Fake It Till You Wake It
K Hanna Korossy

"Bad actress, huh?" Krissy teased over the bodies of the two dead vetala.

Dean dipped his head in grudging admiration. "Yeah, I take it back."

The teen gave him a triumphant smile even as she hugged her dad, but Dean saw the shadow in her eyes. He knew from experience what kind of toll her first kill would take, even if she didn't realize it yet.

Next to him, Sam winced and staggered.

Dean grabbed two fistfuls of his jacket to keep him on his feet, frowning at the amount of blood smearing his brother's throat, fresh and old. "Whoa. Just another minute, Sam." Louder, he called, "How is he?" If she had any kind of the childhood he'd had, Krissy would know the symptoms of blood loss and shock.

"His pulse is pretty weak—he needs a hospital," she said, talking over her dad's soft, "'M all right."

Dean tucked his shoulder under his little brother's—it never stopped annoying him he could do that without stooping, no matter how useful it often was—and clamped his free hand around Sam's wrist. His heart beat weak and fast, too, but not thready, nor was he as pale and wasted-looking as Chambers was. "You got your phone?"

Krissy answered yes even as Sam mumbled, "Huh?"

He patted Sam's chest. "You just stay on your feet and look pretty, okay?" To Krissy he continued, "I'm gonna get Sam out of here. Call 9-1-1 and tell 'em your dad got jumped and called you to come get him, okay? Let the cops figure out...this." His gaze took in the corpses of the vetalas' victims, discarded around the room in varying stages of decay. What Krissy lacked in authority, she gained in innocence: the cops would never suspect her or try to wring a story out of her.

Krissy took a moment, then straightened up and said a mostly brave, "Okay."

Dean gave her an encouraging smile. "You got this."

When she nodded again, she seemed to believe it more, too.

Satisfied, Dean wheeled his swaying brother around and headed them toward the door. "How many times did they feed on you?" he asked more quietly.

"Uh...two." Sam sounded less confused than exhausted, which was encouraging. The adrenaline that had let him take down the second vetala was clearly gone, but he was still on his feet. More or less.

"So you're about a quarter of a tank low." Dean swung the door open and threaded Sam sideways through it. "What do you think, you need a refill?" The hospital was out of the question for them with Leviathan all over the place, but it wouldn't've been the first time Dean gave blood in a motel room.

Sam's head shook heavily. "M'okay, just tired." He stumbled, Dean's grip holding him up.

"And dizzy, and breathing like you're running a race, not walking out to the car," Dean noted mildly. But he agreed. Sam, unfortunately, had gotten through worse.

He wished he'd parked closer, but then he'd been more focused on keeping Krissy out of harm's way than about how he'd lug a gigantic zombie to the car after. But Sam kept staggering, and Dean kept him mostly on track, and they reached the car just as sirens started wailing in the distance.

Sam leaned against the car as Dean opened it, then executed a controlled fall into the front seat, Dean cushioning his head on the way and swinging his feet in after.

The sirens were getting louder. He crouched by the open door, studying his brother's pale, sweaty face and scrunched eyes as he reached under the seat. "You gonna hurl?"

"No." Sam didn't sound too sure, but Dean chose to believe him.

He found the bottle of water he was looking for and twisted it open, then folded Sam's fingers around it. "We'll pick up some OJ and Gatorade soon, but get some of that down meanwhile. Where's your stuff?"

Sam chugged half the bottle, relenting when Dean gently tipped the end down before he made himself sick. "Uh...in the car. Back at the truck stop. Green Nova."

Dean snorted. "Nova. Of course." He patted Sam's leg as he straightened and swung the door shut, then circled around to the driver's side. He cringed as his eye caught on the handcuff still dangling from the steering wheel. Some job he'd done of keeping Krissy safely out of the hunt.

The first police car passed them as they pulled onto the main road.

Sam dozed through their subsequent stops, first at a Quickie Mart for drinks and Oreos—Sam's grimace alone was worth that one—then the truck stop to grab Sam's stuff and wipe down the car. Dean grumbled under his breath about Chevy selling its soul as he threw the two duffels into his PoS's trunk and got back in the car.

Half the carton of juice was already gone and Sam just looked exhausted instead of like, well, vetala kibble. He even cracked an eye as Dean's door slammed. "Now what?" he asked, almost managing to say it slur-free.

"Now, we get a room for the night and let you sleep off the blood-loss hangover."

Sam seemed to find that amusing somehow, huffing a laugh as his head rolled back on the edge of the seat.

It was an odd enough reaction that Dean reached over to press two fingers in above the bandage on his neck, checking pulse and skin temp. Both of which had improved, and there wasn't fresh blood on the gauze he'd taped down in the Mart parking lot.

"'M fine," Sam said sleepily, eyes closed again.

"Yeah, so you keep saying. I'd believe it a lot more if you weren't doing your best impersonation of Abe Lincoln, after the theatre." Dean wasn't sure if he managed to strip all his worry from the words.

Apparently so; Sam snorted again.

Dean shook his head. "So, you want to hear what Frank found?"

"Later. An' why you brought Krissy." Sam sighed. "Wasn't sure you'd get my message."

Dean went with the subject change, even as he turned the engine over and pulled out, following the lodging signs by the truck stop. "Yeah, I kinda fell asleep at Frank's for, like, a day-and-a-half."

Sam's eyes popped open. "Seriously? Wow. Okay, that's...a good excuse."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Excuse?"

"Yeah, I mean..." Sam had sunk back into the seat and vaguely waved a hand. "Never mind."

"No, what?"

A sigh. This time he had the impression Sam was keeping his eyes closed less out of fatigue and more to avoid looking at him. "You didn't want me to go on a case. And I get that—you want revenge." His hair swished against the seat. "But I needed a win, you know? Get out there and save someone this time."

"I know," Dean said quickly. And, okay, yeah, he hadn't really thought about it, but he did know. Sam had done the same thing after their dad died, turning his helplessness into something good even as Dean was drowning in anger. That didn't...

A chill ran through him as Sam's real meaning pierced the cloud of rage in his head.

"You thought I wouldn't pick up."

Sam sighed, pausing for too long. "I wasn't sure you would," he finally said.

This grief was the heaviest because he himself had caused it. He'd told Frank he wasn't going to walk out on his brother, but he'd never really told Sam. In fact, he'd been pretty clear that Sam was welcome to go on the hunt alone, but Dean wouldn't be joining him. He pulled automatically into the motel lot and turned the car off to just sit, stunned.

Sam peered at him, eyes soft with understanding, the bitch. "I get it, you know?" he said with a miserable smile. "I miss him, too."

The desolation crept up into his throat, choking Dean. They were not going there. He still couldn't think about Bobby without blackness settling over him, and he had something important to deal with right now.

He cleared his throat and turned his thoughts away from Bobby, his face to Sam.

"You listen to me. I don't care what crap is going on, what we're dealing with, I will always back you up. Everything else goes to Hell, that ain't changing. I have lost everyone else, Sam, everyone. I am not losing you, too." He almost managed to say it all with a steady voice.

Sam stared at him, eyes shiny, emotions probably more naked than usual with his exhaustion, or their fresh loss. But thank God he didn't start crying because Dean wasn't sure he could have dealt with that, and he himself was done crying like some whiny kid.

He smiled at Sam instead.

Sam sucked in a wet breath and finally nodded.

Dean nodded back, and climbed out to get them a room.

He didn't realize until later, as he watched a re-bandaged, rehydrated Sam sink comfortably into sleep, that there were moments when the smile was even real.