Disclaimer: Don't own the boys.

Author's Note: So… This is the last post from me until after exams. I hope you enjoyed this story and I hope you'll still be around when it's time for the next one. *g*

For reviewing Chapter 8, thanks to BranchSuper, essebes, Sparkiebunny, nupinoop296, SPN Mum, kiwimoonelmo, godsdaughter77, KrialovesSPN, Ginnylove9990, criminally charmed, doyleshuny, sarah, CeCe Away, babyreaper, reddgemini, SamWin98, jafreckleslover, snseriesfan, d767468, brynerose, anon, bookworm324, murphy9209, twomoms, SandyDee84, Kathryn Marie Black, BlueRavenQuill, judyann, KKBELVIS, sammynanci, sandycub, Jane88, anon, Kirabaros, AlElizabeth, fixusi and where the wind blows.

Thanks to Cheryl for general help. :-)

Epilogue

"Stay," Dean said firmly. "You know the rules." Sam scowled. "Don't be ridiculous. You can't open the door anyway because your right arm's in a cast and your left hand is still too swollen for you to get any kind of grip on the handle. Just stay put for two minutes while I go book us a room and then I'll come back for you."

Dean booked them a room, two singles, honestly, why the hell did people insist on asking stupid questions and wasting his time when his injured little brother was waiting for him?

He booked, he paid, and he went back to Sam.

He grabbed their duffels from the trunk first, because no way was he leaving Sam alone in their motel room to come back and get stuff. He didn't think he'd be leaving Sam alone in any motel room for a long time.

"Got us the farthest one from the street," he said, opening Sam's door. "No noise to disturb my princess."

"Dean."

"Sam."

Dean ignored the bitchface and helped his brother to his feet. It took a moment for both of them to find their balance, and about five minutes to navigate the twenty feet to the motel room door. Dean held Sam against him with one arm, fumbled for the keys with the other, and miraculously managed to get himself, Sam, the bags and the first-aid kit into the room.

It was a nicer room than usual. Sam was recovering, and Dean was damned if he'd let his baby brother recover in a place where the fungus on the walls would just make him sick again. He'd sprung for an upscale motel with crisp white sheets on the beds and air conditioning that worked and didn't sound like a dying banshee.

After he'd got Sam comfortable and persuaded him to drink some juice, he sat on the bed next to his brother and said, "Get some rest, Samantha. You've had a busy day."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad you and Jacob made friends."

"I wouldn't call it friends," Dean said, snorting. "He's just not trying to kill me anymore. And that's got nothing to do with him suddenly realizing the awesomeness that is Dean Winchester. He just doesn't want you mad at him." Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean said, "No, I mean it. Have you seen the size of you lately? No wonder even monsters are scared."

"Sure," Sam muttered.

Dean ran a hand through his brother's hair. "Sammy, I'm sorry. I don't think you're a liability." He paused, hand resting on Sam's head, before adding, "Actually, I think you're awesome. I'm proud of you, kiddo. Proud of the kid you were and proud of the man you've become."

Sam smile was almost shy. "You raised me."

"See? More proof that I'm awesome." Dean scooted closer. "So you and Jacob did make friends, huh?"

"He just misses his mom, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. But if he'd hurt you…"

"What?" Sam asked, exasperated. "You'd hunt down a kid?"

"I don't know. All I know is I can't think straight when…" He trailed off. "Just… God, we have to make sure this doesn't happen again, Sammy. I'm never leaving your calls unanswered again. I was going crazy. I can't – you're all I have left. Been that way for a while now."

"Yeah, I get it."

"What about Ford?" Dean asked abruptly. "You get any intel on him? How we track him down, to begin with."

"Dean –"

"Because I have a score to settle with that son of a bitch."

"Dean –"

"Hasn't been so long that I've forgotten what Alastair taught me –"

"Dean –"

"Evil bastard hurt my brother. You know what I do to people who hurt my little –"

"Dean!" Sam snapped. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Dude, what? He hurt you. I kill him. It's basic cause and effect. What's ridiculous about that?"

"He's human, Dean. We don't kill humans."

"He's not human. He's the evil son of a bitch who hurt you."

"Dean –"

"No, Sam!" Dean growled. "You don't get to tell me to back down. I – you didn't – I drove us from their hideout to Brandon's house and you were barely conscious and you were bleeding and I was covered in your blood. I thought you were going to die and I thought it would be my fault. Don't you tell me I have to play nice with the guy who hurt you."

Sam sighed. "Fine. Just… Not now."

"Now? Don't be stupid. Of course I'm not going now. You think I'm leaving you here? Later. When you're better and we're about to leave this town. And I'm not really going to kill him, although I want to and he deserves it. Just put enough healthy fear of Dean Winchester into him that he won't ever think about coming after you again. And, you know, maybe make sure he's not physically capable of doing it, either."

"Dean." Sam patted Dean's arm. "It's OK. Calm down. You got me out. I'm going to be fine."

"And what about us?" Dean asked hoarsely. He knew he was harping, but he needed to know. He needed to hear Sam say it. "Are you still mad at me about… anything?"

Sam shot him a look of fond exasperation. "You shouldn't have done it. And I think you know that now. So it's OK. We're going to be fine."

"Uh-huh." Dean reached out to pat Sam's head.

Sam scowled. "Dude, I'm not a dog."

"Of course you're not," Dean said. "You're a puppy. Just like all those fangirls keep saying. Ask your ex-wife, I'm sure she'd agree with me."

"She's not my ex-wife. We had the marriage annulled."

"So that makes her your ex-wife."

"No, a divorce would make her my ex-wife. An annulment is like a do-over."

"Seriously? You get do-overs?" Dean patted Sam's head again, laughing when Sam glared at him. "Got something for you, Fido. Well, actually, it's kind of already yours, but…" Dean opened his duffel, pulled out a parcel clumsily wrapped in newspaper and duct tape, and handed it to Sam. "I didn't have a lot of time."

Sam looked from Dean to the package to his bandaged hands.

"You'll have to open it," he said at last.

"Oh!" Dean flushed. "Yeah, of course. Sorry." He moved, sitting next to Sam so their shoulders were bumping. "Here you go."

He ripped the paper off, carefully.

Inside was a glue stick, a roll of tape, a pair of scissors, and something that looked like a sheaf of paper wrapped in plastic.

"I didn't want anything to get on the paper," Dean explained, dropping the rest of the stuff into his lap and unwinding the plastic. "I – I'm sorry, I would've done it for you myself, but I really suck at this, and I didn't have time anyway. So I figured… You know… Maybe you could tell me how."

Dean pulled out the papers and held them out so Sam could see.

Sam stared so long Dean was afraid he was upset.

"Sammy?"

"You…" Sam sounded choked up. Girl. "My book. Green Eggs and Ham. They… they ripped it when they came for me."

"I know. I got all the pages – I made sure of that. So now I can put it back together for you. If you want me to. I mean, it won't be the same. So if you want I can just get you a new copy. There's a bookstore –"

"No," Sam interrupted softly. "Put this one back together."

Dean looked at Sam. "Yeah?"

Sam smiled and nodded. "Yeah."

Ten minutes later, Dean was gluing and taping, while Sam, wrapped in a blanket and drowsing against his side, alternated between puppy-dogging the hell out of Dean (like Dean was in any mood to refuse him anything right then) and lecturing him on the proper way to bind a book.

Dean was pretty sure he'd be content to spend the next few hours like that.

THE END

What did you think? Good? Bad? Please review!

Oh, yes, and I promised you a teaser for the next fic, didn't I? Here it is… although I won't start posting till after exams:

Once upon a time, when I was short and skinny and fourteen years old, Dad took a case in California. Over the years, he took a lot of cases in California – it's a big state, and not all of it is Silicon Valley and Hollywood – but this one concerned me closely.

And Dean. Because, you know, he hasn't minded his own business since the day I was born (or for all I know, since the day he was born), so everything that concerns me winds up concerning him, too.