Really? He'd ended up here, how?

Okay sure, were making their way home, no hurry to get there but still, he wanted to get there sometime, you know, this week! But no, oh no, no, he'd been cursed with a headache. And despite cloudy skies, the hazy glare had made it worse. Dark sunglasses and six aspirin hadn't helped it to abate and the result had been he'd allowed Sam to drive. Ha!

Big mistake. Can you say 'you're a dumb ass Dean?'

And why was that a mistake? Well, here he was, sipping coffee flavored water in a one-room, six-booth diner in, of all places, Godforsaken Wyoming, with the local-yokels eying him as though they had need to…..to…hell, he didn't want to ponder what they thought they might have 'need to do'.

"I'm gonna short-sheet his bed." he muttered into his murky, lukewarm, sorry excuse for, coffee. "Turn the hot water off when he's in the shower." usually, he was much more diabolical, but he was just too tired to come up with new and original big brother torture techniques for he-who-took-unauthorized-detours.

They'd been driving home from a hunt-gone-wrong in a no-name town in Nebraska whenDean, sore and tired and in pain, had thought hey, why not share the driving? Right? Wrong, because once Sam had gotten behind the wheel, he'd gleefully driven in totally the wrong direction – west instead of south – on purpose, for a reason. That purposeful reason being he'd gotten a text from 'someone' that a book he'd been looking for could be found...well, somewhere around 'here'.

"Refill, hon?"

"No thanks." Dean waved the gum-chewing, bee-hived, blue eye shadowed, red lipsticked, heavily rouged, cat-eyed glasses wearing waitress with huge bright lime-green dangling earrings off. "I'm good." he resisted the urge to shove the mug away and rub his temples, lest he risk offending her. What was labeled coffee in this hick joint was not agreeing with him.

Seriously, had Cas plucked him from his timeline and plunked him down in an alternate reality? Because surely, he'd landed in the middle of an 'Alice' episode, for his waitress was none other than Flo! No, not kidding. Her name tag said so. He couldn't help but twist around and look to see if Mel was manning the grill. No, wait, if that were true, he'd be in Phoenix, not…not wherever the hell he was in Wyoming.

"I say, you look plumb worn out." the coffee pot plopped down on the table, a chair scraped along the floor and she joined him at his booth. "You don't look like a skier." she propped her chin in her hand. "Or a hunter. You like to fish?"

"Just passing through." he gave her a tired grin. "Back roads road trip." how the hell did her earlobes support the weight of those gaudy, plastic earrings anyway? And where had that chair come from? There were no tables in the diner.

"Huh." she leaned forward to peer into his mug, then nudged the food left on his plate with a long, pointy fingernail. "You didn't like the food?" she shimmied his plate. "That's some good meat loaf. Made fresh this morning."

This? That? Good? Fresh?

"Don't feel well, do ya?" she nodded. "And nothing tastes good, huh?" she tsked-tsked, shaking her head. Dean watched her hair warily, waiting for it to land with a swish of air either in the coffee pot or on his plate. "You just sit right there, I got something for what ails you."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, to object, to refuse but yeah, he was too tired to battle she who 'was straight off the screen of Hairspray'.

***000***

Sam sat in the driver's seat of his brother's beloved car, thumbs tapping in irritation on the field glasses through which he watched the comings and goings of the small book store across the parking lot. Or rather, he watched the movements of the little ole man visible through the stores big front window.

Seriously, did the store not have a closing hour? Did the man ever intend to go home? Sam paused in his rap-a-tap-tap to look at his watch; 7:30. He huffed in aggravation. He'd left Dean at the diner over two hours ago and was sure he would be strangled upon his return to collect him.

Okay, sure, he supposed he could have gone into the book store and simply asked for the book, and had it actually been presented, paid for it and left. But his informant had informed him the book probably wasn't for sale and if he just wandered in and asked about it, it might well disappear and his search would start all over again. And Sam had neither the time nor the patience to begin again.

Taking a deep breath to gain control of his rising ire, he began an intense survey of the building which housed the bookstore. Oh yeah, um-hum. Yup, right there, those. Sam recognized several cleverly designs painted into pictures and designs on the building that to anyone else were meaningless decoration, but to him, were symbols and sigils; on the building façade as well as the door, the window sill, even the numbers of the address.

"Dammit."

Well okay, those symbols were going to require further research because he didn't know exactly what they were for or what they did but he bet his entire kitty they were designed to protect and prohibit the book he was after from being 'unlawfully and unknowingly' removed from the store.

He was too far away to take decent pictures, so he picked up pad and pencil and balancing the pad on one knee, began to draw. He had to use the field glasses to see the symbols and that required keeping one hand occupied, so at best, his drawings were shaking and juvenile.

"Shit."

BLEEPbeepBLEEPbeepBLEEPbeep.

"Fuck!" he fairly jumped out of his skin at the repeated ear-splitting shriek that bounced off the windows of the Impala.

BLEEPbeepBLEEPbeepBLEEPbeep.

"The fuck is that?" oh, the alarm on his watch. It was 8:00. "Jesus Christ!"

Time to return to the diner, collect Dean, and admit they had to delay their journey home until they could steal the book and why. It wasn't like it was a secret that Sam was researching the 'mark'. Dean would easily accept that explanation and ask no further questions. He didn't like what Sam was doing – well, as much as he knew anyway – but he didn't deny Sam's right to do it.

Shooting one last glare of annoyance at the figure visible through the store window, Sam started the car and pulled out. He drove around the small town before heading to the diner but found no motel or inn. Dean hadn't complained about or admitted to a headache but Sam knew him well enough to know he was suffering from some pain for another, if not exactly what and had shamelessly taken advantage of being allowed to drive while Dean slept to detour to Wyoming. They'd be home soon enough and Sam could tolerate Dean's attitude until then.

***000***

"Mmm…..mmm….ohmmm….mmmmm…..yeah, oh yeah. Good God! This is delicious." Dean murmured blissfully around a mouthful of a buttery, flaky, crispy fruit-filled yet not fruit, confection. Not exactly pie, for there wasn't really a crust but close enough. Sweet yet tart. "This is awesome! What is this?"

Flo patted his arm. "Pie, cobbler, crisp, crumble. It has many names. Not really one or the other. Drink your milk dear. Another piece?"

"Oh God, yes." he said, gleefully scrapping his plate and handing it up to her. "Bit bigger….yeah, yeah, that's good."

Sam entered the diner with trepidation, expecting a confrontation that would lead to a scene that would undoubtedly only end when they were asked to leave and Dean flounced out in high dudgeon to the parking lot to ensure no harm had come to his car while in the hands of Sam, who would be lucky if he weren't left to find his own way home.

He lingered in the doorway, astonished to find his brother happily sharing his booth with the waitress while eating some kind of dessert and drinking…milk? Alarm overrode astonishment and he sped across the floor, intent on rescuing his brother from the mean, mad manic who meant his sibling harm by plying him with drugged milk! So intent was he on his mission, he failed to watch where he was going. One minute, he was firmly on two steady feet, his brother in his sights, the next, he was sprawled on his back seeing stars rather than his brother, staring up at what could only be the ceiling.

"Oh my, here now!" with no urgency, Flo pushed to her feet. "See here young man! Watch where you are going! I just mopped that floor and here you are, tracking mud clear across it. Did you not see the fluorescent yellow wet floor signs? I say, I believe you kicked one right out of your way! What were you thinking?"

'That my brother was in danger, that someone or something meant him harm and I needed to help him - protect him.'

"Sammy?" that was Dean's voice from a very far distance. "Protect me from what?" he looked all around the diner, searching for whatever had sent Sammy hurrying across the room in such a panic. He had silver rounds in his .45, a silver knife up his sleeve, a bottle of holy water in his pocket and of course, there was salt on the table, but nope, he saw nothing.

"Ow." Sam managed, once the room ceased spinning and the stars subsided to a tolerable brightness. And what a brother he was. The son-of-a-bitch had yet to get up and come over to see if his little brother was ok!

"Why you calling me names?" Dean groused. "What'd I do? Course you're okay."

"You break anything?" asked not Dean's voice. Sam blinked up and saw a grease stained white apron gone grey that apparently had the ability to speak, its voice gruff and accusatory. Yup, right there, under a big ole…guess that could be a nose…there….that was a mouth, right?

"Aah." Sam started to sit up. Three faces stared at him but no one offered him a hand. Ye Gods! What the hell was that? Lots of bright blue where eyes should be and red, aah lips, yes, lips and…those were earrings, right? Were they trying to take flight and were held back by distressed ear lobes? "Ow."

Dean sighed. "Ow what?" he wiped his mouth of crumbs, tossed his napkin onto the table and offered his brother his hand. "Up you go Bigfoot."

Well, least Dean had finally gotten up from the booth and come over to see him. Sam accepted the offer of a hand with his left and gathered his feet under his ass in preparation to stand. Nothing hurt until Dean pulled with his weight and Sam tried to stand on two feet. His cry of pain startled both himself and his stupefied brother, who instantly let go. Sam landed hard on his ass with a teeth-clattering thud.

"OW!" he howled. "Yow-OW-Yow!"

Dean sighed again and gave Flo a long-suffering roll of the eyes. "So, what'd you hurt this time?" he huffed tiredly to Sam.

"You're not gonna try and sue us, are ya?" the cook, Sam decided, asked suspiciously. "It was yer own fault ye fell." he looked anxiously at Dean. "It was!" cook insisted. "He wasn't watchin' where he's goin'."

Sam suppressed a giggle. Aah, that voice belonged to a man with a belt-over-lapping belly and none-too-clean apron whose speech clearly advertised his level of education – or lack of. And he'd thought those stains on that apron were a face! And that it could speak! Oooffff, had he hit his head?

"Yeah." Dean agreed, looking down in disproval at Sam who cradled his left hand against his side. "Really Sam? I mean, really? Now? Here?"

"What?" Sam shot back sullenly. Well damn, his hand, his wrist, his arm, his elbow was really starting to throb. Kinda, come to think of it, it hurt like it had the last two times he'd broken a bone. "OW." he blinked at tears; tears of pain, of frustration, his own stupidity, his damn brother. After all, this was all his fault!

"Sorry? Say that again?" Dean was saying. "What's all my fault?"

Oh crap, had he said that out loud?

"How is you falling on your ass my fault?" Dean persisted. Flo patted his arm, frowning down at Sam for daring to upset her customer.

"You're drinking milk." Sam accused, then his brow furrowed and he paled. "Ow."

"And?" Dean pushed impatiently. "And so?" he waved his hand. "Ow what? What's ow-ing you this time?"

"Milk, Dean, milk! You!" his arm now cuddled protectively, his ankle flared up in revolt. "You never drink milk! Not even the milk left in the bowl when you finish your cereal." he winced, attempting to flex his ankle. Oooh…ow,ow,ow,ow…nope. Great! He should get his boot off. Get it off before it had to be cut off. Why ruin a perfectly good pair of boots? Well, only one boot, but what good would the other be without its mate? Oh, he was rambling. He should stop. Yeah Sam, stop.

"Is he….?" Flo made a motion with her hand, finger twirling in a circle in the direction of Sam's head. "Maybe? You know….?" she waggled her ridiculously painted-on eyebrows, causing Sam to scowl irritably and puff up in indignation.

"My fault." Dean nodded solemnly. "Babies wiggle a lot. All arms and legs kickin'. I dropped him on his head once." he paused, then admitted in a confidential whisper. "Couple times."

"Don't they though!" Flo exclaimed. "Why, right of the bath, they're slippery little buggers, don't you think? And lordy, but they flail all about when in a temper." she eyed Sam critically. "And I just bet he threw epic-throw-on-the-floor-kicked-my-feet-banged-my-head ones, didn't he?"

"He did!" Dean agreed eagerly. "God, but he could embarrass me! And whose bright idea was it babies need lotions and baby oil? I mean, come on! Once, we were taking a bath together and our Dad, he…."

"AAUGH!" Sam yelped. "VEGATABLES! He was eating VEGATABLES!" he burst out defensively. "You were eating rhubarb!" his eyes flashed, and his eyebrows became one. "Rhubarb Dean! Since when do you…..? I…..You don't willingly eat vegetables!"

"You could tell that from way over by the door?" Flo asked dubiously. "Really?"

"What?" Dean's eyes widened to comical proportions. "Dessert Sam, it's called dessert. It was strawberry." he gave Flo a lovey-dovey smile. "And it was delicious."

Did Dean not understand Sam seeing him drink milk and eat vegetables, no matter how deliciously or cleverly disguised, was tantamount to Sam thinking Dean was being tortured?

"Tortured?" Dean repeated doubtfully. "If I hadn't seen you fall, I'd think you whacked your head." he huffed in exasperation. "No one is torturing me by forcing me to drink milk, you dingbat."

"Dingbat?" Sam shook his head. Really, he needed to stop this new habit of unknowingly speaking his thoughts out loud. "Why'm I a dingbat?"

"Come on, on your feet." Dean winked at Flo. "No harm done." he assured her and the anxious cook. "Sam? Come on, get up."

"Uh." he didn't move. "No."

Dean unconsciously mimicked Flo's stance, hands on hips, lips pursed in disproval. "Don't say you hurt yourself. Don't even." Dean said. "What this time? Your ass?"

"No." Sam stared at his right foot then at his left arm. "Uh."

"Do you need an ER?" Dean demanded exasperatingly. "Where's the nearest one?" he asked Flo. "He gets knocked around, knocked out and his head bounces off concrete walls, not a bump or lump, not even a headache but his delicate bones crack he falls off his own feet."

"He ain't broken." the cook insisted. "Looks all in one piece to me. Hospital bills ain't cheap."

"Relax Mel." Dean spoke absently, missing the cook's look of confusion over the name. "We leave here, you're not gonna hear from us again. We ain't gonna sue or ask you to pay anything."

"Rapid City." Flo announced. "We've a vet clinic just down the road though."

"I'm okay." Sam said unconvincingly. "Just…some ice? Maybe." take him to a vet? Oh, he didn't think so. And he was sure she meant a vet for animals. And for what?

"Old Doc Jacobs has a picture machine." Mel nodded encouragingly. "Won't charge you much."

A picture mach…what the hell? Just where the fuck were they? Now see here! I'm a human being! See? I've got opposable thumbs and if I could get off my numb ass, you'd see I don't have a tail!

Dean sighed and squatted down in front of his accident/prone-to-injury brother. "Let me see." he held his hand out, waited a second than waggled his fingers impatiently. "Sam, come on."

When Sam didn't offer Dean his arm, Dean turned around, balanced on one knee, untied the laces on Sam's boot and pulled them loose but didn't remove the boot.

"I'll get you some ice to go and get you on your way." Mel said and toddled off.

"I'm not going to a vet's office." Sam argued. "Just….we'll find a hotel and hole up for a day or two. Once the swelling's down, and bumping around in the car won't hurt so much, we'll head home, okay?"

Dean stared at Sam. Former headache either forgotten or gone. Replaced by suspicion and doubt.

"Why are we here Sam?" he asked, tone no-nonsense. "The fuck did you go?"

"There's a book." Sam began, ducking his head under the 'glare of disapproval'. "And I thought I'd wait until the store closed and help myself to it." he accepted two bags of ice from Mel with a smile of thanks; one for his hand and the other for his foot. "But the owner hadn't left and I came back for you but you were eating vegetables and….."

"Dessert." Dean insisted. "Not vegetables, dessert."

"Why would you steal a book?" Flo demanded. "Have you ever heard of buying what you want? You know, paying for it?"

"Yes, but see, this book, it isn't for sale."

"Nothing I say is going to convince you to leave well enough alone, is it?" Dean sighed in defeat.

"The store is protected with war…" he paused, aware of Mel and Flo's avid interest. "You should see the place." he amended hastily. "I drew some of the…..uh….yeah, the architect. Get me wifi and I can do some research and we'll know what we're up against."

"You must really want this book." Flo commented, popping a bubble. "Offer cash. Everyone likes cash."

"So." Dean stood up, reaching for his wallet. "Where's your nearest motel?"

***000***

Dean paid the bill.
Dean helped Sam to his feet.
Dean accepted the numerous bags of ice Mel insisted they take.
Dean helped his brother walk out to the car.
Dean drove.
Dean found a motel.
Dean helped Sam into the room, off with his boots and into bed.
Dean saw Sam settled comfortably with his foot elevated and packed in ice with the laptop on his lap.
Sam did research.
Dean left Sam behind and drove to the bookstore.
Dean broke into the now dark store.
Dean engaged in a fight with a little ole wizened man.
Dean got his ass kicked then handed to him by the little ole wizened man.
Dean somehow won possession of the book.
Dean did what all citizens of Wyoming did when hurt and running from an ass-kicking 5' troll; he high-tailed it to the safety of South Dakota.
Dean left Sam behind. In the motel. With his laptop and a possibly broken ankle.