One job, one simple, every-day, run-of-the-mill, salt and burn-the-bones, job. There wasn't supposed to have been anyway anything could go wrong. Breeze into town, do a bit of research, light a bonfire, and roll out, easy-peasy. Not.

***000***

Herbert Winston Coleman had no clue he wasn't as alone as he thought he was, no idea someone observed him in the rain-darkened night. Herbert, Herb…..Herbie. Anyone wishing to remain conscious with all bones left intact would never call him Herbie.

It didn't matter what name he went by, soon he would cease to exist and his headstone, should his body ever be recovered, could read whatever anyone wanted to impart. The closest family was a sister, though it was doubtful she would miss him if she ever found out someone had put him six feet under. It wasn't such a shame really, that he had to die, he was hardly an upstanding, well-liked citizen and if you did the crime…

There was no way he would be allowed to live after what he'd done. There was a time when perhaps his actions would have warranted an anonymous call to the local police and the legal system allowed to deal with what he'd done.

But. Not. Now.

It didn't matter that Herbie hadn't known who he'd taken a dislike to. That, had he known his opponent was a hunter and not just a pretty face, he might not have attacked with such violence and intent to kill. No longer would a judge and jury have the final say in what happened to some asshole who was responsible for even one bruise on his brother. Been there, done that, lived to regret it every single time. Not again, never again, ghost or monster, human or other-worldly being, it no longer mattered.

New motto: You hurt my brother, you forfeit your life.

Sam remained where he was, standing out of the rain in the dark doorway of a closed store, waiting until the car Herbie had driven off in was out of sight before lighting a cigarette. The gentle rain was cold, yet soothing. It wasn't a storm; there was no thunder or wind, just a steady, light rain. He inhaled, letting the nicotine calm his rage. Now was not the time. He had other concerns and more problems to face before he could give Herbie's last remaining days on earth the attention they deserved.

He exhaled, savoring both the taste and scent of the smoke. Smoking. Bad habit. Bad, unhealthy habit, that Dean, were he able, would kick his ass over. Whoever, himself included, would have thought he knew how to smoke? He didn't know when he'd taken up the habit, no….wait, he knew…it was just…..he didn't want to remember that time of his life. He didn't embrace or enjoy smoking, and yet….he needed it all the same. But not for any reason a sane person would assume.

Never before had he had the urge, not once, to smoke, until the night he'd found out Dean had lied to his face. He'd walked away from his brother that day, lost and confused and in a fog. With nothing to anchor himself to, no reality to find, no one to seek solace from, he'd wandered for a bit, finally coming to his senses sitting on a picnic table, cigarette in hand, reeking of smoke. Later, he'd discovered two entire days had passed that he had no memory of.

He gripped the pack of cigarettes in his hand, needing the comfort the gesture gave him. It was a habit that revealed a secret he never had any intention of letting Dean find out about. Every time he lit up a cigarette, a memory from the year he'd been back without both his soul and his brother came back to him. Apparently not only had he been a cold, cruel, ruthless hunter unconcerned with right and wrong and not selective in sexual partners, he'd also chosen to stay away from his brother but tolerated no one threatening him in any way.

He started to walk down the street, needing to think. He found walking cleared his thoughts and led him to behave in a rational, controlled manner. He couldn't afford to freak out or lose his temper. Not with the job they'd come to town to do left unfinished, a son-of-a-bitch on the loose and Dean down and dependent on Sam to control both the situation and their safety.

He flicked the stub to the pavement and ground it out with the heel of his boot. Every credit card he or Dean had were unusable. He had little cash and while he had access to more, he'd have to go and retrieve it. He couldn't, wouldn't subject Dean to riding in a car the distance it would take to get to Montana. He might not know anyone in the vicinity to call upon for help, but his alter-self sure as hell did. His thumb caressed the crumbled pack of cigarettes in his pocket, then chucked it into a nearby trash can. It had served its purpose and he had no intention of returning to his brother and risk Dean discovering the pack.

He had a phone call to make.

***000***

"Now, who the fuck….." Manny looked at the display on his cell, uttering a curse when he read, caller ID blocked. He toyed with answering it, but made the unwise decision to let it go to voicemail. Unwise because pissing off the caller once he realized who it was could only be described as suicidal. Curiosity got the best of him, so as soon as his cell sang the alert tone for voicemail, he dialed in. "Oh-Fuck-Me." he breathed. The message was short, certainly not sweet and from a voice he'd hoped to never hear from again.

"Manny, you little chicken shit, avoiding me ain't gonna work. You have ten minutes to call me back or I will find you and separate every last one of your toes and fingers from your person with piano wire."

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit." he threw the phone, sat for a moment then leapt to his feet and scurried around his small apartment, locking every door and window and pulling the shades and curtains. Fear had him cowering in the corner of his kitchen, gun held with both hands between his knees, waiting for the reason he was about to pee his pants to materialize in front of him.

Gradually, fear subsided and common sense took over. There was no possible way Sam could know where he was. Not yet anyway. He didn't doubt Sam would eventually find him if he chose to look for him. Best to call him back, see what he wanted and hope he could appease the giant psycho without the loss of any appendages.

"Sam. Sorry man, was in the can."

"Sure, whatever." Sam was walking down the street in the rain but ducked under a building overhang to keep the cell phone dry. "Listen Manny, I'm near Portland, Oregon and I need a place to hole up, cash only, no questions asked, few people, you hearing me?"

"Huh, yeah, yeah, got my ears on dude, chill." Manny swiveled his chair around and tapped keys on the computer. "How long you be lying in?"

"Month or better, and I'm talking, 'leave-me-the-hell-alone' kinda place. Need privacy."

"Yeah, yeah, dude, I know…..I gotcha…..just gimme a moment, will ya?" he wiped his sweaty palms on the thighs of his pants, breathing easier. Sam didn't want him to do anything more than find him a place to stay. That was doable. Sam wasn't asking for his help or money or for Manny to join him, he just wanted to go to ground. That, Manny could do. "Okay, ok, ok, right….so…" he knew better than to ask questions or expect answers, but….. "Aah, what will you need in way of…amenities?"

"What? Jesus Manny….the hell! Food, shelter…..you know…"

"Huh, well…..ok…if that's all…"

"Need a…hospital within a couple of miles." Sam added. He wasn't stupid. He was well aware he may have to take his brother to the hospital should his injuries be worse than he suspected. If Dean showed signs of internal bleeding or a head injury, he wanted medical help nearby. "And I need a clinic I can….hit up…for supplies...tonight."

"Hit up? As in break-in and steal? Medical supplies…you got hurt? What you need?"

"Pain meds….aah…..strong ones…dressings and ointments for burns…..antibiotics."

"Right, right…okay…..that's easy, gimme a moment…so, any need for electricity?"

"What the hell? Yeah, Manny, I'm gonna need electricity." visions of a tent pitched on a hill next to a stream had him kicking at the brick store front. He thought of nights alone with Dean, stuck in bed, bored and in pain. "And internet and cable and a DVD player."

"Oh." a moment passed with only noises of papers being sorted through and a keyboard being tapped. "Just you?" wouldn't surprise him if psycho Sam was shacking up with some bimbo.

"Aah, no….."

"So..then…just the two of you?" Manny asked. He'd heard in a roundabout way that Samuel might have met an unfortunate end but no one was completely sure. All he knew was no one had heard from him in months.

"Yeah."

"Two…..okay…..maybe….shit…ok,,,,we're good…not a problem….just hang on….ok…ok…..let's see, propane…aaah, no…ok…say…okay generator….good…so….go to the Salpare Bay Marina, ask for Jimmie Connors. Setting you up at…"

His cell beeped, the alert telling him he had another incoming call. Dean, 'cause no one, not even Bobby, had this new number. "I gotta go Manny, thanks." he disconnected. He supposed he could live on a boat for a couple of weeks, he wanted privacy…..no maids, no desk clerks, no unruly guests next door, less likely for anyone to see them, less likely for cops to patrol. He thumbed answer to speak to the next caller. "What's wrong?"

Dean was alone in a foreclosed house where they'd taken temporary refuge after the warehouse surveillance had gone wrong. They'd fled the warehouse on foot and Dean had remained at a nearby bar while Sam returned to retrieve their car. When Sam returned for his brother, he'd found him unconscious in the parking lot of the bar, courtesy of Herbert.

Upon finding a place to squat in such a remote location, Sam had wanted to crash there but once he'd gotten Dean inside, he'd known they couldn't stay. The injury to Dean's leg from the warehouse was a burn on the back of his left calf and their first aid kit was inadequate. Sam still didn't understand how Dean had acquired the burn, as far as he knew, security laser beams, when broken, caused an alarm to go off, not burns.

"Dean? Hey man….what's up?" he'd hoped to have made it back before Dean woke up, but when did both hope and luck ever combine and go his way? Knowing what he did about the world, heaven and hell, he couldn't help but sometimes think, on some other plane, some alternate universal there was still a being looking out for him and his brother, guiding their way through life. May not be able to prevent an injury, such as being shot, but able to ensure the bullet didn't kill them. He frowned, hearing nothing but heavy panting. "Dude, come on, sounds like you….."

"Where…you…..at?"

"Just….went out to the store, get you something to…drink…some ice….I'm on my way back…you doin' okay?"

"Yeah." his voice was weary, wet. "….'kay….Sam? I…don't….feel….so good."

"Hang on…I'm on my way back." his voice was thick as it occurred to him Dean could be hurt worse than he'd originally thought. He disconnected and shoved the phone into his pocket. He didn't like how breathless Dean had sounded or how wet his voice had been. The fact Dean had called just to ask where he was and to say he didn't feel well made Sam want to go after Herbert right then and there. Separate his head from his shoulders and walk away without looking back. He'd done it before and he'd do it again.

He gave himself a shake, trying to rein himself in and gain control. A glance at his watch revealed it was just after eight o'clock. Over two hours had passed since the botched break-in at the warehouse. Manny had given him the address of a clinic three blocks away but had warned him not to attempt a break-in until after nine. In his current state, doped on the strongest pain meds Sam could find in the med kit, Dean wouldn't have any idea how much time passed and with an hour to waste, Sam had time to find someplace with free wi-fi and read up on boats. God please, don't let it be a damn sailboat.

He was confident no one would be able to trace him via Manny, but on the remote chance, someone did, he didn't plan on being where Manny had directed him. The biggest issue at the moment was obtaining cash. Off the top of his head, he estimated a one-way, nine-hour drive, to Whitefish, Montana. Not a big deal if he could bring himself to leave Dean for the length of time it would take to drive out, get a couple of hours of sleep and drive back. They really needed to see about stashing some cash around various cities in different states.

The more he thought about the boat, the more he liked the idea. Anchored out in the water would be remote and removed from the public. Even if they remained docked, Dean wouldn't be so eager to wander about on his own and would find it difficult to find someone to sweet talk his way around. There'd be no maids or clerks or teen-age daughters from the family staying in the room next door. There'd be no local pizza delivery, no nearby sub-shop or bar to walk to when Sam hid the car keys from him. And when Sam decided that Herbie had wandered around carefree long enough, his elder sibling wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop him. Well, no, that wasn't true. Nothing and no one would ever stop Dean from accomplishing whatever goal he'd set for himself but at least he'd find it a bit more complicated to achieve.

***000***

Dean stirred with a soft groan, cell phone falling from limp fingers. God, he hated hospitals. He hated the noise, the smells, the lights that were either too dim or too harsh and never just right, the constant invasion of privacy, the loss of dignity, the overall humiliation of being forced to submit to the mercy of a nurse. Oddly though, this one seemed to smell more of mold and decay than antiseptic and disinfectant.

Just under the level of consciousness next to awareness, it took him a moment to realize that: one, he was not in a hospital, two, he had no idea where the hell he was and three, he was well and truly alone. When the hell had that happened? No, no…. he didn't care, waking up meant dealing with issues and problems and Sam's disappearance and attitude and his own pain and he was just too fucking tired to care about any of it.

He wondered what time it was, even with his eyes closed and in a state of semi-consciousness, he was aware it was dark outside, figured it to be somewhere towards evening, he didn't know, nor did he care enough to find out. Sam had gone out, leaving Dean alone, but he'd be back, He wouldn't have gone and left him behind – well, not hurt anyway.

He shifted uneasily, trying in vain to find a comfortable position, giving up with a sigh and settling for the least painful. He wasn't in a bed, that much he could discern. While the blanket beneath him was soft like nylon, it wasn't a mattress, was probably a sleeping bag as it did little to cushion the hard floor making his hip numb. The musty air about him made him nauseous and he wished for a cold wet cloth and maybe something to drink.

He turned his head to face the window, squinting through a medication induced haze and wishing it were open. He didn't remember taking anything yet he must have, or rather, he'd had it forced down his throat. He was under their effects and Sam had been the one to administer them. If he wanted to, really wanted to, he could fight through the layers of haze and fog caused by the meds but was there really a need to do so? Well, he could open the window. The fact it was dark and raining lured him back sleep. Since he didn't know where he was or why he saw no reason not to submit to whatever medication he'd been given.

***000***

Sam returned with soup and crackers but doubted he'd be able to tempt Dean into eating. He let himself into the house, lit only by a solar-powered camp lantern. Its charge all but petered out and he said a small prayer that he'd returned before it had died completely. Dean handled a lot of shit, dealt with his issues internally and though he'd never admitted any such thing to Sam, the younger Winchester knew how to read his brother. Dean didn't do well alone in the dark, not now, not after – well hell. Even if it had been years.

"Dean?" he whispered, squatting down next to the sleeping bag and rubbing a hand across his face. Being susceptible to infection, the unsanitary house was not a place to treat Dean's injury. Sam had wanted to drive straight out-of-town, but upon regaining consciousness in the car, Dean had been in too much pain to ignore and his steady decline over the last several hours made it necessary to treat the burn now. "Hey dude, you awake?"

"Ya…hun." came the muffled reply. Sam leaned closer to try to hear what he was saying.

A quick look around the cramped camp set up in the moldy living room bare of furniture revealed that Dean hadn't been up at all. The cooler of ice with water and juice sat as Sam had left it. Too weary to remain balanced on the balls of his feet, his left knee thudded to the floor. Dean moved away with another muffled murmur. Sam bit his lip, hand tangled in his hair to hold it out of his face. He hated seeing his brother in such a state. Not weak or defeated, but vulnerable and defenseless. He shouldn't have left him alone and unprotected at the bar or at the house while he'd gone out to appease his anger and temper. Christ, would he never learn? Apparently not, because come morning, he'd be leaving him again.

"Yeah…just me." he didn't like Dean pulling away from him for that meant in his confusion, he didn't recognize him. With a sigh, Sam pushed to his feet, wondering whether it had been such a good idea to keep Dean from a hospital.

He gazed about the dirty, dank room, knowing it would be best to treat the burn on Dean's leg some place clean and well-lit, where there was access to hot water and soap. He had another lantern with LED bulbs that ran on batteries so lighting wasn't a problem. He now had the medical supplies needed but this wasn't the right place. He sat down on his own sleeping bag, reclined against the wall as he watched his brother sleep.

What was he supposed to do? Wait and treat the injury in a safe, clean, sterile place which would be better against infection or treat it now to alleviate pain and discomfort? He'd hastily dressed the burn earlier with antibiotic ointment and a sterile dressing from the first aid kit they kept with them in whatever car they were driving, about all Dean would tolerate him doing and now he pondered whether he needed hot water and a place where Dean would be comfortable.

The solar lamp gave out.

"Fuck." he pushed to his feet and dragged his duffel over. He'd wasted enough time, the longer the burn, which had burned through denim, was left untreated, the worse the chance for infection. Regardless of their accommodations, it needed medical attention now. Dean was already showing signs of becoming feverish so after digging out the battery-powered lantern, Sam spread out the supplies on his sleeping bag, grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol to use in lieu of the preferred hot water and began.

First, he fought with Dean to remove the blanket he was hugging. Several sharp tugs finally freed it. Next, he removed his brother's boots then hesitated over his jeans. He'd already cut the denim from ankle to knee to get at the injured calf earlier but he hadn't properly checked him over for any injuries acquired in the beat down, courtesy of Herbert, at the bar; might as well do so now when Dean couldn't put up much of a fight.

"Hey, hey, hey…..just me….relax." Sam soothed tiredly when Dean began to stir, hands moving to push away the touch he felt at his hip. "Dean! Enough…..it's just me." he watched as green eyes darted about in panic until Sam moved into their view. "See? Just me. Iwanna look at your leg."

"You….did."

"I know." Sam held his arm out. "Grab hold, need you to sit up….get your shirt off…okay?"

"For…my…leg?"

"Dude…..you got your ass kicked, remember?"

"Ugh."

Undressing him didn't take long and soon Sam had his brother lying on his back, wearing only boxer briefs, shivering in the damp air of the unheated room. So, numerous bruises, couple of welts from kicks with a pointed boot, cuts and scrapes and abrasions, but no broken ribs nor did Sam find any evidence of a head injury. He elicited a slight response when he poked and prodded along Dean's belly but it wasn't a severe reaction so Sam tossed the blanket over his chest and shoulders, made a mental note to keep an eye on him to see if his belly or kidneys became tender and turned his attention to concentrate on his leg.

"Fuck." he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was not an expert on burns and this burn wasn't like any burn he'd ever seen before, though admittedly, he'd seen precious few over his lifetime, severe burns not being an injury hunters usually acquired.

The worst burn Sam had ever seen had been when they were kids and Dean had burned the palm of his hand by grabbing a pan off the stove before the flames could set fire to the walls. The twelve-year old had attempted to tend it himself, Sam too busy sobbing he was sorry and of no help but the pain had been too much and knowing he was in over his head, Dean had sought out their father.

John, to Sam's surprise, had been calm, patient even. He hadn't yelled or reprimanded or even scolded, had simply sat his eldest on the kitchen table and unwrapped his hand. Sam had seen the red bubbly blisters crossing his brother's palm and his swollen fingers but it'd been the vile curses John spit out that told him it was more serious than their dad was content to take care of. He and his teary-eyed older brother had huddled together in the backseat of the Impala, still clad in their pajamas as their father drove to the ER.

This….this hole in his brother's leg resembled nothing of that long-ago childhood memory. The blisters were yellowish and scaly, the outer edge of skin black with melted denim molded to layers of skin that he was going to have to cut away. God, what he wouldn't give for hot water. He could start a fire, melt the ice, use all their bottled water and it still wouldn't be enough. He didn't know of any nearby streams and he wasn't going to leave Dean for the hour it would take to drive to the store and buy more.

It had to hurt…no wonder Dean had collapsed at the bar, drawing unwanted attention to himself and ending up on the wrong side of Herbert's fist. It had to be excruciatingly painful and it was about to get worse. He consulted the medical book he'd taken from the clinic, tossed the surgical scissors and tweezers and scalpel into a bowl of rubbing alcohol and got comfortable. He was looking at one hell of a long night.

"Dean? Hey…..roll over." Sam nudged him along his hip. "No…all the way….need you on your belly."

With a snuffle and a sigh, a fair amount of groaning and a wince or two, Dean turned over, settling back down without a care about what Sam was up to. Sam attributed that to the influence of pain meds and wondered if Percoden would be strong enough for him to tolerate the messy, painful procedure to come.

Though he'd helped himself to Vicodin pills, liquid Morphine and dissolvable Dilaudid tablets as well as Fentanyl patches, he was loath to give Dean anything else so soon after giving him the Percodan. The clinic Manny had sent him to had had a pharmacy and while they might not need any of the stronger meds now, he couldn't pass them up when they were right in front of his face and easily accessible.

"Yeah…you blow me off now…..see how that attitude is in a couple of minutes." despite the chill in the room, Sam removed his long-sleeved shirt rather than roll up the sleeves. "Okay, stay with me, you hear? If it becomes too much for you, let me know, don't go jerking and flailing about….I might stab you or cut something I shouldn't."

"Huh?" his head came up, eyes blinking sleepily. "You wanna…stab me?"

"I don't….." Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of nose in exhaustion. Again, he'd never known a laser security beam to cause a burn and he still didn't know what to make of it. Lacking hot water and disinfectant soap, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage, removed the gauze and gingerly dabbed on antiseptic wash with a fresh wad of gauze. Dean twitched, leg muscles tightening at the sudden sting. There was no bleeding - yet - for which Sam was thankful; the main concern was infection from damaged or dead skin. "Okay dude, let's just see how tough you really are." he took a breath and picked up the scissors.

Ten minutes later, he had Dean pinned to the floor, hand holding his protesting siblings jaw closed as he waited for the Dilaudid tablet he'd wrestled into Dean's mouth to dissolve and hoped the medicine wouldn't take more than thirty minutes to take effect.