Bobby came out to grab the snake head and did not even attempt to help with the cleanup efforts. He knew damned well what the priority was in that moment.

The second and third decapitations went a lot faster. Sam just handed Dean a machete and stood back.

Sam managed to put together a makeshift bandage for Dean out of an old t-shirt and some rags. It wasn't pretty, but at least it temporarily staunched the bleeding. Besides, it was the best he could come up with since his bullheaded brother stubbornly refused to walk away before they were finished.

Dean took his time soaking the pile of the chimera's remains in gasoline. (Just to be safe, the brothers added salt to the mix.) Sam lit a matchbook and tossed it into the pile. The thing went up like tinder.

Flames reached toward the dusky sky while the brothers looked on, each recalling painful, fire-laden memories.

Dean's jaw flexed as the flames danced in his gaze. In their world, fire often meant endings and heartache. It heralded loss and grief.

Despite wanting to get as far away from it as possible - as if being near the symbol of death would jinx Fiona somehow - he held steady. This beast had attacked and poisoned the Mother of his child. It had tried to kill his son. He would see this through.

He stayed there, rooted in place and stone-still until nothing remained but a smoldering, unrecognizable pile of debris.

Then, and only then, did he finally let Sam drag him inside to get patched up.

-SPN-

With his eyes glued to Bobby the whole time, Dean grudgingly sat and allowed Sam to take care of his wounds. His t-shirt was a loss, so it was cut off and tossed aside.

Sam made disapproving little noises as he assessed the severity of the slashes, causing Dean to glance over at him with growing trepidation.

"How long will that take?" Dean asked Bobby, trying to distract himself from what was coming.

As if on cue, Sam chose that instant to begin the tortuous process of irrigating the deepest wounds.

Dean bit back a cry at the sudden, blindingly-intense pain. He gritted his teeth, only allowing long, muffled growls and groans to escape.

Bobby arched a brow and waited a few moments for Sam to finish up. There would be no use responding to Dean's question yet. The boy sure as hell wasn't going to hear him.

When Sam was done, he gave his brother a pat of respect and sympathy on his uninjured shoulder.

Dean reached up and gripped his brother's hand in appreciation. He knew the procedure had not been any picnic for his (now slightly pale) younger sibling, either.

After Dean had finished panting and recovering from the overwhelming surge of pain, Bobby finally spoke.

"I'm guessin' it'll be about an hour till I got this ready," he offered. He continued setting out all of the ingredients on the table, taking inventory to make sure he had everything he would need.

Dean nodded and fought to slow his breathing while Sam carefully dried his wounds. He was growing steadily more concerned now that things were out of his control again. He had felt better when the hunt was on, when there was a rifle in his hands and a monster to fire it at. The feeling of helplessness was settling onto his shoulders heavily, bringing back with it the fear that his efforts would not be enough.

"Then what?" Dean asked quietly.

Bobby was going to give a sarcastic reply, but he quickly swallowed it down when he met Dean's unexpectedly open, worried gaze. He cleared his throat and looked back down at the pages in front of him.

"Uh...well, then we gotta get her to swallow the stuff," Bobby answered. "And then, we wait. From what I'm readin', she'll probably stay pretty out of it while it does its thing, which'd be a mercy. She's got a hell of a lot of damage to heal up from. Better she stays asleep as long as possible."

Dean bit his bottom lip thoughtfully and nodded in agreement. While it was true that he did not want Fiona to be awake for any additional suffering, he shuddered at the thought of waiting for hours - or worse, days to find out whether or not she would be all right.

The startlingly loud sound of pill bottles being shaken snapped him out of his thoughts.

"You wanna give those to your Daddy?" He heard Frank asking as they approached. "Come on, Gunner. Up-up," Frank urged and held his hands out for his nephew.

Holding the pill bottles in each of his tiny hands, Gunner toddled over to his Uncle and waited to be picked up.

Frank hoisted him up and brought him to his father.

"Hey, buddy! Whatcha got there?" Dean asked with a wide smile despite his pain.

Sam glanced at his brother's expression, noting regretfully just how well Dean could hide his suffering for the benefit of others. He tried not to wonder how many times he had foolishly believed Dean's front of 'everything's fine!'

"Boo-boo," Gunner said with a frown and pointed at Dean's mangled shoulder, nearly dropping a pill bottle in the process.

"Ah, it's not that bad, kiddo," Dean lied and ruffled his son's hair. "Uncle Sammy here's gonna make me good as new, you'll see."

Gunner did not appear to be convinced.

Frank leaned down to the boy's ear and reminded quietly, "Show your Daddy what you brought."

Suddenly grinning ear to ear, the boy shook the bottles gleefully until Frank took them and passed them to Dean.

"Got a nice strong batch of antibiotics there and something for the pain," Frank explained.

"Thanks, man," Dean said with a tired smile. He held the antibiotics up for Sam's inspection before dry-swallowing two of them. "And thank you, little man, for bringing them to me!" He said to his son with far more enthusiasm.

Gunner clapped and reached for his father hopefully.

"No, no. Daddy can't hold you right now, buddy," Dean said regretfully. "I gotta get this boo-boo fixed first, okay? But I'm sure your Uncle Frank will find something fun for you to do."

"Yeah, we can't let your Daddy have all the fun," Frank teased and chuckled when Dean rolled his eyes. "I'll take the little bugger well outta earshot. I doubt Fiona'd appreciate him learnin' any one of the words you're sure to be shoutin' here shortly."

"You're so very helpful," Dean snarked, which only earned another chuckle from Frank.

"Come on, Gunner. You wanna learn the difference between an upper and lower intake manifold?" He asked cheerfully as he walked away.

Dean laughed and glanced up at Sam. "Shit, maybe I should send you with them. You might actually learn a thing or two."

Sam gave him a mock-bitch-face in reply. "Really? Taunting the guy who's about to spend the next hour or more sewing you up?"

Dean's smile melted into a guilty wince and curled lip as he shook his head. "I...really didn't think that through..." he offered sheepishly.

"No, you really didn't," Sam laughed.

Dean was leery of taking the pain pills. He did not want to run the risk of falling asleep while Fiona's fate still hung in the balance. But Sam had been dogged and persuasive (translation: he used his pleading little brother voice and puppy dog eyes). In order to avoid an argument, Dean finally gave in and grudgingly took one of the 'damned pills.'

Of course, he was incredibly thankful for the small measure of anesthetic when it ended up taking more than 70 stitches to close him up.

Dean was sweaty, shaky, and pale and Sam's hands were cramping by the time they were finished. He did not say a word when Dean eagerly took a second pill.

-SPN-

Now that the danger was gone, Frank carried Fiona down from the third floor and placed her in her own bedroom.

Bobby informed them that his first spell had already worn off, but she had yet to so much as stir.

Dean tried to tell himself that it was a good thing. He tried to focus on the fact that she was not in any pain, rather than letting the terror-inducing word 'coma' turn itself over and over again in his mind.

With careful movements, given the pain radiating through his shoulder and chest, Dean managed to help when they gave Fiona the anti-venom. He positioned himself behind her, tilting her head back and slowly coaxing the fluid down her throat as Sam poured it into her mouth little by little.

Once it was done, Dean used his good arm to stubbornly drag a chair over to her bedside so that he could settle down beside her.

Sam knew better than to try to convince his brother to sleep, so he focused instead on making sure Dean was as comfortable as possible for the long wait ahead.

He and the others had an unspoken agreement to give Dean as much privacy with Fiona as possible. Sam knew from personal experience that Dean tended to offer quiet words of comfort and encouragement in these situations - as long as no one was around to hear it. He had more than a few memories of waking up in hospital beds to the soothing sound of Dean's rumbling voice and the reassuring weight of his brother's hand holding his own. It helped immensely, having that tether when you were fighting your way back to consciousness. He prayed that Fiona was not too far gone to hear Dean's soft calls for her return.

As soon as they were left alone for the first time, Dean stood and made his way into the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a basin of warm, soapy water. He sat on the edge of Fiona's bed and talked to her while he took his time washing the residual sweat from her skin. Since she was unconscious and so adorably bashful by nature, he promised not get too personal with the sponge-bath. He just wanted to be able to touch her again - to hold her hand or kiss her brow while he waited this out, to allow their son to finally kiss her cheek.

-SPN-

By the second day, Dean gave into Sam's pleading and ate something. He had not left her bedside for anything other than bathroom breaks, and those didn't really count, if you asked Sam, since the bathroom was connected to her room.

Sam had placed a large first aid kit beneath Dean's chair for easy access. He regularly cleaned and redressed his brother's wounds, but he wondered at times whether Dean was even aware he was doing it. Hell, with the way Dean was watching Fiona so carefully for any hint of movement, he wondered whether Dean even blinked anymore.

The only time he really spoke or interacted with any of them was to butt-in when they tried to take care of Fiona. Cleaning and dressing her wounds? He could do it. Saline IV? He would run it. Pulse and respirations check? He'd already handled it. Pupil assessment? Repositioning? Done and done.

Sam just sighed and shook his head. Dean was clearly in single-minded protector mode - wanting to do everything that had to do with her care on his own. Even the things that were too much, given his injuries.

When the topic of a feeding tube was broached, however, Dean remained completely silent. He looked like someone had punched him in the gut. Sam understood. A feeding tube meant that they did not think she would be waking up anytime soon. It made the reality of her comatose state sink in. Up until that point, Dean could cling to the illusion that she was just sleeping in her bed, and he was just keeping her comfortable and safe until she woke up. He could ignore the IV for the most part. But the minute tubes and other means of assisting her with basic bodily functions were introduced, it was going to shatter the illusion and, with it, Dean's fragile hope.

They decided to refrain from further discussions of that nature in front of Dean. If it came to that point, they would have to confront him. For now, though, her weight was holding steady. The supernatural component of the anti-venom seemed to be simultaneously sustaining and healing her.

And healing her, it most definitely was. Sam noted drastic improvements every time he went to check on her and Dean. Her color was returning. Her breathing was stronger and more regular.

On the third day, he even came in to find his brother sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching her hand to his chest.

"She moved," Dean laughed and smiled tearfully over his shoulder at his brother. "Just a little," he clarified as he looked back down at her. "Just her hand. But she moved. Didn't you, Fi?" He said as he ran a hand gently over her hair.

"Really? That's great!" Sam exclaimed and smiled back warmly, knowing damned well that it was a good sign. He was immensely grateful for the renewed hope in Dean's eyes.

It was slow-going, but more signs of progress came in the days to follow. An eye flutter here, a murmur there.

Unfortunately, as her condition took a turn for the better, Dean's exhaustion and all but non-existent appetite was beginning to catch up with him.

Sam finally decided that enough was enough and spoke up on the subject. He tried his best to convince Dean to go crash in one of the other bedrooms, or get up onto the bed next to Fiona, or - for God's sake - stretch out on the floor if that's what it took, just get some sleep! But Dean had refused to relent.

And when he finally did crash, he crashed hard.

On the fifth day, Sam entered the room and found Dean passed out, slumped over in the chair, and looking far more comatose than Fiona.

"Stubborn bastard," he sighed.

He was just about to move his brother onto the floor when he heard her and froze.

"Dean?" Fiona breathed in barely more than a whisper.

Sam's eyes widened in astonishment as he spun to face her.

-SPN-

The room was lit with afternoon sunlight when Dean finally stirred.

He could not remember dozing off, or being moved from the chair, but when he rolled over and stretched, he slowly realized that he was in a bed. Ooohh...and he knew this bed. Incredibly comfortable mattress with crisp, cool sheets and a big, soft comforter...

He buried his face in the pillow and inhaled deeply, seeking out and finding a hint of...peaches...

FIONA.

His eyes snapped open as it all came rushing back. Gunner, the chimera bite, Fiona slipping away, killing the chimera, giving her the anti-venom, waiting to see if it had been enough...

He spun toward the other side of the bed, desperate to see if she was beside him. In his haste, he miscalculated the amount of space behind him on the mattress and, with a surprised yelp, rather loudly fell over the side.

He scrambled back up onto his knees, kicking to escape the tangle of sheets and blankets, and found...nothing.

No Fiona.

Just an empty bed with freshly changed, empty sheets.

A horrifying, heart-crushing, panic-inducing possibility filled his sleep-fogged mind.

What if she was dead?

He clutched his chest and struggled to draw a breath.

What if she was already gone and Sammy just hadn't had the heart to wake him to break the news? Or what if Dean had been awake when it happened, but had gone into shock and simply blocked the memory out? The sound of Gunner crying somewhere off in the distance only fanned the flames of this fear, sending his heart racing in blind panic.

"Oh, please no..." he gasped before climbing to his feet.

His wide eyes frantically searched the bedroom for some clue as to what was going on. He rushed through the room, finding everything right where it should be. The only thing wrong with the picture was the now-closed bathroom door.

Without a second's hesitation, he barged right in.

"Dean!" Fiona screeched in surprise the instant he stepped into the room.

Stunned out of his panic, Dean reflexively spun to face the other way and called out, "Shit! Sorry!"

When his shock wore off and the brief glimpse he had gotten replayed in his mind, he smirked.

She was sitting in the bathtub - and in a hasty effort to cover up, she'd gathered an armful of suds in front of her chest.

His smirk turned into a full-on grin and he chuckled as he turned back around.

"Actually, no," he corrected as he shook his head. "I'm not. I'm not even close to sorry," he breathed as he crossed the room in two strides to reach her.

Fiona smiled shyly as her entire face and chest flushed a deeply-embarrassed red.

Dean knelt down beside the bubble-filled bathtub and, for a moment, could do nothing more than study her face in amazement. She looked so...alive, awake, alert, healthy, insanely beautiful...

She did not speak yet. She was feeling every bit as overwhelmed in that moment as Dean.

Her large, amber eyes watched him intently from beneath a fan of long, black lashes. Her hair was dripping wet and pinned up on top of her head, having apparently already been washed. And the water she was currently soaking in, thank God, was Fiona-peach scented. He had missed that smell more than words could express.

"Hey, baby girl," Dean whispered as his eyes filled with tears of joy and relief.

"Hi," she responded bashfully.

He chuckled and reached out to touch her face, cradling her cheek in his palm and brushing his thumb across her bottom lip.

"How do you feel?" He asked hopefully, but his heart told him she was well. He could see it reflected in those bright eyes and the warm, healthy glow of her skin.

"A little weak, but...surprisingly? Great," she assured and leaned into his touch. She brought a hand up to hold his, pressing it closer to her cheek before kissing his thumb. "Missed you," she breathed.

Dean grinned like an idiot and he didn't give a damn. She was okay. She made it.

"Missed you more," he insisted and leaned forward, cradling her face with both hands as he pressed his lips to hers.

Fiona sighed contentedly and pressed closer. She reveled in the sensation for a long moment before using his favored trick against him. She drew his full bottom lip into her mouth to suck on gently.

Dean laughed, recalling the hours he'd spent teaching her how to kiss so damned well. He groaned in interest and leaned closer, kissing her deeply and savoring the soft little sounds she gave in response.

He struggled to find a comfortable position for a moment before finally just saying, screw it, and climbing over the side of the tub.

"DEAN!" Fiona shouted and laughed in disbelief as he settled in, fully-clothed, above her.

Her laughter and the sounds of water sloshing over the side of the bathtub echoed down into the warehouse below.

Frank and Sam each curled a lip and exchanged a disturbed look, despite their immense relief at the reunion taking place upstairs.

"What are the odds they're gonna separate long enough to close that door?" Frank grumbled as his sister squealed and giggled in the distance.

Sam smirked. "Slim to none."

As quickly as possible (because Sam really did not want to see or hear anything that would traumatize him), he jogged up the metal stairs and over to Fiona's bedroom door.

He started to close the door, but as an afterthought, leaned in and called to his brother, "You're getting your stitches wet!"

He managed to duck just in time to avoid the shampoo bottle that came flying out of the bathroom.

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Feels? Love? Hate? Favorite / least favorite parts or lines? Looking forward to seeing what happens next? Be sure to let me know! I adore hearing from readers! Thank you to the ever-awesome rizlow, MrsGooglyBear, MaddieLB, and rawgirl54 for your reviews on the last chapter! You all made my night and your feedback is the only reason this chapter got written and posted this weekend.