"How hard did you hit your head, Sam?" Dean was in no mood for riddles--he was freezing cold, soaking wet, and his side was killing him.

"Dean, you started that fire. I saw it."

"Can we talk about this after I'm warm, dry, and have stopped bleeding like a stuck pig?"

Sam helped his brother to his feet and together they staggered back down the mountain to the Impala.

Dean sat in the passenger seat and tried to keep constant pressure on his wounds, which only made them hurt worse, which only made him more aware of his miserable condition and how he got to be that way, which made him extremely confused and irritable.

His misery and ire only increased when Sam forced him to stand shirtless in the bathtub while his wounds were irrigated with holy water. The gashes bubbled and steamed and burned as though Sam had just doused them with napalm, as if Dean needed any more confirmation that he had indeed gone a few rounds hand-to-hand with a demon.

Dean ran his brother out of the bathroom with a few well-placed epithets and a bottle of hotel shampoo tossed at his shaggy head, and spent another 20 minutes letting extremely hot water drive the cold from his bones. He ignored Sam's pointed glare when he exited the bathroom, and pretended not to hear his brother cursing when the hot water ran out halfway through rinsing his hair. It served him right for not keeping it short, Dean thought, and scowled at the walls. He found that being pointlessly angry did a pretty good job of keeping his mind off of what had happened on that mountainside, and that was a good thing.

Unfortunately, Sam wasn't put off by Dean's attitude, because he knew his brother too well. He exited the bathroom, toweling his still soapy hair, and sat on the bed opposite Dean's.

"How did you do it?" Sam wanted to know.

"I didn't do it," insisted Dean.

"I saw a flash of green light--the same green as your aura--hit the demon, and it ignited."

"Are you sure it wasn't blue?" Dean asked. "Your aura is blue. In the dark, it may have looked green."

Sam smiled. "You could see my aura?"

Dean frowned. "Don't get all mushy about it, all right? Yeah, it was bright blue, and I could tell you were hurt because it got a little dimmer after that rock hit you."

Sam was nodding. "Yeah, and I could tell where you were injured because it looked like someone had taken a black magic marker and scribbled over your aura on your side." He paused. "Green fits you, you know?"

Dean was really beginning to wish he was asleep, or in Tahiti, or possibly dead. "Dude!" was all he managed to say, a plea to stop the embarrassing direction of the conversation, but Sam was on one of those analytical rolls he tended to get on, and wasn't going to be put off.

"No, Dean. The green, it sounds weird, but it was like the color was strength. Seeing it made me feel safe--protected."

Now that Dean was forced to think about it, the blue glow that had surrounded Sam had seemed to project serenity and power. Which was totally bizarre, so Dean stopped thinking about it and cleared his throat.

"It was a fluke. Sarah said the tea would enhance all our spiritual abilities, so maybe it let me tap into some one-time pyro fantasy or something. It saved our asses, ding-dong the demon's dead, we'll send Sarah a thank-you note and move on, okay?"

Sam nodded, but Dean didn't like his smile. It was his know-it-all superior smile, and it made Dean nervous. When they turned out the lights to get some sleep, Dean cautiously peered over at his brother's form, looking for the glow. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or disappointed when he didn't see it.

Two weeks later, after a little R&R in Asheville followed by the defeat of a poltergeist in rural Tennessee, Sam and Dean stood outside the old Cashion place in Charleston. The purificaton ritual had been successful, and Sam had managed to keep Dean from committing arson, so it was a win-win.

"Been a helluva month, huh?" Dean said finally, and Sam nodded. Dean looked at the ground and sighed. He remembered his vow never to lie to family when it counted, and gathered the courage to speak.

"Sammy, we haven't gotten any more coordinates since that demon sent us to North Carolina," he said at last.

"I know," Sam replied quietly.

"I don't know what to do about finding dad, Sam, so I was thinking, you know, if you wanted to see about re-enrolling for the spring semester..." he trailed off when he saw his brother's angry expression.

"We're going to find dad, Dean," Sam said heatedly. "He's still alive, I know he is, and I'm not going to let you do this alone. I need to find him--need to find the thing that killed Jess. Something will break, I know it."

As if on cue, Dean's cell phone beeped to alert him to an incoming text message. He checked it and his eyes widened. Then he held the phone up to show Sam. More coordinates.

"You really need to warn me when you're going to have a premonition, dude," said Dean.

Sam just grinned at him. "And miss that freaked out deer in headlights face you make when it happens? What would be the fun in that?" he asked, dodging his brother's slap and running for the Impala.Dean's shouts of outrage and Sam's laughter trailed behind them as they ran.

A/N - Thank you, thank you for the positive feedback and the virtual chocolate. This story began as my attempt to get Sam and Dean from the events of "Asylum" to the upcoming episode "Faith". The idea was that a prolonged exposure to psychic attacks could have lingering physcial effects, and I could still go in that direction, but decided not to do it here. These characters are just so much fun to write, and there's so much history there...well, you could just go on forever, and I almost did.