Me and formatting on this site are never going to get along, so... I admit defeat, I cede, I give up, I quit...done, over...deal with it.

Kevin pushed spaghetti around his plate with his fork; boiled noodles, heated tomato sauce from a jar topped with meatballs from a frozen bag and canned parmesan cheese. Yay! He sighed, chin cupped in his hand. Well…beat fried hot dogs, right? He looked at the slice of yellow – might be lemon – cake (he knew better than to bring pie home) sitting pretty in a plastic container. All bought and cooked and prepared and served and consumed by…..himself.

Okay, yeah, for the first time in a long time – years – he felt safe. He liked it here in this bunker that his roommates – for lack of anything better to call them – called home. It was large and spacious, had any and all amenities one could think to ever need and he even had his own room. The library was awesome and the history to be learned from it was limitless but…. he was lonely. The brothers were hardly ever home and when they were…..well, no one would ever call them social. They returned to heal from injury or recover from some spell or hex or curse or lack of sleep or to research and Good God Amighty, did they luuuh-uf-uuvvee to research.

And as for friends or coworkers or family or associates - well sure, there was that red-headed girl but she didn't come by often, never stayed if the brothers weren't home and treated him like he was ten. Oh, and there was Garth…well…..fat lot of good he'd done protecting Kevin on the boat so, no, Garth need not apply for position of playmate. There was their resident in the dungeon but Kevin wasn't supposed to go anywhere near him, not that he wanted to, and there was Castiel but he'd gone out to live among humans.

Yeah, was his life fucked up or what? And when had it become so?

He sighed again and stabbed a meatball. He rarely went out, and when he did venture past the doors of his comfortable sanctuary, it was to go no further than the local library or the grocery store. Those advance placement classes sure had paid off! Why, he'd come up with an alias and believable address in order to apply and receive a library card all on his very own! Woot-hoot! The town was small, very small and he had no car to get to the next town…oh wait, yeah, he'd found an ancient bicycle. Woot. No woot-hoot, just…woot.

Could his life get any worse? Probably. Any better? Well…

Ohohohohoho! There'd been an addition to his staid, lonely life; to his 'duties'. In addition to calling and asking for, on-the-spot-I-need-it-right-now-no-it-can't-wait information and demanding, what-do-you-mean-you-don't-know-why answers, the brothers now called for and expected, you-don't-have-time-you-need-to-come-up-with-a-con vincing-lie-now back-up and alias support.

Yeah, sure, let me drop everything and stop trying to crack these words and codes and depictions also-known-as the word of god, while I ignore my murdering enemy in the dungeon, 'cause, hey, who needs to know if there are any more tablets harmful to all of mankind and the earth upon which we live and assure whatever backwards county sheriff you managed to piss off this time, you are indeed Feds or Marshalls or Homeland Security or CDC officials or whatever the fuck you dreamed up this time.

Wasn't that Garth's job?

Ivy League University education – here I don't come.

And if that wasn't enough to keep him occupied, demands for answers and explanation and history and lore from books and recipes and whatnot were forever being thrown at him. Find this, explain this, answer this, solve this. And oh! oh! hey Kevin, find a local store where we can buy this or steal that or obtain what we need to replenish our depleted restock of never-heard-of before, one-of-a-kind ingredients to make hex bags and spells and wards and sigils and symbols and antidotes.

Uh, hello? What part of one-of-a-kind, did they not get? If it's one of a kind, where the hell did they expect him to find more? And expect they did, right then and there. Oh yes, they were 'now' men. Both of them. And man, what they needed to carry with them or have on hand was endless, limitless and in constant need of being resupplied. If he wasn't researching, reading, shopping, brewing or cooking some cure or spell or curse, he was taking inventory and categorizing what killed what.

He'd naïvely believed he'd learned everything he needed to know about demons while on the run and hiding from Crowley. What a slap in the face to find out he'd barely scratched the surface of demon lore and knowledge. And that was just demons. The world in which the brothers lived…..well, he needed a life time of experience to gain as much information that either brother could rattle off.

Lamb's blood, silver bullets, rock salt bullets, spray paint, bronze or brass or silver daggers, angel feathers and blades, holy oil, dream root, salt, holy water, rosary's, flare's, flamethrowers...and on and on and on and etcetera and so forth. The meaning of wards and talismans and symbols and angel banishing sigils and tattoos and charms and incantations and summoning spells were all a jumble in his tired brain.

His buzzing cell interrupted his morose pouting. He sighed again. Which brother wanted what this time? He snorted, like he needed to even look at the phone to know. Wouldn't be Sam…no…Sam was away from home, the lucky dog. Dean was the one Kevin was stuck with at home, confined to the bunker by an irate, overset brother who didn't handle injury to his older sibling well. And it wasn't like Dean wasn't ok. Hell, he was fine. Little tender, a bruise or two, swollen joint here and there, the lumpy bump on his head had completely receded, and he barely walked with a limp anymore, only when first getting up after sitting for a lengthy while, so why the hell hadn't Sam taken his brother with him?

Kevin still didn't understand what had upset Sam so. Upset him so much that once Dean was awake and coherent he'd declared he needed some time and off he'd gone. No thought at all to Kevin. Didn't he think Kevin would have enjoyed the display of ancient manuscripts and books and scrolls? Did it not occur to him that something may have benefited Kevin in his never-ending quest to translate untranslatable script?

Apparently not and it wasn't fair. Kevin deserved a week off; deserved time away from the bunker and the brothers and the responsibilities and duties that had become his life. Dammit, he deserved something. Like time away from everyone's expectations and demands…he should have been the one allowed to go to the auction and bid on the book needed/wanted for the bunker library, with or without Sam. If Sam was so worried about Dean…he should have remained home with him. Not lay the ability to amuse and watch him on a teen-age kid who had no apparent hope of controlling a man who had no intentions of obeying or listening to anyone's orders.

What? They didn't trust Kevin to take care of himself and avoid trouble? Hell, he'd done just fine on his own when they both had, for whatever reason, been MIA. He should just pack up and leave. It'd be weeks before they even noticed he was gone. That'd show them! Aside from hot water and clean clothes and abundant food and heat and electricity and TV and internet and all those books to read, what did he have here anyway? Dean had shouted the walls down when he'd asked for a dog and really, he'd been a dick about it all. Well…he hedged...Dean hadn't said no to a cat, though Sam had mentioned Dean was allergic...so maybe two cats.

So, Sam got a week off huh? To himself? For himself? While Kevin was stuck home, challenged with a bored, restless, cranky Dean who texted him from three rooms away? Yeah, not gonna happen. Kevin grinned into his glass of milk as he responded to the text requesting his presence in the den. They had a den?

If this was home, he was quite sure he would run away. Far away. Far, far away.

***000***

Sam sipped his frothy sweet cappuccino while he eyed the warm croissant gooey with dripping icing and fat with warm apples, sitting invitingly on a plate at the tip of his fingers. He'd spent an enjoyable morning leisurely wandering around an exhibit of ancient manuscripts and scrolls and this afternoon, he'd attend an auction where those items and other books could be purchased. Was there a better way to spend the day? His mouth watered and he licked his lips in anticipation, dabbing a finger to scoop up some icing. He only indulged his sweet tooth when Dean wasn't around to tease him and by golly, he was going to enjoy every last flakey crumb, drip of icing and smidgeon of apple filling flavored with cinnamon and nutmeg.

His tablet connected to the coffee shops wi-fi and he logged on to his email account. Picking up his warm gooey croissant and taking a bite, he took a sip of coffee before making the hard decision which hand to free then set the cup down and clicked on the first email.

"Greetings, oh-wandering one, got that maple bookcase categorized you wanted done. Wood ladders are heavy. Dean helped me carry one up from the garage." (photo attached of Dean standing on the top rung of the ladder) Sam scowled. What the fuck was the dumb ass doing carrying and climbing ladders? What part of, stay home, take it easy, and don't do anything stupid translated to, 'find and carry and climb a fucking ladder'? And if Kevin had done the categorizing, why had Dean been on the ladder?

"Greetings, Kemosabe, your ever faithful sidekick Tonto reporting in. Got those silver bullets made you wanted. Guess what? Dean's teaching me to shoot!" (photo attached) Sam scowled. Dean was playing with guns? What the hell was the matter with him? What did he think he was doing?

"Greetings, oh-youngest-Winchester, Dean's an awesome cook. That new garbage disposal works great." (photo attached) Sam scowled. What new garbage disposal? I'm gonna smack him with his fucking hammer for touching potentially dangerous tools that could, you know, take a finger off!

"Hey Sam, your brother is awesome with cars. Changed that tire in like less than five minutes!" (photos attached) Sam scowled. What the Fuck?! I'm gonna break his fucking knee cap with the FUCKING tire iron for lifting something as heavy as a fucking car tire. And, uh, what the hell was he doing driving the car?

"Hey Sam, nice day or what? Hope you got to enjoy it. Sun was hot but I made sure he had plenty of water." Sam scowled. Dean had been outside? What the fuck could he have found to do outside?

"Hey Sam, just wait 'til you get back. You're gonna love the new lighting in the library!" (photo attached) Sam scowled. Didn't Dean know they had no fucking clue how the electricity was supplied to the bunker or where it came from or why they had it? No, he knew. He just liked to do things to piss Sam off. And – again – the dumb ass was on a ladder.

"Wow, harder than I thought to keep an eye on him. He's like, never where I leave him. Whew!" Sam scowled. What the fuck was he finding to do? Sam's parting instructions had been quite clear. Eat, sleep, watch porn. He shouldn't be leaving his god-damn bed.

"Dude's on a mission or quest or hunt or whatever to find a beehive." Sam scowled. So that was what he'd been doing outside. If he even touches that beehive, (and find it he would, of that there was no doubt) I'll poke him with the same stick he used to rile those poor bees until he cries.

"Howdy Sam! Found it! Look at the size of this beehive?! How freaking cool is that? Dean thinks maybe he can make honey." (photo attached) Make honey? I swear to God, I'm gonna lock him in the dungeon with Crowley.

"Hi-Ho Sam. You ever see a bee so huge! You think it might be an Asian Giant Hornet?" (photo of bee in palm of hand attached) Sam scowled. No mere bumble bee or yellow jacket or honey bee for Dean. Nope, course not.

"Gotta say, never thought the ole geezer could run so fast!" (video attached, of Dean running, from a swarm of bees, screaming like a little girl.) Sam scowled. Served the son-of-a-bitch right, least I won't have to listen to him snivel. Hee-Hee! Good luck Kevin!

"Okay, yeah so, ice, toothpaste, baking soda. Struck out! Dude sure did swell up." (photo attached) Sam scowled. Was that a wrist or elbow or neck or all of the above?

Sam sighed. Great, the congealed foam on the coffee rendered it no longer appealing, and the soggy sawdust formally known as his much anticipated croissant forced him to admit his snack was ruined. He dropped the pastry onto the plate, covered it with a napkin and pushed it away.

When he got home, he was going to relieve Kevin of his fucking camera phone.

He typed out a quick email informing Kevin of a tried and true bee sting remedy, equal parts vinegar, baking soda and meat tenderizer, guaranteed to quiet Dean's whines and whimpers – Kevin didn't deserve to suffer – and shut his tablet down. He was not going to jump to conclusions or call Dean or pack up and head home. He was going to the auction and bid on that book. They needed it. It was the entire reason he was in Scottsbluff, Nebraska and not home with Dean while he recuperated from being flopped around like a dog's favorite stuffed toy by a 300 lb. bar brawler possessed by an evil spirit.

'Cause really, how much trouble could a beehive be?

***000***

Sam climbed from the car, snagged his take-out dinner and fumbled for his key. All he wanted was to do was eat while it was hot, crawl into bed, and fall asleep watching TV. The auction had gone longer than he'd anticipated and he'd nearly left without waiting for the book to go up for auction. When it had, the bidding had started at a price that had made him choke. He hadn't expected to pay ½ as much as the opening bid! Dean was going to throw a fit he'd spent so much money. Aah, well, it had been worth both the time and the money spent. The book was an information gold mine that far exceeded Sam's expectations. He turned the TV on, munching on a piece of garlic bread as he took a chair at the table and sat down to remove his boots. Yeah….if he didn't head home tomorrow, he was gonna hafta visit the Laundromat, he was out of clean socks. He wandered into the bathroom, washed up, dressed for bed, grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down at the table to eat dinner.

He was tired, but even in his exhausted state there was no way he could FORGET he was blessed with Dean as a brother. Kevin's earlier emails still taunted him and he just had to know if there were any more. He'd told Kevin not to call him unless Dean had lost an eye or a limb or a catastrophe, such as finding a dent in the car, happened. He'd failed to mention no emails.

The tablet was in the car and, too lazy to go retrieve it, he booted up the laptop. He turned the TV stations until he found news and flipped open the pizza box. He'd turned his cell phone off while at the auction and though he didn't expect any messages, it was never a good idea to remain out of contact with Dean for long.

No voicemails, no missed calls….just…..1, 2, 3, 4…25 text messages. From Kevin. All of them. Over a period, of like, two hours. Ruh-Roh...

()()()()

'Just to let you know, your tried and true magic cure all for treating bee stings? Yeah, epic fail man.'

'Is Dean allergic to anything?'

'You know….I think he is….allergic, I mean….to bees.'

'Yeah, yeah…..definitely allergic or something.'

'Wow….ER's crowded.'

'Let the waiting commence.'

'Patience is not a virtue he possesses is it?'

'Had to chase him out the door when he tried to leave!'

'Aanndd…..still waiting.'

'Temper tantrum much?'

'What is he? Two?'

'Yeah, epic tantrum, man.'

'No Nurse, he's not with me. I've never seen him before in my life.'

'One way to see a doctor? Yeah, pass out on the floor.'

'Gotta go see him and I don't wanna.'

'Good God, he's a big baby.'

'Correction – spoiled brat.'

'New nurse, he appears to like this one.'

'All's good, doctor's a chick.'

'Holy Shit! I didn't carry on like that when my finger was CUT OFF!'

'Sam, you there? Call me….'

'They wanna know if he has any allergies to medications?'

'They wanna transport him to Wichita.'

'He got something against flying?'

'Memo to self: DO NOT PISS HIM OFF – EVER!'

()()()()

Sam dialed Kevin's cell. He needed aspirin. A lot. Maybe the bottle. He should have known Dean wouldn't be content to remain idle at the bunker. Should have known, he would find trouble. Should have known he would ignore Sam's suggestions and demands and orders and teary-eyed pleas to remain home and take it easy and take his time getting back on his feet. No, he'd known, he'd just hoped….Aah well…an annoying Dean was an alive and counted for Dean.

Voicemail. Sam smirked, licking the garlic from a piece of bread as he waited for the end of Kevin's rambling rant so he could leave his message. So, Kevin was at the ER with Dean; Sam could easily guess the mood Dean was in. Served the little shit right. Kevin was always, Dean's oh-so-awesome, Mr. Cool Dude, the best….

Transport? Wichita? Fly?

Garlic bread was spat, not swallowed, beer bottle was up-ended, not drunk, pizza box was swept to the floor, sauce and cheese oozed into the carpet, papers scattered in every direction, phone dropped unheeded as Sam whipped the laptop around and frantically began to tap.

Bees. Asian Hornets. Bee hives. Huge bees or wasps or hornets. Reactions. Allergic reactions. Symptoms. Travel time by car from Scottsbluff, Nebraska to Wichita, Kansas.

"Kevin? Hey, yeah, it's Sam. Hey let me know where you are? I'm leaving now to head home."