Note: I know, this is late. In my defense it was supposed to be a 2,000 word conclusion, but instead it ended up being longer than the first chapter - and editing is a bitch. Enjoy :)

Sam's slow return to consciousness, was accompanied by disjointed recollections.

He knew he was in the hospital and could recall being awake for awhile before and speaking with his brother. He could vaguely remember being filled in on his various injuries.

The memory of the car accident that had resulted in the hospital stay came back in an angry flash, followed by the cloudy arrival of his big brother. The last thing Sam could clearly recall was Dean's promise to be there when he woke up, which – of course - he was.

The teenager could hear the older boy's restless shoe-tapping and could feel a calloused finger tracing familiar patterns onto his palm.

"You awake, kiddo?" Dean questioned, though Sam knew that his brother had sensed his departure from dreamland even before the teen himself.

"Yeah." He rasped.

"Well how's about you open those stupid puppy-dog eyes of yours and prove it, eh?" The playful inquiry that doubled as a serious command was accompanied by a large hand gently rubbing Sam's abdomen.

The youngest Winchester had no choice but to comply to Dean's version of a request, it was pure instinct, developed by years of being raised by his big brother.

"Ah, there they are. There are those hazel weapons. Those things should be illegal, dude. Seriously, they're practically nuclear." Dean's words were flippant but his gaze was intense as it studied Sam.

"Got you free pie." The teenager mumbled.

The older Winchester's brow furrowed in concern, but only for a moment before he released a surprised chuckle.

"That's true. Your puppy-dog act got us more free dessert then we could ever hope to afford."

Sam smiled briefly before the reality of their financial situation slammed into him. His joy dissipated in a heartbeat as he was overcome with guilt and anxiety.

"Hey, what's going on? You in pain?" Dean asked, taking notice of the shift.

Sam shook his head, though he was feeling a vast amount of physical discomfort his emotional despair was far more poignant.

"What are we going to do?" Sam queried, cringing at how childish he sounded as his voice cracked and his eyes watered, emotion overwhelming him and trying to clog his throat.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, his face screwed up with concern as he squinted down at Sam, wearing his I-don't-know-what-the-hell-is-up-with-my-little-brother expression.

"What are we going to do about the money?" The teenager specified, all his past ambitions for independence abandoned as he reverted to being nothing more than a little boy who needed his big brother.

A kid who depended on and trusted Dean to take care of him.

A child who was happy to follow wherever his guardian lead.

Even though it was a role that had become rare for Sam to assume since he had become teenager, it was one he was still very familiar with.

Luckily, the role of leader was one that Dean was equally as familiar with, and twice as willing to take on.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. I've got it taken care of."

Sam's face must have portrayed his lack of confidence, because Dean quickly elaborated.

"The doc checked you out a few hours ago while you were snoozing, he wrote the prescriptions you'll need and I already got them filled. He wanted to keep you around a few more nights, but they are on me about the health insurance, or lack thereof. I told them our dad was going to be here tomorrow, obviously that's bullshit, so we need to get out of here tonight. I already got the car sitting around the side of the building, was just waiting for you to wake up so we could duck out."

"Sorry." Sam responded automatically, knowing that every moment their departure was delayed was only escalating the risk of getting caught. The risk of being kicked out. The risk of being reported and put in deep legal trouble. The risk of being separated, which was the biggest risk of all; it had always been one of the youngest Winchester's greatest fears.

"Don't be sorry, dude. You went through fucking surgery, you're allowed to sleep as much as you damn well please. And you can get back to it as soon as I get you out of here. Alright?" Dean oozed remorse as he leaned down over the teenager, his eyes shining with apology for what Sam knew was about to be a very painful experience.

"Okay." Sam agreed, taking a moment to steel himself before nodding up to his hovering big brother who was awaiting the teen's consent before helping him move.

Dean removed the IV far more painlessly than any nurse ever had, he gently peeled off the nasal cannula that was taped to Sam's skin, and detached the heart monitor pinching the younger man's finger. The doctor must have removed the catheter during his visit while Sam was unconscious, thankfully – not that Dean hadn't ever had to help his little brother through completely humiliating processes, but at least he was being saved from this one. Once he was free of all the tubes and wires, Sam attempted to sit-up.

Big mistake.

He bit off a cry as he fell back against the mattress, or he would have if his brother's large steady hands hadn't eased his decent.

"Whoah, easy kiddo, take it easy."

Sam panted, trying to breath through the agony firing inside his chest. He felt his hand being pressed against something solid and warm, opening eyes he hadn't known he closed to see Dean pressing the teen's smaller hand against his chest.

"Breathe with me, dude, come on. Focus."

Sam felt the hunter's chest expand and did his best to force his own to mimic the movement.

"Doing good, Sammy." Dean encouraged.

Sam twitched a smile, feeling a calloused thumb swipe away the traitorous tears of pain that had slipped out past the teen's closed eyelids.

"What the hell do you think you were doing just popping up like that? Do you need me to run through your list of injuries again, because I will." Dean was going for frustrated, but Sam could hear the gruff concern plain as day.

"Sorry." Sam muttered miserably, loathing being so incapable.

"You don't need to be sorry, just slow the fuck down and let me help you."

"Well since you asked so nicely." Sam quipped.

Dean smirked, his eyes shining with something other than fear or concern. Sam felt pride surge through him, thrilled to provide his brother even the briefest moment of joy.

"Okay, Mr. Sarcastic, lets get you dressed, it's cold outside."

Sam frowned in confusion, wondering why Dean wouldn't be worried that someone would come in and catch them before they had the chance to make a break for it.

Dean must have read his mind, because he answered the question Sam didn't have the energy to pose.

"After writing your prescriptions the doc made a point of telling me there was a shift switch coming up and the new nurse on duty wouldn't get this far into her rounds for at least a couple hours. We've got time to get you out of that gown before we book it."

Sam nodded along, wincing as his head ached and watching as his brother slid a pair of scrub pants onto his legs.

"Jacked these from the breakroom." Dean commentated as he tapped the teen's hips, an age-old signal for Sam to lift them. He instinctively arched off the bed enough for the pants to be tugged into place, all the while knowing he wasn't going to be wearing his own pants because Dean had refused to leave his side the entire time he had been in the hospital. Not even for the length of time it would have taken to run back to the cabin and grab some pants. A fact which also explained the unkept state the twenty-year-old was in.

"We are going to sit you up nice and slow, kiddo." Dean warned before helping to leverage Sam off the mattress. The younger man gripped on to his brother's forearm as he panted through the pain pulsing through his torso. Dean allowed him a moment to ground himself, before breaking away from the teen's grasp and swiftly removing the flimsy hospital gown.

"This isn't the cleanest, but it will keep you warm." The young hunter explained as he slid Sam's good arm through his flannel shirt, taking the time to button it up at the front over top of the sling before the teen was swallowed by a familiar leather jacket.

"You're going to be cold." Sam warned, levelling his t-shirt clad older brother with a disapproving look, even as he huddled into the layers of warmth.

"I'll be fine." Dean dismissed tugging the coat together in the front. Sam's eyes followed Dean as he bent down, it was only then that he noticed that small splotches of red scattered across the front of the jacket. He figured it must be blood from his head, recalling how he had leaned forward into his brother's chest at some point before the ambulance had arrived.

He hadn't noticed the red stain on the zipper until he saw Dean's long fingers shake as they touched it.

There was no doubt in Sam's mind that his brother was extremely over tired, very low on blood sugar, and completely worn out – but he didn't think any of those were the reason for the current shake of the hunter's hands.

The teen watched Dean struggled with the simple mechanism for another moment before interceding.

"I can do it." He stated, his voice still sounding weak and scratchy, but his movements sure as he reached for the zipper.

"I got it." Dean insisted, even as his trembling fingers fumbled the blood-stained metal fastener once more.

"I'm sixteen years old, I can do it myself." Sam huffed, wondering why he was always accused of being the stubborn one when Dean could be just as difficult.

"You've only got one useful hand right now, dude." Dean reminded his little brother, as though the kid had forgotten about the dark blue sling restricting his movement.

Sam opened his mouth to argue when the zipper was finally connected to the track and pulled up to his chest.

It was then that the wheelchair made its appearance.

"Don't give me that look. You know there's no way you are making it out of here under your own steam."

Sam rolled his eyes at the parental declaration, knowing Dean would be exhibiting far worse behavior if he was about to be subjected to the humiliation of being pushed around like an invalid.

"Sam, I'm serious. This is happening."

Apparently, in his weakened state the teenager was far more transparent than usual.

"Can't you just help me walk?" The younger boy requested.

Dean's stern expression faded to something far more sympathetic as he bent down to be eye level with Sam.

"Not this time, buddy. You've busted bones and got stiches keeping you together. I don't want to mess with that and risk you getting anymore hurt than you already are." It may have been stated softly, but that didn't make it any less definitive.

Sam grunted, but offered no further protest except to release a surprised squawk as his brother swiftly picked him up off the mattress and placed him into the chair. He was wheeled rapidly through the hospital, the blur of movement making him nauseous so he closed his eyes and did his best to block it all out. The cold air hit him like a slap, the January wind stinging his exposed skin and causing him to turtle into the leather jacket.

He was surprised to see the Impala waiting for them in the parking lot. The windshield must have been replaced, but the driver's side window was no longer smashed but completely missing, in it's place was a cut of a clear plastic sheet taped to the frame. The side of the family vehicle was no longer completely concaved, but it still had a major dent in it. The paintjob was a mess, the familiar black coating was liberally tarnished, revealing the metallic grey beneath; there were also blue markings pattering the damaged side – no doubt the only thing left behind of the truck that collided with the classic car. The sight of all the damage stole Sam's breath and watered his gaze, it had him drowning in guilt. He worked to swallow the lump in his throat as Dean effortlessly transported him from the chair to the passenger seat. The last thing Sam wanted was to have an emotional meltdown.

Dean had dealt with enough.

"You doing okay?" The older boy asked as he crouched down next to the car and tucked a blanket around Sam's legs. It was the scratchy one from under the seat, but the extra layer did aid in warming him.

"Yeah." Sam whispered, thankful his brother had reclined the seat before placing him in it, but missing the padding the hospital bed had provided.

Sam had been promoted to the front of the Impala the very moment Dean had inherited the family vehicle, and in the past four – very nearly five - years the upholstery had molded to his slim form perfectly.

But now it put pressure on his pains and aggravated his aches.

He was sore all over.

Everything hurt.

Even his heart.

"Hey." The soft call captured Sam's attention and put a temporary hold on his stream of self-pity.

The teen looked down at the man who was practically seated in the footwell, staring up at him with green eyes full of concern, with a comforting grip on Sam's boney knee.

"You know we're going to have to leave town." Dean's statement was soft and sympathetic, he knew how Sam hated moving around, especially without warning; but there was no question in his words because it wasn't up for debate. They had to get away before the hospital connected the dots and sent the authorities looking. It was possible that wouldn't even happen, but it had before and the boys couldn't risk having people hunting them down to pay fees they had no hope in hell of ever affording.

Sam nodded his understanding, knowing that Dean was making the decision that was best for the both of them. Though, that didn't mean he hated it any less.

"Do we need to drop by your school first and pick anything up?"

But Dean did make Sam hate things a lot less.

The teen gave it a moment's consideration, he learned long ago not to leave anything of importance at school – his locker almost always sat completely empty – because he could never be one hundred percent sure that he would ever be able to return. He was more than a little disappointed he wouldn't be able to finish the project he had spent several days working on.

"No."

There was nothing.

Nothing that Sam needed.

Nothing that would be left behind to mark his presence.

No one that would remember he had been there.

No one that would notice his absence.

He was nothing more than a breeze passing through town; rustling the trees for a moment before vanishing, nothing more than a single fallen leaf left behind to signify its existence.

"I'll call your school tomorrow and give them the address to one of our PO boxes so they can send your transcripts and anything else you need."

Sam nodded along, Dean always thought of everything, no matter how menial it was. He thought of all the things John forgot, all the things Sam needed.

The older boy gave the skinny knee a comforting squeeze before he stood, closed the door, and moved swiftly around the front of the vehicle.

"We'll swing by the cabin and grab our stuff, and then hit the road." He stated as he dropped into the driver's seat.

"Straight away?" Sam croaked, a shiver of pain going through him at the mere thought of having to endure a road trip.

He regretted the simple inquiry as he watched Dean's face crumple and become very near mournful.

"Yeah, Sammy. The hospital might send people to collect what we owe and the cops were wanting to talk to you about the accident – I could stave them off while you were in an out of consciousness, but now that you're up and mobile I'm sure they'll come looking."

"Cops?" The teen wondered aloud, his eyes on his brother who was guiding the Impala out onto the road.

"Don't worry about it, dude. You weren't in trouble or anything, it's just better to keep the authorities out of our business."

"Kay." Sam rasped, paying enough attention to realize it was another thing that he didn't have to worry about it, because Dean had it taken care of.

Like he always did.

He was forever cleaning up every goddamn mess that Sam made.

It was so fucking unfair it made the younger boy sick just thinking about it.

"You okay up here? It's just until we get to the cabin and I can jack some pillows and blankets and get you set up in the back."

The teenager frowned, he didn't want to go to the back; he knew it would be more comfortable and that was Dean's intention, but a small part of Sam felt as though he was being punished by being demoted to the backseat. Not like he didn't deserve it. He left his brother in the cold and crashed the car. He betrayed Dean's trust. He would understand if the older boy never allowed him back up in the front seat ever again.

That didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.

But he would understand.

"Sammy?"

The teen realized he hadn't answered his brother's inquiry.

"It's fine. I'm fine."

"You let me know if it's too much." That was the first strict order Sam had heard come from his brother in some time, it made him twitch a grin, which was the rarest of reactions when it came to the stubborn teenager receiving demands.

He gave a slight nod, trying not to further agitate the throbbing in his skull.

Once they arrived at the cabin they were renting, Dean carried Sam inside and set him on the bed - so he wouldn't freeze waiting outside - strictly forbidding him to do anything stupid like try to help. Sam rolled his eyes, but reluctantly complied, not having the energy to move or the desire to incite Dean's motherly-wrath by doing so. Luckily, the boys never much bothered to unpack much, so the re-packing process was usually quite simple. The teen took notice to how careful his older brother was with his belongings and how he gathered them and placed them inside the duffel in a neat and organized manor, and how he did not take that same care with his own belongings, but rather haphazardly stuffed them in his bag.

Once, their duffel's and Sam's backpack were taken out to the car, the older boy returned and proceeded to strip the bed of anything soft, taking it to the Impala as well. When the room was cleared, it was Sam's turn to be loaded into the vehicle, which Dean made a joke of pointing out. The independent teenager hated to be handled and carried and he made that clear with his expression of displeasure, but he would be lying if he claimed that making the journey to the parking lot on his own would have been nearly as painless.

Dean had made a nest in the back seat, pillows lined the inside of the door and a blanket was spread across the bench seat, another one appearing the moment Sam was eased down to be spread over his lanky frame. The youngest Winchester tried to appear pleased - really he did - he knew that Dean had pulled out all the stops to provide the injured kid with the most comfortable road trip possible, but he still felt as though he were being punished. That distress must have shone through his mask of contentment, because Dean ducked into the back and was leaning towards him with a face full of concern asking what was the matter.

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"You're not. What is it?"

"I'm just tired. That's all."

Dean didn't appear to have bought such a lame excuse, but it placated him enough for the brothers to get on the road.

They didn't go far, only drove a few hours, not even making It out of state. Dean's decision to find a place to stay coincided rather suspiciously with the diminishment of Sam's hospital-grade medication.

The teen had done his best to conceal his discomfort, but his big brother's eyes had been damn near glued to the review mirror and Sam knew the older boy must have seen the pain he had worked to hide. The youngest Winchester would be lying if he claimed he wasn't beyond relived upon hearing Dean's announcement they would be pulling off the highway to find someplace to hunker-down shortly. Sam's agony mounted with every moment that went by, he hadn't realized just how much the pain medication had been helping until it began to fade. His shoulder was aching, his foot was throbbing in time with his skull, and his chest felt as though it was on fire. By the time they pulled in the parking lot of a hotel (that was much too nice for their measly finances) Sam was trying and failing to restrict the tears of pain that were traitorously sliding down his cheeks.

"The meds weren't supposed to start wearing off for another couple hours." Dean grunted, as he gently guided Sam across the bench seat towards the open door.

"M'sorry." The younger man mumbled as a flare-up in his chest caused a shutter to tare through him.

"Don't be stupid, that's not your fault. It is your fault for not fucking telling me it was getting so bad." Dean reprimanded, his voice stern, but his touch impossibly gentle as he lifted Sam from the vehicle, as though the sixteen-year-old weighed next to nothing.

"Didn't need to tell ya, you already knew." Sam pointed out between stuttered inhales as he was carried to the room his brother had just received the key for.

"That's because I was watching, because I know you and I know that even though I asked you to tell me if it became too much, there's a slim to none chance that you would ever do that. Because you're a stubborn little bitch." Dean lectured as he flawlessly unlocked their room door without jostling the teenager in his arms.

"Shuddup, Jerk." Sam quipped with a twitch of a smile as he tiredly allowed his head to fall against his brother's shoulder.

He felt the Dean's arms tighten every-so-slightly around him, making him feel impossibly safer and enabling forget about his pain for just a moment.

An incredibly brief moment, but a moment nonetheless.

Sam hissed through clenched teeth as he was placed down on the surprisingly soft mattress.

"Sorry." Dean apologized as he carefully extended the teenager's stick legs and then moved up to stack more pillows at Sam's back to properly support him.

"S'not your fault." The teen moaned as he tried to relax into his cushioned backrest.

"Don't move. I'll be right back." The twenty-year-old promised, giving Sam's right knee a brief squeeze and waiting for his little brother's nod of understanding before rushing back out to the car.

He returned with their duffels and then once again with the first aid kid, a white paper bag, and a grey cane. Dean kicked the door shut, locking it in place and stopping off the adjust thermostat, before making his way over to the slender frame stretched out on the bed.

"Where'd you get that?" Sam queried, eying the walking aid, not the least bit excited about having to utilize it in the very near future.

"The pharmacy at the hospital, I picked it up when I got your prescriptions filled." Dean explained as he discarded the medical supplies on the bedside table, before snagging a cushioned chair that was sitting over by the window and dragging it back towards Sam.

Dean slowly eased his own jacket and shirt off the teenager, who managed to release nothing more than a wince or two. The elder Winchester gently readjusted the injured boy's sling into the most comfortable possible position, before guiding him back against the stack of pillows.

"I'm going to take a quick look at the incision." Dean reported, standing to gain better access to the bandage, which he deftly removed.

Sam glanced down at himself, spotting for the first time the evidence of the surgery he had endured. The laceration was thin but incredibly long. It trailed from above Sam's belly button to very near his left collarbone with additional cuts at both ends that traced half the width of the pale chest. Sam's stomach flipped as he realized the pattern of the incision would suggest that his skin was first sliced and then peeled backwards to reveal his insides.

He swallowed back the bile that began climbing up his throat and just when he thought he was going to have to surrender to the nausea, a large hand cupped his jaw and guided his head up and to the right.

"Eyes up, Sammy." The words were strict but soft, which was the recipe to the majority of Dean's demands – unless he was scared and then everything tended to sound like anger.

"Didn't know it was that bad." Sam admitted, attempting to glance back down at the injury, but his brother blocked his view before he could get a second look.

"They had to use titanium to put the pieces of your ribs back together. It was pretty fucking bad." Dean confessed, being uncharacteristically blunt about Sam's injuries.

The teenager's discouragement must have portrayed itself quite clearly, because his big brother was quick to continue.

"It was bad, but you're going to be just fine. Your doc even had a lot of experience with plastic surgery and made the stiches real small and tight – he said it probably won't even scar that bad."

"That bad?" Sam croaked, because he wasn't enough of a freak already, why not keep adding scars until he looked like another one of Dr. Frankenstein's fucked-up creations?

"If it does scar, it will be so light and then you'll barely be able to see the damn thing." Dean declared, sounding confident, but Sam was never sure how much of that was real and how much was faked for his benefit.

"Kay." He rasped, trying to settle his mind and allow himself to be comforted by his brother's reassurances.

"Now why don't you just put your head back and count the watermarks on the ceiling why I spread some disinfectant on this sucker before I rebandage it?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but complied willingly enough, letting his noggin fall back as he stared listlessly at the bland white ceiling.

"Fuck." Sam cursed through a gasp as the sting of an ointment was spread nimbly over his laceration. He flinched at the contact and fought to keep from pulling away, which was made easier by the calloused hand that pressed along the undamaged side of his chest and held his tremoring frame in place.

"Just give it a minute, buddy. Just a minute." Dean's gruff, yet unmistakeably tender tone, penetrated the agony avalanching its way through Sam's body.

As per usual, big brother was right, and less then a sixty seconds later the cool tempered ointment began to numb the laceration.

"That's my boy." The elder Winchester whispered, running his thumb gently across the teen's right ribs before returning his attention to rebandaging the incision.

A rush of warmth caused by his brother's praise, overwhelmed the lingering pain and chased it away, allowing Sam to relax once again into his soft surroundings.

"Huh." He mused aloud.

"What?" Dean asked distractedly as he cut a new bandage with a pair of sterilized scissors.

"There's no water spots on the ceiling." Sam observed, double-checking his observations were correct and failing to recall the last time he had seen a motel ceiling that wasn't littered with moisture stains or other evidence of poor building upkeep. Hell, Sam could barely remember any place they had stayed that didn't have any signs of damage on the ceiling – even Bobby's ceiling had odd divots and water spots.

"Seriously?" Dean asked, cutting a strip of medical tape before glancing up, surveying the above surface for a moment before releasing an amused snort. "I knew this motel was nicer than our usual digs, but I didn't think it'd be this nice. The heat seems to be working alright too, which is a nice change fore once."

Sam huffed a short laugh.

"I guess it's pretty sad how low our standards are." Dean added as he secured the stack of gauze in place over the younger boy's chest.

Sam shook his head, though that was a statement he would usually second, he didn't quite agree with the context this time around. "This is a nice place by anyone's standards, not just a Winchester." He proclaimed, looking around, intentionally observing his surroundings for the first time since entering the building.

The room was nice, no heinous colours or shag carpet. Its off-white walls weren't marked-up or stained in the least and were decorated with nice scenic images in frames. There was a kitchenette that was more spacious than the full-fledged kitchens Sam could remember having in previous apartments or even houses that they had rented in the past. The counter tops looked fancy and the few appliances looked to be new or at least only a couple years old. There was an eating area with a table that appeared sturdier that most others the teenager could remember doing his homework at, and the chairs all had fabric on them and didn't look to be the tiniest bit rickety. From what Sam could spot through the open door, the bathroom looked like one of the cleanest he had ever laid eyes on. The sink didn't protrude from the wall but was secured in a vanity and had countertop space and storage beneath it. The floor tile was pristine white, not the usual cracked and miscoloured nastiness that the Winchester boys had grown accustomed to.

Even the television was nice, it was large and had to be one of the newest models – Sam could tell the picture would be clear and colourful when the turned it on, instead of the grainy distorted screen they were used to watching.

Upon inspection, Sam realized something that he was surprised he hadn't noticed upon arrival, there was only one bed. It was a large queen bed, comfy as ever with more pillows on it than the teen could count – mostly because he knew at least half of them were stuffed behind his back – and soft bedding that smelt of flowery fabric softener.

"One bed?" Sam queried, out of nothing more than curiosity.

"Yeah. Turns out these nicer joints tend not to have as many rooms available. This is the best I could do."

The teenager's heart clenched at his older brother's apologetic tone.

Like Dean hadn't done enough.

Like he hadn't done fucking everything for Sam.

"It's great, Dean. Really. A lot better than the cabin and the hospital, but you didn't have to get somewhere so nice." The youngest Winchester assured with half a smile.

The twenty-year old looked over at his brother as he packed the medical supplies back into the kit.

"We needed some place clean for you to recover. The last thing we need to worry about is you getting an infection from some germ-infested hole-in-the-wall." Dean growled, as though the mere thought of such a circumstance was pissing him off.

"Can we afford it?" Sam inquired timidly, his older brother was never a fan of questions having to do with finance. As the teen knew he would, Dean clenched his jaw and looked away and he moved to set the medkit on the table – giving the simple task an unnecessary amount of attention.

"We wouldn't be here if we couldn't, Sam." The elder Winchester responded curtly.

Sam chewed on his bottom lip, twitching in discomfort as he inwardly berated himself for aggravating his big brother. A moment later Dean returned to his side with a glass of water, exchanging it for the paper bag of pills on the bedside table, which Sam could tell by sound alone because he never bothered to look up from where he was picking dried flakes of blood off the tips of his fingers.

"We are going to get you drugged up and cleaned up – then you can get some shut-eye." Dean declared, lightly smacking Sam's right hand away from the one dangling out of his sling.

Sam nodded along with the game plan, much more eager for the first part of it than the rest.

"Here, get your meds out - there should be two bottles in there – while I go grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom."

The paper sack landed on the teen's lap as the older boy made his way over to the bathroom. Sam used his one operational arm to unroll the bag and remove its contents. He heard the tap turn running as he completed the simple task, he was in the process of flattening and folding the paper to be disposed of, when he caught sight of the writing on the front. There was a large printed sticker that had his name, the contents of the bag, and the price clearly typed out across it.

The numbers positioned after the dollar sign sent Sam's stomach churning.

$345.00

There was no way in hell they could afford that.

Guilt flooded through the youngest Winchester so quickly he felt as though he was going to drown.

Not only had he destroyed Dean's most prized possession, he was stealing away every drop of his brother's money. The money that he had earned working a shitty job, the cash he had collected by spending eight hours a day doing menial tasks that he hated, and he was having to spend it all on his stupid little brother who couldn't do one fucking thing right to save his goddamn life?

Sam hadn't realized he was still staring down at the flattened paper bag until it was abruptly snatched away, crinkled into a ball, and thrown across the room.

The teenager looked up at his brother, but the bright green gaze avoided his own as Dean dropped into the chair at his side. The long frame was keyed up and the scruffy jaw was clenched as the older boy doled out the proper dosage for each medication before handing them to Sam, who – even with water – had trouble swallowing them along with the ball of emotion lodged in his throat.

"Finish the water." He instructed, without even shifting his focus from running the warm cloth over spots of dried blood or sweat on the pale abdomen and chest.

Normally, the head-strong teenager would begrudge the order, but he knew his brother was just looking out for him and after everything Dean had done there was no way in hell Sam was going to think a single thought against him.

"The nurse gave you a sponge-bath the other day, but she did a shit job with it and wouldn't let me takeover. I'm just going to wash off all the shit she missed and then we can get you in some warm clothes."

Sam cringed at the thought of being bathed by a stranger, or anyone for that matter.

"Relax, you prude, she kept you covered." Dean assured with a roll of his eyes, smirking over at Sam before returning his attention to scrubbing at a particular stubborn patch of dried blood on the teen's left hip.

Sam quirked an embarrassed smile, which fell quickly as he recalled the conversation he knew he needed to have with his big brother. His eyes skimmed over his concentrated older brother before lowering, finding a loose thread on his sling that he began to pick at.

"How long are we going to stay here for?" He inquired softly, glancing through his bangs.

"A few weeks at least, maybe a month – whatever time you need to recover enough to travel again." Dean responded with a shrug.

"Dad okay with that?"

Another shrug.

"Left messages telling him where we'd be, I told Bobby too in case he gets in contact with Dad. Of course Bobby offered to have us come stay with him, but I wasn't about to trek you out that far. I'm sure Dad will meet us here if he ever checks his damn phone."

Sam pulled one thread loose and started in on the next, swallowing thickly before speaking.

"We can't stay that long." He muttered.

Dean paused his ministrations, Sam could feel eyes on him, but he didn't dare look up.

"And why the hell not?"

"They'll figure out the credit card is fake, if it doesn't get maxed out first. It's not safe to stay that long." Sam remarked.

"That'd be true, if the room was on a fake card."

The teenager looked up at that, brows furrowed in confusion. "But we can't afford it."

The declaration caused Dean to visibly bristle.

"Yes, Sam, we can. I even got a bit of a deal by paying for the next two weeks in advance."

"How?"

"With cash, doofus."

"How did you have any left?

"You do know I wasn't spending all that time at the grocery store for kicks, right? I got paid for that shit."

Usually, Sam would roll his eyes when being presented with such thick sarcasm, but he was still struggling to figure out how the brothers could afford so much.

"The medication was too much. You shouldn't have bought it."

"I didn't have much of a choice, Sam. I tried to lift what we needed but that hospital was fucking Fort Knox and the last thing I wanted was to get caught stealing and leave you in that room…without me."

The word alone was left unsaid, but the younger boy heard it loud and clear.

Because that was one of Sam's greatest fears after all, one he knew his big brother shared.

Being alone.

"And I couldn't use the fake insurance because your name was already all over the paper work and your prescriptions are both for Sam Winchester, not Sam Baker." Dean explained.

"You shouldn't have spent all that money."

"What else was I supposed to do? You need the meds." Dean nearly growled, his frustration clearly on the rise.

"They're too expensive." Sam pointed out, knowing his argument wouldn't mean much, but unable to resist making it regardless.

His mouth was always getting him into trouble.

"Shut the fuck up, Sam!" Dean snapped, launching to his feet and chucking the cloth in his hand at his chair before he began pacing around the room. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"It's too much." The younger boy defended his point of view, his voice not reaching near the level of his brother's due to the pain his chest was in.

"What's the alternative? You go without?"

"I can handle it." Sam declared with a nod, portraying a conviction he did not feel in the least. He didn't know if he could handle the agony the meds were easing, but he knew that he would if it meant his big brother didn't have to sacrifice everything, again.

"This isn't fucking training, dude. No amount of stupid stubborn Winchester determination is going to heal you from this! Your fucking ribs were shattered! Your goddamn chest had to be screwed back together to keep from crushing your fucking lungs! You had to be sliced open and pieced back together like fricken Humpty Dumpty. You had a fucking tube jammed down your throat for nearly twenty-four hours. And you coded two fucking times on the goddamn table during your surgery!" Dean shouted, waving his arms about as he paced back and forth, his body shaking with what appeared to be rage, but Sam knew was simply unchecked emotion.

The younger boy opened and closed his mouth a time or two before realizing he had no idea what to say in the face of his big brother's unravelling display of anger-plated distress.

"We weren't able to stay in the hospital as long as you should have been there, so when the doc prescribes you medication and one is to keep you from getting an infection that could kill you and the other is to help with the pain in a way that the lame-ass T3's in our medkit wouldn't even fucking touch, you can bet your ass that I'm going to do whatever it takes to get you those fucking pills." Dean declared in a growl as he stomped to a stop next to the bed.

Sam knew he had to find something to say, he knew his big brother would stand there all day and wait if he had to.

"I didn't know that I coded during the surgery." He commented softly, his tone apologetic as he began to understand where Dean's fear and frustration were originating from.

"Yeah, well that's because I didn't think it was necessary to freak you out by telling you that. I was stupid enough to figure that rattling off your list of injuries would be more than enough for you to realize how serious it all was. But apparently not. Apparently, you're only allowed to have medication if your fucking heart stops beating. I'll try to remember that." Dean bit out bitterly.

Sam dropped his gaze, feeling deservedly chagrinned. His big brother had been through hell and instead of making things easier on him, Sam was forcing him to defend his financial decisions.

He heard Dean shuffling around the room and unzipping both duffels and routing through them, but he never bothered to raise his eyes. Soon his brother had returned to the head of the bed and was feeding Sam's right arm through a warm sleeve.

"You're shivering." The older boy declared as he maneuvered the teen into the sweater, pulling it over his gimp arm and zipping the warm fabric up all the way. He was matter of fact about trading the hospital bottoms for a warm pair of sweat pants, his touch was firm but always gentle as he pulled the soft material carefully over Sam's injured foot and up into place around his waist.

Pain faded from Sam's body as his injuries were no longer disturbed by the tremors he had been too preoccupied to take much notice of.

The sweater was his brother's, Sam didn't have any zip-up ones. It was warm and large enough to comfortably cover his busted shoulder. The pants belonged to the younger boy, Dean only had a single pair of sweats and they were thin with a hole in the knee.

The thick comforter was pulled up over the teen's thin frame, before the taller man picked up the warm cloth before dropping back into the chair. Dean tugged Sam's hand away from where it was fiddling with the blanket, and pulled it towards him.

The elder Winchester began to scrub away the red stains on Sam's fingers, the younger man nearly insisted he could do that on his own, before quickly recalling that his entire left limb was incapacitated in a sling at the moment. He stared at the top of his brother's head as Dean ran the damp and soapy cloth over the dried blood on his right hand.

"Do you know why talking about money makes me so—

"Pissed off?"

"Irritated."

"Because we never have enough." Sam shrugged, venturing a guess, never really sure of why financial inquiries angered his big brother in such a way.

Dean snorted. "Sure seems like it, don't it?"

The teenager shrugged again, his right shoulder elevating and falling as his left remained perfectly still.

"It's because I don't like you worrying about it."

Sam frowned.

"You've always worried too much about money, even since you were three fricken feet tall."

"So have you." The youngest Winchester replied, knowing that financial support had been on his big brother's shoulders for far too fucking long.

"Yeah, but not like you. You get anxious and stress and start feeling all guilty and shit. You don't eat enough and you lose sleep and you damn near torture yourself over it. Besides, you're still just a kid, Sammy, you shouldn't even be thinking about how much cash we've got hanging around. You should be worried about your next pimple, or not stuttering through a conversation with a girl, or getting an A on your next paper, not our finances." Dean elaborated, his tone low and passion-filled as he diligently scrubbed at dried blood caked beneath his younger brother's finger nails.

"I'm hardly a kid anymore, Dean." Sam stated, thinking of the monsters he had faced.

"Trust me, dude, I know. I know exactly how fast you had to grow up." Dean admitted mournfully, his gaze rising to meet Sam's, grief pouring from the bright green orbs.

"Which wasn't your fault." The smaller Winchester proclaimed vehemently.

Dean's eyes dropped back down to Sam's dirtied finger nails, as he shook his head.

"De—

"I can't protect you from this life, man."

The remark was shockingly honest and the type of thing Sam had long been prompting his brother to admit…and yet, finally hearing it sent a strike of paralyzing fear through the younger man.

He felt like he couldn't breathe.

Like his heart had stopped beating – for what was apparently the third time that week.

Like his entire world was crashing down around him.

"Hey!" The gruff snap burst through Sam's panicked state of mind.

He blinked a few times, bringing his fading universe back into focus.

"I didn't mean it that way." Dean declared forcefully, something very near shock painted across his expression.

"What? Then how—

"I can protect you from every goddamn thing that goes bump in the night, and every sick human scumbag, and every well-meaning CPS dumbass, and every one of those fucktard teenagers the gets in your face – when you bother to tell me about them. I can protect you from all that shit and I always will. That is never going to change, no matter what."

And just like that, Sam could breathe again.

His world had been righted once more.

He needed a moment to recover from the whiplash, but his attention never wavered from his big brother.

"What I meant, was that I can't protect you from the hunting life. The endless training and fighting one monster after another with barely any time to breathe. The moving from town to town and state to state and school to school. The lack of money and stuff and stability. The lack of fucking everything. I can't save you from all of that." Dean confessed with his head down, as though it was his dirty secret, something to be ashamed of.

"You're not supposed to save me from that. That's our life, Dean. That's our family's life. That's what we do. It's not on you to protect me from how we live our lives. That's not your job."

Sam nearly rolled his eyes as he watched his brother shake his head again. It didn't matter how fiercely Sam worked to absolve his big brother of all the misplaced guilt he carried, there were some messages he knew would never get through. But that would never stop him from trying.

"I'm not so sure about that—

"Come on, man—

"But what I do know, is that even though I can't save you from all the garbage that comes with this hunting life, I can take the money side of things off your plate."

"But you don't need to. I can handle it." Sam insisted.

"Of course you can. This isn't about you being incapable, you were practically born responsible. This is about me taking care of this one thing. I can't control a lot and I can't protect you from all the things I wish I could, but I can take care of the money. I can save you from having to carry and stress and worry about this one thing. Let me have this, Sammy."

The teenager was at a loss, he wanted to give his brother what he was requesting, but inside he railed against the idea of placing more weight onto the heavy load Dean already carried on his shoulders.

"It's too much, Dean, you can't ask me to put that all on you."

"You're not putting anything on me, Sam. You're just allowing me to take something off you. Both of us don't need to carry this."

The earnest statement filtered through to the battle playing out in Sam's mind. He wanted so badly to give Dean what he was requesting, but he was also desperate to alleviate his big brother of some of the burdens and responsibilities that plagued his life.

"It's not fair for you." Sam declared.

Dean adamantly shook his head. "You carry enough, Sammy. More than enough. More than anyone else your age or any age should ever have to. Between all the research you're always doing and the training and the hunting and everything else that comes along with the family business, on top of school and everything else – you shoulder a ton. You might not see how much you carry, but I do, and it's a lot. Just let me take this one thing."

Sam worked to swallow the rock of emotion that was trapped in his throat as he blinked the moisture from his eyes, shaking his head.

"It's what I want, Sam. I can take care of the money, even better now then when we were younger, I can take care of it. I want to take care of it."

Sam shook his head again, his jaw clenching as his internal war proceeded to rage, his instincts fighting each other at a head-spinning rate.

Dean took a breath, Sam's half-cleaned fingers still in his grip as he appeared to be thinking before he began to speak again, his words slow and his tone patient.

"You stressing about our finances, worries me more than the actual state of our funds. Letting me take care of the cash wouldn't be adding anything else on me, it would takin something off. I wouldn't have to worry about you feeling all anxious or guilty over something as stupid money. It would make things better for both of us, Sam. That's the truth."

"How can I not feel guilty when it's my fault?" Sam croaked.

His brother's face scrunched up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's my fucking fault!" Sam attempted to shout, but was only able to accomplish a rasp – his voice having been absolutely wrecked since he awoke in the hospital (something he assumed had to do with the tube that had apparently been jammed down his airpipe).

Dean looked ready to argue, by Sam snatched his hand from his brother's loose grasp and waved it about as he proceeded to speak.

"We have to stay in this expensive place cause of me, because my cut could get infected. You had to buy those pills because I got fucking hurt. We had to leave town and leave your job because I screwed up. You will have to spend so much money on the Impala because I fucking crashed it! The only thing you own and I wrecked it. You trusted me and I destroyed everything and now you have to pay for all of it with all the money you earned. It's all my goddamn fault!" Sam's voice was nearly absent by the end of his rant, guilt gnawing him raw and forcing tears from his eyes.

Dean was silent, the only sounds to be heard in the room was the teenager's harsh breathing.

Sam couldn't bring himself to meet the green eyes he knew would be studying him. He was so afraid of any hint of betrayal, disappointment, or condemnation that could be hidden in that familiar gaze.

He could handle that from himself and even from his father, but not Dean.

Please, God, not Dean.

No matter how much he deserved it, he knew it would break him.

It would shatter him like no one and nothing ever could.

A familiar hand cupped Sam's left jawline and forced his face up towards his big brother.

"You must have hit your head a hell of a lot harder than I thought."

The seemingly off-topic statement piqued the teenager's interest and he met the green eyes that were staring down at him. The eyes that held not betrayal or disappointment, but rather shone with concern and compassion.

"The accident was not your fault, and none of the expanses that came along with it were your fault."

"But—

"Some drunk fucktard t-boned you. It wasn't your choice or your fucking fault." Dean proclaimed, one of his hands clenching in what Sam could easily recognize as channelled aggression.

"Drunk?" The teen wondered aloud, the new information sidelining his argument.

Dean's jaw clenched as he nodded. "The police found the bastard about a block away, he crashed into a pole, they said his blood-alcohol level was off the charts."

"They arrest him?" Sam assumed.

"The would have if he hadn't been dead."

"Dead?" The younger man inquired, eyebrows raised.

Dean nodded. "Lucky bastard." He growled.

"Lucky?"

"That jagoff was a dead man the moment he slammed into you and then drove off and left you to fucking die. He's lucky as hell that telephone pole took him out before I could get my hands on him."

The passionate declaration would have almost been funny, if Sam thought for the briefest moment that his big brother was being anything but completely serious.

Dean would kill for him, of that the youngest Winchester had always been frighteningly aware.

It was a fact of Sam's life that his brother would do anything to keep him safe, that there were no lines Dean wouldn't sprint across in order to protect him.

Sam knew he didn't deserve that kind of love or devotion, but not a day went by where he didn't appreciate it – as scary as it was.

Knowing full well that the person you loved most in the world would willingly destroy themselves to keep you safe, was both a gift and a curse; it was as terrifying as it was reassuring and was something Sam struggled with often, but never stopped being grateful for.

"What that piece of shit did, is not on you, Sam, and neither is the fallout."

Sam nodded, because it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do.

"And for future reference, our money problems never will and never have been your fault. You're not to blame for money that needs to be spent – you're not an expensive kid, Sammy. You don't ask for a fucking single thing that you don't need or that is too much. You're a cheap-date, kid, I promise." Dean said with a playful wink.

Sam shook his head with a smirk.

"And if you choose to let me take care of the money-side of things, you won't be giving me anymore to carry. You'll be letting me take care of us, take care of you, one of the few ways I still can. It's what I want. Hell, if I had it my way, I'd be looking after our funds from here on out until your sixty-years-old and have to start buying Viagra." Dean claimed with a chuckle.

"Gross, Dean." Sam whined, his face screwed up in disgust.

"Unless you're still a prude at that age." He added, re-capturing the younger man's right hand.

Sam rolled his eyes, allowing his brother to return to scrubbing away the stubborn remnants of dried blood on his fingers.

Nearly a minute went by of Sam staring distractedly at the top of his brother's head before Dean suddenly looked up and spoke.

"Seriously, Sam, none of it is your fault. Not the car, or the hospital, or this room, or the meds, or the fucking money, none of it. You got that?"

The familiar green eyes stared imploringly at the boy on the bed, they begged him to agree, believe, and understand.

And to his own surprise, Sam found himself caving to his brother's plea.

His heart wasn't fully in it perhaps, but for Dean's sake, Sam nodded.

A relieved smile brightened the worried face.

"Good. It's about damn time." The elder Winchester quipped with a grin, before returning his attention to Sam's right hand.

The teenager felt his anxiety and fear fall away, but the guilt remained.

He would do what he could to make things right for Dean, regardless of how unnecessary his big brother might believe it to be. Sam owed him and would figure out a way to repay him, at the very least for the damage he did to the Impala; after which he would ponder his brother's insistence about their finances.

But not now.

Now he would allow himself to heal.

He would do as his brother wished until he was better, because he couldn't help Dean while he was still injured.

Sam smiled as his brother began chatting about some 'batshit crazy customer' who made a scene in the grocery store a few days ago.

He didn't pay a great deal of attention to the words – the pain meds already blanketing his world with a foggy haze, but he allowed the familiar tone to surround him.

He breathed in the familiar scent of m&m's and aftershave coming from the sweater he was wrapped in.

He focussed on the familiar calloused fingers gently gliding a warm cloth across his skin.

He gazed at the familiar freckled face that glanced between him and his hand.

He met the familiar green gaze that promised love and security.

He embraced the familiar feeling of peace and contentment.

Because even being injured and in a new place, there was still Dean.

There was always Dean.

Dean was familiar.

Dean was comfort.

Dean was safety.

Dean was love.

Dean was home.

And the best place to heal, for Sam, had always been home.

The End

Note: Hopefully this long-ass second chapter was worth the wait. Please review/comment if you have a moment - I don't always get to replying but they mean the world to me, I always keep them saved on my phone and read them again when I need some encouragement to keep writing. :)

The next chapter of A New Kind of Evil is very much a continuation of this fic and I think ya'll are going to love it as much as I do, so get ready!

Thanks for reading! - Sam