The Trials are done, Cas. He's supposed to be getting better.

Even if I still had my Grace, I wouldn't be able to heal him.

Don't you tell me that. He let go.

The Trials did their work, Dean. Sam is unalterably changed.

He can feel a soft, warm body next to him, and he's scared stiff before he catches the scent of warm cotton and little boy mixed with sweat and a little antiseptic.

His sons are hurt.

John snaps into wakefulness and tries to bolt upright in the bed. Something stabs him in the chest, and he can't breathe, and his sons are hurt—

A large hand plants on his chest, pushing him down. John sees the long face of Seth Wesson hovering over him, pressing him back into the bed.

"Don't wake him," Wesson says.

His eyes flick down to John's side, so John has to follow his gaze to below his arm. His chest is bound tight with white gauze, but there's no blood showing through, and at his side, curled into a ball of scared little boy, Sammy is still sleeping with one hand on his daddy's stomach and one hand holding that stupid textbook to his chest.

"He was scared for you."

John blinks up at Seth, his mind scarily sluggish despite the adrenaline that had first woken him. A thought brushes across his mind that poison could do this, but it leaves quickly, as flimsy as a spider's web. His head is pounding too much for him to be anything but conscious.

"I told him you were sleeping, but he wanted to keep an eye on you." Seth sits back down in the hard, metal chair from the table, repositioned next to John's bed. "I said he could read until he fell asleep."

Giving Sammy a book is a technique that John has used ever since the kid started first grade to keep him quiet, both in motel rooms and on the road. He finds Wesson in what little light there is in the room.

"What about the arachne?" If he's laid up and there's still a monster on the loose—

"Dead," Seth says. "I burned both her and Hilton."

John nods slowly.

"And the other victims?"

Seth's face twists up into something disgusted.

"All dead already," he says. "I think she was using at least one of them as a ... food source."

What little is in John's stomach suddenly stages a protest.

"I'll take care of them tomorrow." Seth glances at the clock on the bedside table. "Well, today. When the boys are awake."

Seth's eyes flicker to the second bed, and John follows the gaze quickly. Dean's asleep, but he's still in his jeans and jacket, lying on top of the covers like he's ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Leaning against the pillow, John finally takes in the details he's missed; Seth clothes are wrinkled in very specific places, all the places his limbs have to scrunch up to fit in the chair. His eyes are red, like he's been rubbing them too much, trying to stay awake.

"You patched me up?" John asks, because he doesn't actually want to hear Wesson say he stayed up all night to watch over John.

"I keep a lot of supplies in my car." Seth shrugs like it doesn't matter. Then his eyes snap to John even though his body is still slumped all over itself. "Be more careful."

John swallows against the heat in Seth's bloodshot stare.

"Yeah, else I'll end up owing you my life again?"

"You have kids," Seth says. "Kids shouldn't be allowed to know their parents can bleed until they're at least twenty years old."

John's throat is thick, and he can't swallow. Seth's not looking at him, which might be a good thing since John can feel the back of his eyes stinging as his hand rises and falls with each breath from the small body curled into his side. But John can still see Seth's jaw, straight and unmoving.

Something catches in John's throat, and he tries to cough quietly so he doesn't wake Sammy. Seth stands, and suddenly there's a water bottle hovering in front of John's face. He cranes his neck up, a large hand supporting his neck so that his muscles relax a little bit as he drinks. He tips his chin up when he's finished, which Seth picks up on right away, but he doesn't stop holding John's head up until he lowers John back to the pillow — gently, so gently.

"Thanks," John says, still raspy because he doesn't think he means just the water.

Seth just sits back on the bed and screws the cap on the bottle again.

"Yeah, you owe me." His eyes just barely graze over Sammy's quiet form. "So, stop being an idiot."

John shifts his hand to wrap a bit better around Sammy as Seth moves back to his chair. Dean's still sleeping, but his shoes are kicked off and laying beside the bed. John has been hurt this bad in years, not since his service, but he thinks this is better than a hospital bed, waiting alone for his release. He closes his eyes, content and weak and sleepy.

o0O0o

John tosses the small duffle into the trunk of Seth's car and slams the door shut. He's still not quite sure how he got regulated to carrying the bags, especially when he's still recovering. But it's been two days already, and he really needs to get out of town before Chief Colson or someone else starts wondering why two FBI agents are staying around after wrapping up the case.

Seth has already handled the clean-up at the bar, although John isn't exactly sure how. He burned the bodies, that much John got, and did something at the police station that made the bar owner into a serial seducer who finally turn obsessive on the Hiltons. Dean says he took notes. John's kind of surprised that Dean paid attention to another hunter enough to take notes, actually. He's been hovering more than usual, but John can kind of understand that. He did almost die.

John hikes back to the motel door, where Dean is standing and watching John as if supervising. If John had stumbled at all — well, he's just glad he doesn't have to deal with being held upright by his fifteen-year-old son. He brushes past Dean but lays a hand on the kid's shoulder as he passes. He's a good kid.

Inside, the motel is clean and packed. Even the beds are made, but John thinks that's due to Sam more than anything. Sam is in the middle of saying goodbye to Seth and trying to be grown up about it. Seth hands over a piece of paper, folded in half, and holds out his hand for Sam to shake. Sam tries very hard, an expression of extreme concentration on his face, but Seth's hand is so large that Sam can barely get his fingers around it. He does manage the up-and-down pump quite well, though.

Seth straightens and slides his closed briefcase off the table. He looks a little mismatched between the leather briefcase and his giant army jacket, but he's still all confidence as he walks up to John.

"Thanks." Seth nods at John. Whether he's talking about John packing the car or just the hunt in general is actually a good question.

"Where're ya headed?" John asks casually.

"Lebanon. Kansas." He slipped his free hand into his pocket and tilts his head just enough to sweep a glance over Dean and Sam. Then, Seth smiles a little quietly. "It's the exact geographical center of the U.S."

"Really?" Sam perks right up, and John can imagine that he'll be spouting off that useless fact to everyone in his new school, once John figures out where they're going next.

"Yep." Seth nods proudly. "Minus Alaska and Hawaii."

"Cool."

"Sounds like a tourist trap," Dean scoffs, which makes Sammy swat at his older brother for being a jerk. Dean swats right back, sweeping his hand through Sammy's long hair. The boy needs a haircut.

"Actually, it's more like a bunker," says Seth, as if he can't even see the brothers batting at each other in front of him.

Seth shifts his weight and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, flipping it open expertly to fish around inside it. He slips the wallet back into his pocket and holds a business card out in John's direction.

"Here." His hand doesn't come any farther towards John, and he can't read the small print with Seth's thumb covering half the card.

"What's this?" John takes it and holds it up in front of his face. It looks like a regular business card with some basic information on one side.

Seth Wesson

Police Consultant

Lebanon, KS

"I've got a landline there," Seth says just as John reads the ten digits underneath the town name. "If you ever need . . . If you ever need it."

Seth shrugs, finished with whatever he had meant to accomplish. John nods once and slides the card into his pocket. It feels cleaner and heavier than it should against his fingertips.

"Well." Seth rolls his shoulders back, looking a little uncomfortable in his own body. "Bye."

John holds out his hand so they can shake on it and get the guy on his way. Seth looks down at the outstretched hand like he's expecting John to be holding a gun. But finally, he straightens up and shakes John's hand briskly, business-like. He lets go abruptly and marches toward his car. A final wave from Sammy, and Seth Wesson is pulling out of the parking lot and down the highway toward the interstate.

John turns back to the two boys, who thankful have stopped shoving at each other.

"Better get packed up," he orders. "We'll head north after lunch."

John thinks there should be something close to Chicago. There usually is, strangely enough.

Dean goes right back in the motel to obey while Sammy follows, but at least he doesn't drag his feet as much as John expected him to.

"You gonna work with Seth again, Dad?" Sammy asks. He's all guileless puppy eyes as he tugs his backpack out from under the second bed in the motel room. That alone tells John that Sammy's ridiculously invested in whatever answer he gives.

"Why?" he asks instead of giving an answer.

Sammy lifts his shoulders up so they hover right around his ears.

"He's cool," he says.

John has no idea where that came from or what to do with it. Sammy doesn't like hunting, even when John does it.

"Cool," he repeats and shifts his eyes to Dean, hoping he can translate for his brother.

Dean only shrugs carelessly as he lifts his jacket out of his duffle.

"He's an okay guy." Dean slides his arms into the jacket and doesn't say anything else.

John doesn't know what to do with either of his sons now.

"We'll see," he finally says, because he honestly doesn't know.

Maybe if he's ever hunting something in Kansas, he'll consider it. He's doing pretty well so far with Dean for backup. But he can't deny that Seth patched him up and pretty much cleaned up the entire hunt for him while he was unconscious. Dean can't do that kind of stuff yet.

As the boys zip up their bags and heft them out the door, John pulls the keys to the Impala out of his pocket and dangles them in front of Dean.

"You wanna get in some practice?"

Dean practically jumps in place. John has the thought of pulling the keys up and away, playing keep-away like he hasn't done since his boys were at least eight years younger. But Dean snatches the keys before John can really decide whether or not he wants to. Dean whoops triumphantly anyway and races to the driver's side, tossing his duffle over his shoulder into the back seat. Sammy rolls his eyes like his brother's being so ridiculous, and he crawls into the back seat and places his backpack carefully down by his feet. John has no doubt the kid'll be reading as soon as they get onto smooth road.

John slides into the passenger seat and pulls his journal out from his jacket, gets a pen from inside the glove compartment, and gives some simple directions to the interstate to Dean. He flips to a blank page in the notebook and starts detailing the case, heading the entry with the town name and the new creature, arachne, falling into the rhythm of being on the road again.