Well since you all asked so nicely ;)

Thank you so much for the reviews and support for this story, I was certainly not expecting this amount of interest!

Enjoy some drunk Dean and protective Sammy – you can't trust Dean to be sensible when he has just been let out of hospital ;)

Epilogue

Dean stirred with a low groan, rubbing his head and somewhat regretting his seventh beer the night before. Oh, and the whiskey shots. He may, or may not have gotten over excited at the prospect of being discharged from the hospital, and that he could head home. As much as he could call a motel home, which was not much. And of course a trip to a local bar was in order after weeks of being tee-total in hospital-well, apart from the whiskey Sam had snuck in.

"Morning Dean, how ya doing?" Sam looked perky; he was bopping from foot to foot with a protein shake in one hand and a bowl of fruit salad in the other. And, he was being loud. Really loud. Dean would have sworn that he was crunching the melon deliberately and that he was taking particular care to slurp his healthy gunge, or shake, or liquefied hell – whatever you want to call it.

"Shuddup!" Dean rolled a little and pulled a pillow over his head, grimacing as this move jolted his stomach. But Sam didn't notice, said pillow blocked his brother's face from view.

He then curled over and fell fast asleep again, mumbling in distress at his nightmare less than half an hour later.

A tall man was leering over him, yelling in Dean's face with a knife pressed to Dean's stomach. He was vaguely aware of the others hovering behind him, but there was no way he could get away. The pain bursting through his stomach was already unbearable.

"SAMMY!"

"Dean, wake up. Now!" Dean stirred and looked at his brother. So much for alcohol preventing nightmares!

"M'nn tired." Dean pulled the pillow up over his head, trying to steady his breathing. Sam wasn't having any of it. He lifted the pillow up and before Dean could grab it, he had chucked it across the motel room.

"You look shit, do ya want somethin to eat man?"

"N'ghh."

"I don't think that's a word, c'mon, up and at 'em, I need to check in at the library. And you need to eat something"

"G'yon your own. Stomach h'rts like a bitch." Dean yawned loudly and closed his eyes.

"PARDON? I CAN'T HEAR YOU."

"You are such a bitch, Bitch."

"JERK!"

"Urgh, I hate you!"

"I know you do." Sam grinned at his brother and shook him by the shoulders, only realizing that he had gone too far when he heard Dean let
out a low moan, threw back his covers and hobble to the motel bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

Maybe Dean wasn't putting on the hungover act.

His brother did have a habit of overexerting, but judging by the retching sounds coming from the other room and the fact that he could see his brothers heaving form through the open door, Dean was not faking.

Sam sighed, grabbed a glass of water and cautiously knelt down next to his brother, rubbing the least tender area of his brother's back and feeling guilty for the slight amusement that this was bringing him. Dean really did ask for it sometimes, and god had he missed picking up the pieces and helping Dean through the misery of overindulging on alcohol.

"S'm."

"Thanks man." Dean lessened his grip on the toilet and raised his head from the cool lid, grimacing slightly before adding, "maybe I had one too many."

"Yeah, maybe. How are the war wounds?"

"Fine."

"How are they really?"

"Drop it!"

"Dean." That was an impressive bitch face!

"Better, seriously, but my arm is still useless and my stomach hurts like a bitch. Apart from that all is good."

"Well, I guess that's something. You ready for some food now?"

"Yeah, I need to make up for all that hospital crap that they disguise as edible." And those nights when I didn't have enough money from hustling pool, or when he had been lying beaten on the ground unable to get anything to eat or drink with a recently emptied stomach. Not fun.

"Good, cos I picked you up some pie and pancakes from the breakfast table."

"You, are a star."

"I know."

Two stacks of pancakes and a slice of pie later, Sam and Dean were crashed on the sofa watching a movie. That was until the phone rang.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Nope, try again."

"Dean?"

"Got it in two, not bad for an old man!"

"Since when are you and Sammy batting for the same side. You haven't talked for years. Is Sam hurt? I told you boys to keep out of trouble."

"Nah, Sammy's fine. I got a bit beaten up so he picked me up from hospital."

"Hospital?! You never go to hospital."

"A bit beaten up, Dean you were cream crackered!" Bobby could hear Sam's voice in the background.

"You pair of idjits, did it really take a trip to the quacks to get you back together?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Stupid boys. Anyway, I have a hunt for ya, if your up for it."

"Sure thing, what you got for us?"

"A rugaru up in Ohio, you up for it."

"Yeah, sure."

"No Dean, you have to rest!" Sam interjected. Bobby couldn't help but laugh at his end of the line.

"Sammy, people are dying."

"You still need rest!"

"Nope, I'm great. If I spend another week in bed I swear to god I will go mad!"

"Sorry Bobby, we'll take it."

"You sure, Sam sounds a bit resistant over there!"

"She's just being a girl, aren't you Samantha!"

"JERK!"

"Fine, let me know when you gank the son of a bitch."

Sam sighed.

And so it begins. Again. But this time, together.

THE END