see that, asshat. What I meant was – why are you sitting here in the dark getting wasted?”

One broad shoulder rose and fell in a faint shrug.

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. This definitely wasn’t Sam. “Christo.”

The tall hunter didn’t even blink. His face remained expressionless as he raised the tequila bottle to his lips and took a long swig.

“Okay, that’s enough booze, huh? Give me the bottle, Sam.” Dean held out his hand, and his eyebrows rose higher when he was completely ignored. “Sam? Give me the bottle. Don’t make me come over there.”

Sam rested the bottle on his leg and continued to stare into space.

Dean frowned, pushing himself up off the chair to shuffle the few steps to his brother’s side. He plucked the tequila bottle from Sam’s unresisting hand and sank back down onto the other armchair, biting back a gasp when his side twinged in pain. “Okay, what’s going on in that freaky head of yours, Sam?”

His sibling didn’t bother to answer.

“Sam – talk to me.” A worried frown creased the elder hunter’s brow. “Come on, dude – you’re scaring me, here. What’s going on?”

“Don’ be scared, Dean.”

Dean felt his blood run cold. In an instant he was transported back in time to the hospital in South Dakota, and his father’s last few minutes of life. “Jeez…” A shiver rippled through his body, and he rubbed his hands up and down his arms as he stared at his brother. Obviously something had happened whilst he’d been asleep. Sam had seemed a little tense earlier that afternoon, but Dean had put it down to exhaustion and nothing that a good few hours of sleep wouldn’t cure. And he’d been dead wrong – his brother was so freaked he was shutting down, drowning in the bottom of a bottle. “Sam, don’t shut me out, here. Talk to me, man.”

Sam’s lips twitched.

“Was it something to do with the hunt?” Dean pressed. He’d always been able to get his little brother to talk to him. Hell, Sam usually talked whether Dean wanted him to or not. The silent treatment just wasn’t Sam’s way. Something was definitely wrong.

“My fault.”

“What? What was your fault?”

“You got hurt. My fault. Screwed up.”

Dean ran a hand across his jaw. “Sam – the ghost threw me, man, not you, okay? It was just bad luck. It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam slowly shook his head.

“Come on, dude – it’s gotta be more than that,” Dean guessed. “What happened while I was out of it, huh?”

“You don’ wanna know.”

“Yes, I do. Come on, fill me in. What happened after you got me out of the hole?”

“Called Ellen – she foun’ doctor for me,” Sam murmured in a low monotone. “He wanted money to keep his mouth shut, so I had to – leave you with him, ‘cos we didn’t have ‘nough, an’ he wanted payment ‘fore he fixed you.” The bloodshot eyes blinked slowly. “Went to the nearest bar, picked my mark, an’ took him for every cent he had.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. He knew Sam hated hustling pool – the younger hunter must have been desperate. And that ass of a doctor was so lucky that Dean had been out of it at the time. Obviously his Hippocratic oath needed a bit of a refresher. “Jeez.” He thought for a moment, and frowned as he realised something in Sam’s story didn’t add up. “Wait a minute – you said we didn’t have enough money to pay the doctor. How’d you get money to bet with?”

“Kept sixty dollars – bet with fifty. Won first game, delib-eraliberly lost second to lure him in. Bet the Impala against all his money on third game.”

“You bet…” Dean’s heart lurched and his mouth went dry. “You bet…” I’ll kill him…

“He got pissed, pulled a knife on me in th’ parking lot. I figured – bullet was faster than a knife, so I pulled my gun on him. Made him drop the knife an’ walk away. I paid the doc rest of the money, made sure he couldn’t call the cops. Got you into the car, picked up our stuff an’ hit the road.”

“You – you bet the Impala?”

“Yeah.”

“You bet the Impala!?” Wincing, Dean pressed his arm against his side as he hunched over in the chair. “What the hell were you thinking, Sam?”

“Had to fix things.”

“What?”

“Thass what I was thinking. Had to fix things. My fault.”

Dean swallowed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Holy crap… Forcing his anger down, he analysed his brother’s retelling of the events, and realised that it still wasn’t bad enough to explain why Sam was sitting in the dark getting wasted. There had to be something more that he wasn’t telling Dean. “What else?”

“Got coffee’n’ doughnuts from a diner on the way here.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Only it isn’t, is it? Come on, man, I know you. You don’t hit the bottle when a hunt goes wrong, Sam.” Dean paused, shrugging slightly. “Well, except for that one time. But this isn’t you, man. So come on – talk to me, little brother. Tell me what’s goin’ on with you.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. A flash of pain rippled across his face, so fleeting that Dean almost missed it. The lifeless mask fell back into place seconds later.

“Sammy, come on, dude. Don’t do this. Talk to me.”

“I killed you.”

Of all the things Dean had been expecting his brooding sibling to say, that was so not one of them. “Say what?”

“I killed you.”

“What – Sam, what the hell are you talking about? I’m not dead.” Dean slid carefully from the chair to the coffee table, reached out and tapped his brother on the knee. “Hey – look at me. I’m not dead. You didn’t kill me, okay?”

Sam blinked slowly and raised his eyes to Dean’s chest. “Dad said I did.”

If he hadn’t already been sitting, Dean suspected he would have fallen down in shock. His jaw dropped, and he glanced quickly around the room, half expecting to see John Winchester’s ghostly image floating in a corner. Giving himself a mental shake at the absurdity of the thought, Dean focussed his attention back on his brother. “Sam, what are you talking about?”

“Dad tol’ me it was my fault.”

“Sammy, you know Dad’s not here, right? He’s gone, dude. We – we burned his body, remember?”

“Said ‘f it wasn’ for me, you’d be ‘wake right now.”

What the hell? Dean fell silent for a moment, studying his brother’s expressionless face. “Sam – listen to me. I’m alive, okay? I’m a little banged up, but I’m fine, dude.”

A single tear welled in Sam’s left eye, shimmered for a moment, and then trickled slowly down his cheek.

Dean couldn’t stand it any longer. His brother was hurting – so deeply that he had tried to drown the memory in booze. And it had something to do with their father. He had to get to the bottom of it. “Sammy, come on, man. Talk to me, little brother. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Sam slowly shook his head. Another tear followed the first.

“Please, kiddo.”

The psychic’s chest hitched with the next indrawn breath. “Screwed up.”

“On the last hunt? Look, man, we both screwed up, okay?” Dean waved a hand at the tequila bottle sitting on the floor beside his chair. “Come on, dude, that’s no reason to get wasted. I’m fine, you’re fine – job’s done. What’s –”

“He blamed me.”

“What? Who blamed you?”

“Dad.”

Dean blew out a sigh. “Okay, tell me. What happened with Dad?”

Sam dropped his gaze to the floor. “I got th’ stuff for him,” he began, his quiet voice sounding flat and lifeless.

“What stuff?”

“Stuff on the list. He asked me to give it to Bobby – said it was to ward off demons. But it wasn’t. I found out the truth. Made Bobby tell me. Was for summoning a demon.”

Realisation slammed into Dean with the force of a speeding train. Sam was obviously referring to something that had happened after the car accident, while they were recovering in the hospital. Crap, crap, crap! “Okay, all right.” He ran a hand across his jaw, thinking rapidly.

The brothers had never talked about what had happened in the days immediately following the accident. Between Dean waking up and their dad dying, there hadn’t been much time. And while Sam had admitted that the two had argued just before John’s death, he’d never said what they had argued about, and Dean had never asked. Dean had a sinking feeling he was about to find out. “Okay, so what happened?”

“I accused him of wanting to summon – yellow-eyed demon for stupid macho showdown. He tol’ me he had a plan.”

“What did you say?”

“Told him he cared more ‘bout the killing the demon than saving you. That revenge wasn’ gonna help you. That he was selfish an’ obsessed.”

Same old, same old, Dean thought bitterly. “Okay, so what then?”

“He s-said….” Sam’s lips trembled. “He said if I’d killed it when I had the chance, n-none of this would’ve happened.”

crap… “Sammy –”

“I told him t’ go to hell.” Sam flicked a glance at Dean’s clasped hands. “An’ he did.”

Dean’s eyes burned. “Jeez, kiddo, it wasn’t –”

“It wasn’ your fault Dad went to hell,” Sam continued softly. “’S mine.” He resumed his fixed stare at the wall while tears trickled down his cheeks. “I killed him – I killed you.”

The elder Winchester slumped on the coffee table, his heart breaking for his brother. “How long have…” Dean bit his lip – he knew damned well how long Sam had been keeping this bottled up inside. During the first few weeks after John’s death, Sam had tried to get Dean to talk – and had tried to talk to Dean about how he was feeling. But Dean had shut him down every time, so Sam had eventually internalised his own feelings and focussed on his big brother instead. He’d only talked about their dad when Dean himself had brought the subject up. And that was hardly ever, he mused bitterly to himself.

“Then he tol’ me – he should never’ve brought me along on the hunt,” Sam continued, a tiny quaver in his soft, deep voice. “An’ then – the glass flew off the table by itself – an’ then someone called a code – an’ then…” The psychic swallowed, faltering for a moment.

“And then?” Dean prompted gently.

“Dad – sent me to find out what was goin’ on – went to your room – an’ they were – they were…” The cold mask dissolved completely as the younger man relived the painful memory. Sam turned his tear-filled eyes toward his brother, meeting Dean’s gaze for the first time since the conversation started. Raw anguish glimmered in their depths. “You w-were – dying – your heart stopped – they – they were – CPR – I c-couldn’…”

Dean pressed his thumb under his chin and ran a finger across his bottom lip. Sam’s gaze slid back to its contemplation of the wall. Reaching out, Dean tapped his brother on the knee, bringing Sam’s attention back to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked softly.

“You never wanna talk ‘bout Dad.”

The truth of it was, Sam was right, Dean thought sourly. He hadn’t wanted to talk about their dad. For Dean, the pain of losing him was just too great. And the combination of grief and the weight of the secret John had burdened his eldest son with had almost crushed the heart right out of him. He studied his brother’s tear-streaked face. And the whole time Dean had been lost in his grief and guilt, Sam had been struggling with his own burdens, unable to share them with anyone.

For all his apparent open-heartedness, Sam played things close to the vest when it came to his inner thoughts and feelings. Dean was the only one who was privy to what was really going on inside his brother’s freaky head. But Sam hadn’t been able to tell Dean about their dad, not without risking being shut down, or worse. Dean fought down a guilty flinch, remembering the punch he’d thrown at Sam at Red Lodge, and the hurt and confusion giving way to sad resignation in his little brother’s eyes. Sam had been walking on eggshells regarding their dad ever since. And this was the result. Well, that’s gonna stop, he decided. Right here, right now. “Well, I do now, okay?”

Sam drew in a shaky breath; hope warring with worry and doubt in his eyes.

“Okay, all right – I know I haven’t exactly been all caring and sharing about Dad.” Understatement, Dean thought to himself. “But I’m here now, okay? I’m listening now. So – is that it? Anything else? What about the glass?”

“Glass?” Sam peered fuzzily around the base of his chair. “What glass?”

Dean shook his head. Now that Sam had gotten all that angst and blame out into the open, the effects of the tequila and whiskey were beginning to make themselves known. His brother really was an amusing drunk, when he wasn’t being all emo and broody. “The one in the hospital. You know, the one that flew across the room by itself.” Swayze’d that mother… The random thought swam to the surface of his memory, annoyingly familiar. Dean wondered where he had heard that term before.

“Glass – figured was you. Jus’ before your heart started again, I felt somethin’ – kinda heard an echo of your voice in the room. An’ after – in the corridor – I could feel – was like you were standin’ beside me. Got a ouija board – you talked to me through it – tol’ me a reaper was after you.”

“A ouija board?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I can imagine what Dad must have thought of that.”

Sam dropped his head, hiding his eyes from his brother’s gaze. “Dad never knew. When I went to tell him I’d talked to you an’ found out ‘bout the reaper – he – he wasn’ in his room. His clothes were gone. I thought…”

“You thought what?”

“Thought – he’d bailed. Gone to hunt the demon. He had the Colt – he made me bring it to the hospital an’ give it to him. I didn’t see him until th’ next morning – after you woke up.”

“Right.” Carefully, Dean straightened up, holding his breath as a sharp pain drilled through his side. He bit his lip to stifle a groan. “Sammy, look at me.”

Sam’s head wobbled as he focussed on Dean’s pale face. His eyes widened a little, worry churning in his gut when he saw the serious glint in the elder hunter’s eyes. “What?”

Stifling a groan at the kicked puppy look, Dean cleared his throat. “Sam – it wasn’t your fault.”

“Dad said –”

“I don’t care what Dad said!” Dean held up a hand as his brother flinched. “I don’t care what Dad said,” he repeated in a gentler tone. “He had no right to blame you for that accident, okay? You were following my orders – I’m the one who told you not to shoot the demon while it was possessing Dad.”

“Told him that. Told him I’d’ve killed him, too. Didn’ matter. Thass when he said – that you’d be ‘wake if it wasn’t for me.” The dimpled chin trembled. “My fault…”

“No. No, it wasn’t. Not then, and not last night. Okay?” Wincing as the movement pulled at the sutures in his side, Dean leaned forward until he could see into his brother’s glassy eyes. “And it does matter – it matters to me. And it matters to you. Okay? You couldn’t have killed Dad, Sammy.” Just like I can’t kill you, kiddo. “So stop blaming yourself, all right? You did the right thing that night.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The young psychic gave his brother a weak, watery smile.

“But I’m so gonna kick your ass for betting the Impala on a pool game.”

Sam’s smile disappeared.

“And where did you get all this booze, huh?” Dean waved his hand at the bottles. “Don’t tell me you drank all of this in one night. Didn’t you learn anything from Connecticut?”

“Yours.”

“My what?”

“Your Jack. Your tequila. Found it in the Impala.”

Dean nudged the empty Jack Daniels bottle with his big toe. “Mine?” He thought rapidly, finally remembering a quarter filled bottle laying in the back seat a few days ago. And he vaguely recalled picking up the tequila the night before they’d hit Lancaster. At least he didn’t have to worry about alcohol poisoning – Sam hadn’t had as much as he’d feared. Dean wagged a finger in his brother’s face. “That, young man, is coming out of your allowance,” he muttered sternly.

“Don’ get ‘llowance,” Sam huffed in annoyance. “Take my winnings.”

The elder hunter’s brows rose in surprise. “Winnings? How much are we talking about here?”

“Eight hundred an’ eighty-six dollars.”

“Dude, you know my baby’s worth way more than that.”

“He wouldn’t bet his house.”

For a moment, Dean sat stunned, staring at his brother’s face. Sam stared back, a tiny twinkle of mirth glittering in his eyes. A soft chuckle broke from Dean’s lips, and he shook his head. “You’re still getting your ass kicked, dude. You could have lost that third game.”

“Couldn’ lose.”

“And how did you figure that?”

“Watched him for a few games, just to get his M.O. Knew I was better’n him. An’ I needed that money. Failure – not an option,” Sam stated quietly, gazing intently at his brother. “Needed it for you.”

This is getting dangerously close to chick-flick territory… Dean glanced away, hunching his shoulders. He looked up in surprise when his brother got to his feet. “Where are you going?”

Sam walked slowly and carefully to the laptop and scooped the car keys from the table beside it.

“Oh, no, you’re not. Give me those keys, Sam.” Dean held out his hand, a worried frown between his brows.

“Not gonna drive,” Sam informed his brother testily. He staggered to the door, managed to get it open on his second attempt and slipped into the darkness.

Dean fumed silently, his gaze on the partly open door. He heard the creak of the Impala’s door and tensed, waiting for the deep rumble of the finely tuned engine. The car door creaked again and slammed shut, followed by faint footsteps. Suddenly his sibling’s tall frame appeared in the doorway, one hand curled into a fist.

Sam closed the room door and stepped in front of his brother, holding out his hand. “Here.” He dropped the folded bundle of cash onto Dean’s palm.

“What’s this? Your winnings?” Swiftly Dean counted the cash – there was over five hundred dollars in the bundle. He looked up in concern. “Sam – I was just kidding, man – you don’t have to –”

“No,” Sam shook his head as he settled back onto the chair. The night air had made the alcohol he’d consumed go straight to his head, and he gazed blearily at the fuzzy figure of his brother through a tequila-and-whiskey-induced haze. “For you. Got it for you.”

“Sam – man…”

“Please.”

Suckered, Dean thought to himself, casting a lightning glance at the pleading doe eyes. “Okay, fine – but I’m buying breakfast out of this in the morning.” And most of this is so gonna find its way back into your money clip, little brother. He tapped the wad of bills against his palm and winced, drawing his arm against his injured side as another bolt of pain burned through the wound.

Sam frowned, noticing the change in his brother’s posture. “Hey – whassa matter with you?”

“I’m good,” Dean gritted.

“No, no, no, no – no, you’re not. I can tell.” The young psychic stared owlishly at his big brother and tapped an unsteady finger against his temple. “I’m s’posed to be a friggin’ psychic, remember?” Sam clambered to his feet, weaved over to the bedside table and grabbed the packet of painkillers. Spinning on his heel, he teetered for a moment, his arms windmilling comically while he fought for balance.

Dean clamped his lips together in an effort to stifle the laughter that bubbled up inside his chest. He just barely managed to school his features into a solemn mask by the time Sam staggered back to the chair and dropped two pills into his waiting palm. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“Wait!” Sam held up his hand, blinking in confusion. “There’s somethin’ else.” He stared at the pills, chewing pensively on his bottom lip while he tried to get his alcohol-soaked brain to work.

Fighting back a grin, Dean glanced from the pills to his hovering sibling. “Um – water?”

“Water!” The psychic stumbled to the nearby sink; half filled a glass and proudly carried it back to his brother. Only Dean’s hasty grab for the glass prevented Sam from inadvertently spilling it all over him. “Okay.” Flopping back onto the chair, he dangled his arms down its sides and stretched his legs across the carpet.

Dean thought his brother resembled a life-size rag doll. He swallowed the pills and put the empty glass on the table near his hip before lacing his hands together and leaning forward so he could see into Sam’s glassy eyes. “You know, you’re really gonna regret drinking all that booze in the morning.” Dean almost laughed out loud at his sibling’s suddenly worried expression. He glanced at his watch, and yawned. “Hey – how about we get some sleep before you start hurling, huh?”

“Okay.” Sam let his head fall back against the chair and closed his eyes.

“Hey! Not there, dumbass!” Dean rolled his eyes and nudged his sibling with his foot. “Come on, help me up, here.”

Blinking dazedly, the taller hunter pushed himself upright and grasped his brother’s arm. He steered Dean in a weaving path toward the bed and fussed over him, fluffing up the pillows and tugging at the blankets until his exasperated sibling slapped his hands away. Sam retreated to his own bed and fell across it, his hip coming to rest on his duffle. Turning his head, he gazed at his brother. “Sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just go to sleep, okay? It’s cool – everything’s fine.” The elder hunter watched the heavy lids slide down over the red-rimmed hazel eyes. He waited until Sam’s breathing evened out into a deep rhythm before sliding carefully out of bed. With one arm pressed against his side, Dean made his way to the door and stepped out into the cool night air, coming to a halt beside the Impala. He rested his free hand against the cold black metal body and turned his face up to the stars.

Slowly, Dean let the anger he’d tried to hide from Sam bubble to the surface. “Dad,” he whispered harshly, dropping his gaze. “You know I love you, but you’re a freakin’ ass! How could you do that to him, huh? How could you lay the blame on the kid? You’re an ass for what you put him through – and what you put me through.” Trembling, Dean twisted around until his back was resting against the Chevy’s solid frame. Gradually the anger died down, and he was left feeling shaky and drained.

Dean gave his baby an affectionate pat and headed back inside, closing the door softly behind him. He flicked off the light, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he walked across the room. Pausing by his brother’s bed, he looked down at Sam’s peaceful face half-buried in the pillow and sighed, turning the tousled head a little more to the side so he wasn’t in danger of suffocating himself. Dean pulled the duffle from under Sam’s hip and dropped it onto the floor beside the bed. Tugging at the comforter, he managed to get enough of it draped over Sam’s frame to keep him warm during the rest of the night. His big brother duties done, Dean rested his hand for a brief moment on the young psychic’s chestnut locks before settling back onto his own bed. Pulling the blankets up to his shoulders, Dean closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, lulled by the soft rhythmic huffs of his brother’s breathing.

* * * * *


Next week - Epilogue - Recovery :hug

:hide Is it safe or do I have to throw my hat in first. :lol:

And see I did you a favour by posting the banner for the next story, as this one is almost over.

Oh my poor boys, Sam is a funny drunk, like someone else I know. :lol2
Dean will look after him and all will be well.

I'll be up at the weekend and bringing the bottle of Baileys that I forgot to take last week. Drinkies tomorrow night :drink , not that the muse needs encouragement at the moment, it's running at full tilt. this week ;9 walls and counting plus a few banners. :skip :woohoo

Chris

awesome!amazing update!poor sammy,he was suffering too much for the death of his father and for dean!he broke my heart :cry

i really hope that he's ok now :cry

brilliant chapter!i loved it ;)

Beautiful stuff Jules. :wub:

I loved the way Dean coaxed Sam into opening up (because for all his emo rep I think Sam does shut down sometimes - in the famous Winchester tradition of not dealing with things).

The last bit with Dean outside, talking to his dad was heartbreaking...poor broken boys...I think I'm starting to dislike John. :shrug

I'm so looking forward to reading the epilogue.

*Runs off to read RDG's new story*

God, I hate you.

That was - was - was - bloddy freaking brilliant! It was sad and funny and made me want to punch a wall. Great stuff. Sam's hilarious when he's drunk. :wub: I can't wait for the epilogue.

Amazing chapter again sis! :cheer You know how much I love drunk, or should I say 'tired and emotional' Sam! :drink :)

You just gotta love him, holding out until his big brother is asleep and then he lets his guard down, everything catching up with him! :mellow: And so sad, their dad's words in the hospital coming back to haunt him, compounding his guilt! :(

That line broke my heart! :( :upset

And Dean realising that him not wanting to talk about their dad had compounded things for his little brother, and despite the chick flick moment just knew he had to get Sam to talk it out! :mellow:

Dean certainly took it quite well when Sam told him about betting the Impala, and then told him that he knew he wouldn't lose when Dean absorbed the information! :car :rotfl

Just hope Sam isn't too hung over and puking the next day! :rolleyes:

Have a great weekend hon! :) :bouncy

And wow, new emoticons! :bonk - just need a nurse one now! :bouncy

hugs :hug Sarah :wave

I think Sammy really needed to get that off of his chest. Poor kid has been carrying that around for a while.

OMG, Sam spilled about betting the Impala. And he was pissed. Sam is so going to regret the alchol in the morning. But they needed to talk and if this was the only way then it had to happen.

Only 4 chapters? This is short for you! But it means we get a new story the following week right???

Awesome job Jules!

I can't wait for the Dean shower scene. And I happy to know that the towels will not be blocking any of our views!!!

Michelle

That was so fantastic Jules i mean wow, it was an issue that i always missed not having addressed on the show, so thatnks for doing so.Sam was just as destrout over John as Dean was.I was going to pick out a hightlight but i cant i just loved every word of it.Dean talking to John awww man loved that and yeah John has been an ass to Sam as far as im concerned.God sams going to have a hang over from hell ha cant wait to read the eppi and for a new story, im so glad you have 16 story ideas floating around, i smile in happiness. :D a big bow to your brillance :bow.