"And we're much too young of men,
to carry such heavy heads,
and tonight for the first time,
it felt good to be alive."

-The Gaslight Anthem, Drive

3.

"Watch him die, punk."

The voice is right in Sam's ear, hot and reeking of liquor. He flinches away from the wetness it leaves on his cheek in disgust. Sam's arms are bruising underneath his captor's hands and his kneecaps are screaming from the unforgiving gravel, but the only thing he can see is Dean. The Schmuck from the pool hall is on top of Dean, getting ready to deliver another devastating blow to his shredded face. Sam can't stop the yell that comes from his mouth as the hit lands. Followed by the next. And the next. Dean's limp body jerks with every punch but he doesn't utter a sound.

"Let him go! Dean!" Sam is pulling and kicking as hard as he can but it's like trying to swim through mud.

The hands that are holding him abruptly let go. Sam face plants into the dirt; it sticks to the sweat and tears on his face. He squints through the dust and freezes. Dean's blood is splattered everywhere; he can barely recognize his brother's face through the carnage. The one thing he does recognize are Dean's green eyes, staring lifelessly back at him from the ground. Sam pushes himself up from the mud but as hard as he tries, he still can't move forward, he still can't reach Dean. All he can do is listen to the laughter of his attackers, while he pulls and screams against invisible arms.

Sam starts awake, almost tipping over the plastic hospital chair he's been glued to for three days. Once his breathing settles and the fog clears he's met with Dean's patented, life-time practiced, big brother stare. Sam has never been so happy to see it in his life.

"Dean," Sam says, "How're you feeling?"

"Could ask you the same thing." Dean still has to talk slowly but Sam could never miss the pointed tone of his voice.

"I told you yesterday…"

"Don't pull that shit with me, Sammy. What were you dreaming about?"

Sam sets his jaw and doesn't answer.

Dean's face softens, "Look, Sam…"

"I couldn't do anything," Sam interrupts tightly, "We're hunters, Dean. You always think it's going to be a monster, you know? But they were human. Just people. And I couldn't…"

Sam stops and his jaw clenches as he tries to hold back the tears that are threatening to fall. But Dean knows.

"They weren't going to stop. You're only alive because the bartender came out with the shotgun."

For once, Dean doesn't really know what to say. It's not your fault. You did everything you could. We were out numbered. They got the jump on us. It's nothing that Sam doesn't already know and saying it won't take away his guilt.

"Hey," Dean says, "It wasn't your fault…"

A knock on the door halts the conversation. Dr. Warner walks in with a smile on his face.

"Awake again, Mr. Birchman." Dr. Warner walks over to Dean's bed and starts checking him over. The flashlight that Dr. Warner shines in Dean's eyes makes him flinch.

"The light sensitivity will probably fade in a day or two. You'll need to take it easy for a while; concussions of this severity can take weeks, or even months to completely heal."

"Great," Dean mutters but Sam glares.

"Dean, this is serious."

"Calm down, Samantha. I heard the Doc."

"Hearing and understanding are two different things."

It's Dean's turn to glare, but with two swollen eyes it's not nearly as intimidating as it usually is.

Dr. Warner quirks his lips in amusement, "Well it seems like you're ready for some company. The police have been waiting to talk with you."

Sam and Dean's eyes meet briefly but the message was clear: They would be gone before that happened. They've already stuck around this god forsaken town too long. Dr. Warner glances between them.

"I'll have the nurse come in and change your IV first; you should be able to leave today but I'm sure you'd appreciate some more painkillers while we get your discharge pagers around," Dr. Warner says and shoves his hands in his coat. "Make sure you change your bandages and keep your stitches clean. And let someone know immediately if you start to feel the symptoms of your concussion come back. Blows that hard can cause serious complications down the road."

"Don't worry," Sam says, "We will. Thank you."

Dr. Warner nods once and then leaves the room. Sam immediately springs into action.

Dean raises an eyebrow, "What was all that about?"

"We gotta go." Sam starts untangling Dean from all of the wires and tubes he's connected to. Dean slowly starts to sit up and bats Sam's hands away.

"I got it, mother hen. Go grab my stuff."

Sam rolls his eyes but starts shoving all of their belongings into his backpack.

"Is the car here?"

"No, Dean, I left it back at the bar."

"Shut up."

Dean swings his legs over the bed and Sam dips so Dean's arm can wrap around his shoulders.

"Ok, on three. One, two…" Sam pushes up from the bed slowly, taking Dean with him. Dean groans and stumbles slightly but Sam's tight grip on his waist prevents him from face planting.

"You ok?" Sam asks and Dean nods unconvincingly.

"We've gotta move."

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Dean asks as Sam sticks his head out of the door, checking the hallway for a clear shot.

"We're committing insurance fraud, for one. And uh...one of the guys from the bar was found in a ditch the same night we ran into them."

Dean stops, "Dude. You didn't think to mention this sooner? Wait, did you…"

"No!" Sam hisses, "But that's exactly why we need to leave now. The only reason they haven't hauled me down to the station is because you were practically comatose."

Dean doesn't need Sam to elaborate. Podunk town or not, it wouldn't take the cops very long to connect the dots: credit card fraud, insurance fraud, the dozens of weapons and "ritualistic" items they have in stored in the car, witnesses from the bar that saw the fight...they'd try to pin this on Sam as a revenge killing in a heartbeat.

"Let's shake a leg," Dean agrees.

They hobble to an elevator and breathe a small sigh of relief when the doors close, leaving them in silence.

"Which one was it?" Dean asks

Sam shrugs, "One of the guys who was holding me. I don't know what happened, Dean. The cops showed up and I figured they were just going to get a report, which they did, but then they started asking me questions about where I was later that night and if we knew anyone else in town. Finally they told me they found one of them with three bullet holes in their chest. Imagine my surprise."

"Huh," Dean says, "Well they didn't seem like the type who lacked enemies."

"Yeah. Anyways, Dr. Warner was keeping them off my back. Said he didn't want you to wake up alone."

Thank god for that. If he had woken up feeling and looking the way he did, without Sam, he would've lost it and ended up in jail himself.

"Have you heard from dad?" Dean asks.

Sam can hear the hope in his brother's voice, even though he knows Dean is trying to hide it. It makes rage bubble up in his chest and he has to exhale before he says, "No. I've left voicemails."

Dean doesn't say anything but he doesn't have to. They're used to their dad going missing for days, showing up at whatever motel they've been left in bruised and hung over. It's one of the many reasons Sam's leaving for college next year.

But what if you hadn't been there this time? A traitorous voice whispers in his head.

Sam's jaw clenches. Doesn't matter. He wasn't the one who saved Dean.

They make it to the car without incident. Sam immediately goes to the driver's side, much to Dean's irritation.

"Where to?" Dean asks as he plops down into the passenger's seat and carefully slides his sunglasses on.

"Anywhere but here."

They drive until they leave Arkansas behind them and they're well into Missouri. Sam pulls into the first motel he sees that has a flashing 'vacancy' sign, and seems affordable.

"Stay here," Sam says as he gets out of the car, and slams the door shut before Dean can respond.

He gets a room with two queens, texts his dad their location (for all the good it'll do) and goes back to help his brother out of the car.

Dean's already out, leaning against the hood of the Impala. Irritation bubbles up in Sam's chest.

"Could you try to act like you care about your health?" Sam asks, shoving the room key into Dean's chest as he walks by.

"Being on the run really turns you into a bitch, you know that?" Dean grimaces as he pushes himself off the hood, as if the change in posture was enough to make his head scream.

Sam instantly feels bad. None of this is Dean's fault. He was the one laid up in the hospital for three days with a jelly brain, after all.

"Sorry," Sam says and grabs all of their gear.

Dean grunts in return and follows him to their room. It's a standard pay-by-the-hour motel, one they've seen a hundred times in dozens of different states. But somehow it feels like home, and Sam finds himself feeling safe for the first time in days.

"Hey, go grab some burgers, will ya? I'm starving." Dean slowly eases himself onto the nearest bed and props up the paper thin pillows.

Sam almost feels like crying, which makes him feel stupid, but he was convinced three days ago that the was witnessing his brother's murder. And now the stupid jerk is demanding burgers and searching for the remote, probably planning on channel surfing for a Godzilla movie or porn.

"When my head stops feeling like a balloon we should probably look for dad," Dean says as he flips through static laced channels.

There it was again. The carefully concealed concern, the nonchalance that really means Dean's scared, the look that says he wishes dad were here to tell them what to do.

"Fuck dad," The exclamation takes them both by surprise, but Sam finds he doesn't regret it.

"What?" Dean sounds like he can't believe what he's hearing, like he isn't quite sure if Sam is serious.

"We were only hustling pool because dad was on a hunt. We never would have been there if he could just be a parent for five goddamn minutes. He wasn't there when the police were asking questions, he wasn't there when you went in for surgery or when you woke up, and he isn't here now," Sam's face is wet with tears that he barely notices.

Dean looks stunned and for once, he's speechless.

"Sam…"

"I'm going out. I'll bring back food," Sam's out and slamming the door before Dean can can swing his feet over the bed.

"Son of a Bitch," Dean growls, and paws at the table for his cell phone. He dials Sam's number and waits.

'This is Sam, leave a message.'

"Damn it!"

His first reaction is to be pissed. If he was in any shape to, he'd show Sam where he could shove that piss poor attitude. It passes quickly though, when he remembers the tears on his brother's face. His little brother, who out grew him three years ago and wants nothing more than for his family to be safe. Dean knows Sam's issue isn't really about dad.

He sighs and sits back down on the bed. All he can do is wait for Sam to come back.

45 minutes later Sam walks back into the motel room, hands full of fast food bags and melting shakes.

"I uh, got you strawberry," Sam says and hands him the shake. Dean recognizes it as an apology.

Sam sits at the table and rubs the back of his neck. "Dean, I…"

"Save it," Dean says, "I get it. Hell, if I were in your shoes...I probably would have been the one to put that guy in the ditch."

Sam picks at a tear in one of the good things and doesn't say anything.

"It wasn't your fault, Sam."

Sam immediately begins to argue. "I wasn't injured, I wasn't unconscious. I couldn't do anything..."

"You had two hulking dudes holding on to you. You might as well have been. Look, I don't have any idea what it was like for you but I'm glad...hey, listen to me," Dean waits for Sam to tear his eyes away from the table, "I would have it be me over you every day."

Sam's eyes soften as Dean clenches his jaw, "It was my hustle, my choice. You shouldn't have to pay for it."

"I thought you were actually going to die," Sam's voice is small.

Dean swallows, "Yeah, well. Couldn't go out like that, being straddle by some toothless backwoods douche bag. Definitely not Butch and Sundance."

Sam rolls his eyes but smiles; Dean uses humor and deflection to deal with everything but it's Dean. Alive and cracking dumb jokes.

Dean slurps his shake, "We don't have to hug, do we?"

Dean's playing it off like a joke but Sam knows he's serious. His big brother gives him crap all the time about being emotional and "girly," but when it comes to big things Dean doesn't mess around. He knows how much this one hurt.

But Sam just smiles and says, "No, we're good."

I'm ok.

Dean eyes him for a minute before nodding slightly, "Good."

I'm ok too.

"Hey, maybe tomorrow we can try to get a bead on dad. Start calling some motels in the area that he was supposed to be in," Sam says, gently testing the waters on the topic of their father.

Dean shoves some fries into his mouth and smiles, "Let's get to work."

A/N: I though I'd never see this finished! I bet I'm not the only one. Thank you to everyone who stuck with it, re-read it, and discovered it for the first time.