Measure of a Man (concluded)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: Well we've come to the end, my friends. I'm really sad to see this story go, but then again, I've been working on it for THREE FREAKING YEARS, so it'll also be nice to work on something else. Going to be taking some time off of fan fiction so I can work on my novel, but I'm sure I'll post the occasional one shot, whether in this 'verse or another. I just wanted to say thank you for sticking by me all this time, and for those of you who took the time to review, thank you from the top, middle, and bottom of my heart. You are the best of the best :) ::SNUGS::

Okay, enough of the mush. Let's get to some ficcage already…

Chapter Thirteen: The Dawn of the Tough Guy Confessional Era

Cockeysville, MD, 14 hours later…

Sam wakes up to equal parts comfy and cozy. He yawns as he stretches, but a deep ache in his chest soon has him recoiling. To his surprise, the comfy and cozy don't seal in around him in their usual careful hold. Sam opens his eyes and finds himself in a bed instead of Dean's giant hand. He's in a hotel room—'h' out in front instead of an 'm,' he's sure, because no motel room is this big. He starts to sit up, but that same ache twinges in protest. Sam settles for stuffing two of the six pillows (Six pillows? Seriously?) under his back so he can at least see what's going on around him. And that's when his brother emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, talking on his cell.

"…yeah it's a done deal, Bobby. Cas said it doesn't matter if what's left of Team Apocalypse tries to open the portal, cos it's been sealed with a Seal. Sets up a…shit, what's the word…you know, two huge events that go against each other and piss off the universe, happens a lot in time travel movies…"

"Paradox," Sam whispers, and Bobby must say the same, because Dean snaps his fingers.

"Paradox! Thank you. So Lilith has to die to break the last seal and open the cage, right? But she's trapped in the same portal that leads to the cage, so she can't die, and you can't open one without the other…got a headache yet? Yeah. Anyway, gist is, Lilith's acting like super glue: Luci's staying locked up, and the portal won't open again, pretty much ever. How's that for telling Destiny to suck it?"

Dean grins, and Sam smiles. He fully expects Dean to turn and look at him, but instead, Dean stops at the mirror and checks himself out while he listens to Bobby talk. He flexes his big biceps and then turns to the side, checking out his pumped lats and tris, and that's when it hits Sam: Dean is hulked OUT. He's swapped his jeans for his old black sweats, but they're strained against his whopping, rock-hard thighs, and Sam is positive no shirt could hope to cover those guns above them. He compares Dean's height to the room but is certain his brother hasn't grown at all—well, not upward anyway, just outward with those muscles! He's about to say something when Dean replies to a question from Bobby:

"He flew off to check on Tyler, make sure no angels or demons are bothering him. He called me just before I called you to say they're fine. The owls are gonna stay there and look after him. Ty-guy wanted to make sure I wasn't mad… 'course I'm not mad! Gives me two more reasons to come visit! Hope Mama Owl doesn't try an' peck my brains out when I get back to your place, though…what? Yeah, exactly, they're grown men—owls now. Gotta move out sometime, right?" There's a pause, and Dean rolls his eyes. "So move the cars if there's owl pellets in the engines! You can't…hey, just…no, Bobby, I don't think you should shoot her for doing what comes naturally. Come on, man, you'll hate yourself in the morning…Yeah, I KNOW I'm right about this!...Good….okay, do whatever needs doing, just don't hurt any innocent owls in the process."

Sam stifles a laugh as he watches Dean nodding along with whatever Bobby is ranting about, letting him get it out until he gets a chance to change the subject. "So anyway, Cas is gonna get some downtime in and then pick us up when he's full strength ag—…NO, you don't have to drive out here, yeesh! Enjoy some quiet time with Meesh. Take a stroll. Play some croquet, I dunno…do what normal older people do…" Dean winces as Bobby barks at him through the phone. "I'm sorry, what word did you have a problem with, the 'normal' or the 'older'—" He winces again, but he's grinning as his stand-in dad tears him a new one. "Yeah, yeah, I know you miss me." He snickers at whatever Bobby says. "Okay. We'll see you soon… maybe I'll bring you a souvenir or something if you're good. Till then, we're on a Staycation in Cockeysville, Em-Dee, at least until Sam's ribs are healed."

Sam pulls the covers down a bit so he can see his chest, and he finds his torso wrapped in compression bandages. "Gotta go, Sleeping Beauty's finally awake," he hears Dean say, and when Sam looks up, Dean is smiling at him. "Yup…yep. Bye." Dean shuts off his cell phone and drops it on his bed as he walks over to his little brother. "Hey, how you feeling?"

"M'alright…how long was I out?"

"Most of the day." Sitting down next to him, Dean reaches out a hand to Sam's forehead to feel for a fever. He smells clean, and he's radiating heat; Sam assumes he must have just showered. "Good," Dean declares, leaning back again. "You were so cold last night that I was scared you were gonna get pneumonia or something. Kept you as warm as I could while I walked us here."

"Did anyone see you?"

"If you count some cows," Dean shrugs. "Most of Baltimore was asleep, but I skirted around it just to be safe. Kept going till I saw the sign for Cockeysville—seemed like the right place to stop."

"Of course it did," Sam smirks. "Did you cross out the population number on the sign and write in "Me" while you were at it?"

Dean smirks back. "Didn't have a pencil on me. But I did have my wallet, so I snuck over to this four-star, stashed you two on the roof while I was in the lobby, and got us a nice room. Figured we earned a little luxury after saving the world."

Sam breathes out a satisfied sigh. "We won," he says. "I can't believe it's over."

"Well believe it, little brother. War's not over, but that was a big victory. Once you're feeling better, we'll celebrate with some big steaks and bigger drinks. How're the ribs? Give me a number on the pain scale."

"Five," Sam admits. "Seven if I move too quickly."

"Yeah, Cas tried to heal you, but he was running on fumes." Dean checks Sam's bandages while he talks. "He nearly passed out just changing them from busted to bruised, so I told him I'd take care of the rest. He took off right after on a one-way ticket to Illinois—"

"—to check on Tyler, yeah, I heard you talking…" Sam trails off, gaping at the humongous pecs before him that block out the rest of the room, the amulet drowning in the valley between them. Dean sees Sam staring and backs away.

"Oh. You noticed, huh?"

"Yeah, Dean, kinda hard not to! Did you pig out on steroids while I was out?"

"No, this happened last night, while I was outgrowing Zachariah. I don't know how or why, but they won't go away. Seriously, I've been trying to get them to go back to normal, but they just get bigger. Gave up after I ripped through half my t-shirts."

"Have you had any other size shifts today?"

Dean shakes his head no. "All I know is that I'm stuck looking like Mr. Olympia until further notice."

"Stuck?" Sam repeats, thinking hat already on and at hard at work. "Like when you got stuck big or small?"

"I guess so, why?" Dean gets a long look from Sam and immediately gets what Sam's driving at. He dons his best glare and says a flat "No."

"Dean—"

"I'm on vacation, Sam, same as you. And vacation means I get to do what I want. And you know what I DON'T wanna do? Bear my innermost in another 'therapy session,'" he gripes, complete with quotey fingers.

"But it works!" Sam argues. "You know it does."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it…"

"No, but it DOES mean that if you want to get back to normal, you have to tell me what's going on up here," Sam taps his temple. "That's why you were checking yourself out in the mirror, right? To see if you could get used to looking like that just so you could avoid having a talk."

"Actually, I was checking myself out cos I look pretty damn awesome." Dean brings both arms up in a double bicep and grins at Sam. "Huh? Am I right or what?"

"I'm gonna go with 'what,' seeing how you're getting bigger..." Sam points Dean to look down at his own pecs, and his nose touches the top as they inflate with more muscle. The black sweats he's wearing start to split along the side seams as his thighs expand, too. Dean groans and stands up.

"This sucks out loud. Why's my body gotta go Pinocchio any time I've got something on my mind?"

"You KNOW why, Dean: cos you're not supposed to keep stuff bottled up inside you anymore. If you ask me, it's a good thing."

"And if you ask ME, it's a fucking annoying thing." The floor creaks under his heavy, muscular frame as he paces, and Dean rolls his eyes and sighs. "FINE. Let's just make it quick—like, half a chick-flick moment."

"Don't think of it like that," Sam suggests. Dean gives him an eyebrow. "Try…okay, like in war movies, there's always that scene where the soldiers have a quiet moment and just talk about stuff from their past, good and bad. And it always comes up later, when they're attacked or when one of them gets hurt. Knowing what the other one's going through doesn't make the guy who spilled his guts seem weak…it makes them all stronger." Sam's voice is quiet as he finishes up, and he glances at Dean, hoping he gets what he's saying. To his relief, Dean is right there with him, looking thoughtful instead of bewildered, and he nods back.

"So, like a…tough guy…confessional?"

"Yes! Perfect. A Tough Guy Confessional—TGC. That's what we'll call it from now on, okay? It's just a short talk between soldiers who just happen to be brothers…"

"…going over the highs and the lows before the next fight," Dean finishes, catching on. "Not bad, Sammy. I think I can work with that." Sam motions for him to go ahead, but Dean turns away instead, heading over to his bed. He sits down on the edge, bare feet flat on the floor between the beds, and he looks down at them…then up at the ceiling…then over at the mirror, twiddling his thumbs.

"Just start with the growth," Sam offers. "Tell me what happened up there with Zachariah."

"I will, I will, just…gimme a sec here. Trying to figure out where to begin…" Dean's eyes drift to his duffel, and he reaches in and pulls something out. It's a small sword with an ornate hilt, one that seems too large and fancy for such a short blade. Sam wants to ask him where he got it, but he has a feeling it's part of the story, so he keeps quiet and waits for Dean to speak. His big brother wraps his fingers around the grip and rests the blade on his thigh, staring at it a few seconds before he licks his lips and begins.

"The muscle thing didn't start right away. First I was just growing, like Cas told me to. When I thought I was big enough, I told Zachariah to leave, but he attacked me instead, made me lift my foot up and I, uh…kinda nearly stepped on you." Dean won't look at Sam as he says it, and he doesn't wait for a reaction, either, just clears his throat and moves on. "I fought back, but my head, heart, skin…everything was killing me. Zach was on an all-out assault inside my body. And then he had to start with the speechifying…"

"Again?" Sam groans.

"I KNOW. Usual crap, too, about how he was all powerful, and I was nothing, never would be, no one would miss me if I was gone, blah blah blah…" Dean shakes his head in dismissal, but Sam can't let it go so easily.

"Dean…" Sam waits until his brother looks at him, and then asks, fully worried, "Did you believe him?"

"Well, yeah, course I did…part of me always will. There's no changing that, it's just been too long…too much." Dean gives Sam a sad smile that Sam does not return. "But this time, more than anything, I wanted to show him he was wrong. I wanted to show EVERYbody that I was strong, capable, in control, you name it. So first I called him on his bluff, and then I hit him with a few punches below the belt, and THEN, when I felt him squirming, I just let go. Grew. And this power inside me…it's like a dam broke, and it just came out, surging through my veins…and I thought about what you said yesterday, how it felt when you sent a demon to Hell with your powers. It wasn't just the rush, it was…"

"Satisfaction," Sam confirms. "Like it was your right to get back at them."

Dean nods with enthusiasm. "Yeah! It put the 'awe' in awesome. And then my muscles started pumping up like crazy, and THAT felt great, and I just didn't stop…couldn't! Didn't WANT to, I just…I had to be BIG. Before I knew it I was above the clouds…" He looks down at the blade on his lap. "And this fell from the sky, right into my hand…but it looked a little different…" Holding up the weapon, Dean stares at it, concentrates, and the sword glows white-orange. The short blade lengthens and as it reaches its true size, the gleaming metal breaks into flames but does not burn. Sam's eyes grow wide, full of reverence.

"Is that…Michael's sword?" he asks, and Dean nods. "Holy shit!"

"No shit, holy shit. So there I am, holding Michael's freaking sword, and I'm thinking—"

"Uh, Dean? You might wanna power that thing down before you set off the fire alarm…"

"Oh yeah, shit. Thanks." Dean concentrates again, and the flames go out. The blade constricts back to its former, shorter length. "I think it's like Lion-O's sword from Thundercats: shrinks down to travel size between fights." Dean then turns the hilt to Sam. "Go on, I know you wanna touch it."

"It's a sword, Dean, not a breast," Sam snarks.

"I didn't say anything about a breast."

"You didn't have to." Sam takes the sword anyway, admiring the grip wrapped in burgundy leather with threads of purest silver and gold weaved in. His eyes travel to the blade itself and marvel at the gleaming, Heaven-forged steel, and the runes carved along the length. "What do these mean?"

"No idea. Maybe Cas can tell us later. Oh, hey, check this out." Taking the sword back, Dean then plucks one of Sam's long hairs right out of his head (and earns an "Ow!" that he pretends not to hear) and holds it right above the sharp edge of the sword. "You watching?" Sam nods, and Dean drops it. The hair touches the blade and splits in two. Sam whistles as he watches half a hair drift to the bed. "Now watch THIS." Dean smacks his palm flat on the sword's tip, even as Sam yells, "No, WAIT!" and then lifts it up for Sam to see. It's fine.

"There's no cut," Sam says. "How the hell is it sharp enough to split hairs but not cut you?!"

"No idea," Dean chuckles. "Somehow, it knows I'm me, and it won't hurt me. I told it not to hurt you, either."

Sam gives him a flat look. "You told it."

"Yeah. It's alive…I think. Maybe not alive-alive, but not dead either. Sorta semi-alive, mostly dead, like in Princess Bride? No…"

"Dean."

"Hm?"

"Find the chase, then cut to it."

Dean frowns, but gets on with the story. "It spoke to me, all right? When it first appeared in my hand, it said my name, and told me things, not in words, but in feelings, pictures…all in my head. And suddenly, I knew how to get rid of Zachariah. It was just, BOOM, answer. I held the sword straight up and told Zachariah to leave. He got his stupid last word in, telling me I was still gonna lose, so I yelled, "Jam it sideways, Rimjob!" Sam laughs hard, and it makes Dean grin. "You should've heard it echoing across the countryside. It was like the whole planet was telling him to fuck off." He snickers and utters a quiet "awesome" in follow up.

Sam just shakes his head, excusing his brother's antics from the universe, while smiling at him with fondness. "So what did Zachariah have to say to that?" he asks once his giggles have died down.

"Nothing," Dean boasts, setting the weapon on the bed. "The second he tried to fight back, the sword sucked him right out of my body and fried his righteous ass. At least, that's my best guess—all I know for sure is that I felt him being pulled out, and then the sword went nuclear, bursting all this power into the sky, and soon ashes were falling past my face onto the cloud below. I swear they made the shape of wings…" He pauses for a moment, still a bit in shock about what he witnessed. Sam is duly mystified as well, but then his brothers' eyes fall on him, appearing upset instead of unsure. Dean stares at him for a moment before he states, "And then I saw what Zach was talking about before I told him where to go."

The words hang in the air, Dean looking sadder every passing second, until Sam finally asks, "What was it?"

"I bent down through the clouds," Dean goes on, ignoring Sam's question, "and saw you hanging there, Cas holding on to you…"

Sam stares back at Dean. "All the way up there? HOW?! We must have been so tiny—"

"Who CARES how, Sam!" Dean snaps. "Zachariah said I was still going to lose, and then he played your words in my head. You TOLD Cas to let you go!" He lets the hurt on his face relay the "How COULD you?!" to his little brother. Sam sees it, feels it, too, but defends himself instead of apologizing.

"Look, Lilith HAD to go into that portal, and I was barely holding on anyway. She put me in this deep freeze, and I couldn't use my powers to get her off me, so I had to crawl into the trap and drag her along with me. And Cas couldn't even move, cos he was so weak, but he finished the ritual, and Lilith was pulled away, finally, but then the floor fell out from underneath me and Cas caught me somehow and then…I don't know…"

"You thought you'd sacrifice yourself," Dean sums up, sounding disgusted.

"No! I just didn't want Cas to fall in, too, so—"

"You told him to let go, so YOU'D be the only one to pay the price."

"Will you quit interrupting me?!" Sam yells. The brothers watch each other, readying words to strike blows and phrases to defend their actions. Eventually, Dean folds his arms, those biceps twitching, bulging slightly bigger, and levels Sam with a look that binds him in place.

"I didn't gank Ruby," he says in a low voice, "just to watch you let go."

"Dean…"

"I didn't outgrow Zachariah," Dean presses on, voice rising, "fight through everything he put me through, just so you could give up and let him win!" His frame starts to grow now as well, inching his head up toward the ceiling, as he stands up and towers over Sam. "So why, Sam? Why the hell did you think it was okay? Why were you so freaking ready to die?!" Sam ducks his head and mumbles something, prompting Dean to lean in. "What's that?"

"Punishment," Sam says, this time loud enough that his big brother can hear the despair in his voice. The anger drains from Dean's face and leaves him pale.

"For what?"

Hazel eyes, sparkling with shame, drift up to him. "For everything," Sam murmurs. He doesn't bother going into detail: he knows Dean remembers everything Sam's done wrong all too well, especially recent events. Dean in turn sighs, those big lungs making it sound like a gust of wind, and his body grows to ten feet tall while his muscles burst out even more. The seams on his sweat pants give up the fight and split all the way down the legs, leaving Dean with a nice pair of pull-aways, should he ever go into the male stripper business. But Dean's mood is far from jovial right now: he's brooding, hunched over, eyes on the floor.

"Yeah, that's just stupid," he says eventually.

Sam glares on reflex, though he's not sure if he's insulted or just incensed at the brush-off. "It's stupid to feel guilty about what you've done?"

"No, it's stupid to think dying is the way to make it all right. And it's double-stupid to think I'd just stand by and let it happen."

"Double-stupid?" Sam repeats with a small smirk, but Dean's on a roll.

"And it's three scoops of stupid with a dumb cherry on top to think what you did was unforgivable when you've already been forgiven!"

"Okay, okay, I get the point…"

"No, you don't," Dean huffs. Sam replies by throwing him a weak bitch face. "Hey, you wanted me to talk, so I'm talking. And I gotta tell you, man…you really freaking worry me sometimes." Sam frowns, but Dean keeps going. "I mean, I get it. I do. Me and you, we're chained to our mistakes. We drag 'em along with us wherever we go. Then there's the guilt piled up on our backs, and it just gets heavier and heavier until we're on our knees from it. And THEN we just pile on more and start crawling." Sam swallows hard and nods, no longer able to look Dean in the eye. "And the worst thing is," Dean goes on, "neither one of us is ever reaching for the fucking chain cutters. We never set the guilt down, either, give our backs a rest. I dunno if it's habit or if we're just that stupid." He gives a small laugh, but Sam only nods again. "But if we can't cut our own chains or ditch the weight…maybe we could help each other out? Find a, I don't know…a wagon or something. Pile it all in there. And then we BOTH pull it along so it isn't so damn heavy."

"Wow, Dean, metaphorical much?" Sam quips quietly.

"Shaddup. You know what I'm saying here. I just…" Dean crouches down so he can peer up into Sam's lowered gaze. "I hate seeing you buried under all of it. I want to help you, Sammy, but you gotta stop running away and hiding from me. I can't carry you if you're out of reach."

Sam looks up and away, a cynical smile on his face. "Yeah I've learned that lesson," he says. "There's no running away from anything. And if you're running toward something better…you're never gonna get there." Dean's 10-foot frame sits down next to him on the bed and waits for his brother to continue. "I keep looking for the light at the end of the tunnel," Sam mumbles. "Used to be able to see it so clearly. For a while it was getting to Stanford, and later it was finding Dad. Then it was saving all of the people like me…then it was finding a way to save you." He gives Dean a very brief smile, up, down. "But then I lost you…and then I lost…me. After everything with Ruby and Lilith…all the stuff that I did to you…I realized that the light at the end of a tunnel isn't salvation: it's a train. It's always been a train. And it's only a matter of time before it finally hits me."

Dean sighs again. "Well, you're not wrong about the train. I figured that part out a long time ago. I was always hoping that you…" Dean trails off, adrift in his sad memories, and he feels Sam's gaze on him, still waiting for his big brother to make it all better after everything they've been through. But Dean can't. Not this time. He shakes his head and starts over. "We can't stop that train," he says matter-of-factly. "But we don't have to keep throwing ourselves in front of it, either." Dean cups his huge hands around either side of Sam. "There is a way out of that tunnel. We just have to turn around and head out the other side. And if that's not fast enough, I'll grow and punch out a new exit." Sam smiles a little at that, and Dean brightens, encouraged. "Just promise me you'll stop thinking that sacrificing yourself is the only way to make things right."

Sam's eyes glue on to Dean's. "I will…if you will. I'm not walking out of that tunnel alone. If we're really in this together, then you have to stop believing I'd be better off without you. Everything Zachariah said, and Yellow Eyes and Ruby…all of them—THEY'RE the ones who were wrong, NOT you. You're not the worst, you're the best! And you're not a mistake and you're not weak, either. You're the strongest person I know, stronger than Dad and Bobby combined—you don't need all those muscles to prove it, cos I've known it my whole life!" Dean starts to look away, so Sam insists, "Dean…you're not Nothing, all right? To me…you're everything."

Both of their faces slowly twist into a grimace at the saccharine statement. "Hope I can squeeze into the bathroom, cos I'm gonna vom," Dean grunts.

Sam gives a sheepish little laugh. "Heh, yeah, sorry…it sounded a lot more manly in my head." He clears his throat. "But it's all true. You're my big brother, Dean. My hero." Dean looks at Sam though doubt-tinted glasses, but finds him beaming back in earnest.

"I just wish you'd let yourself see how awesome you really are," Sam finishes.

That brings out Dean's grin. "Did you just tell me that I really am as awesome as I say I am?"

"Only if you're admitting that I'm right and always have been," Sam smirks back.

"I plead the fifth."

"Ditto."

Dean chuckles and shrinks back to normal. To both their surprise, his overblown muscles follow suit, reducing back to Dean's pre-Hulk physique. Sam crosses his arms and smiles his best Told You So at Dean, who shakes his head no and mutters, "Now I'll never hear the end of it…" He reaches into his duffel, finds one of his three remaining t-shirts, and pulls it over his head.

"So what happened next?"

"Huh?" Dean's head pops up through the fabric. "When?"

"You heard me tell Cas to let me go, and then you saw us about to drop into the portal. What happened?"

Dean pulls the shirt down over his washboard abs and chuckles again. "What?" Sam asks him, so Dean bends down to his face and blows out a short but strong puff of air, fanning the hair on Sam's crown. "No…" Sam says, but Dean just grins. "Seriously?"

"Well what was I supposed to do? I had one second to save you, and I didn't want to grab you cos I might crush you, and I knew I couldn't shrink down fast enough, so I just Big Bad Wolfed it."

Sam remembers the gust of wind that sent him and Castiel clear of the pit, but he still can't wrap his head around it. "Dude, that was a full-on gale that hit us! No way that was just you giving half a huff and/or puff."

"Uh, did you see how big I was? Yeah. And then I had to dole out some insurance—make sure you didn't try and throw yourself into that crumbling portal anyway. So I pointed the sword at it and told it to fix it."

"And that was the column of energy," Sam grasps. "The floor came back, the portal sealed up…we were safe." His eyes go to the sword still on the bed, trying to pair up the short blade before him with the blinding burst of power from his memory. "So why's it still here? Doesn't Michael want his sword back?"

"It's mine now," Dean answers quietly. Sam looks at him and finds his brother looking coy. Dean sees Sam staring at him and his cheeks flush, freckles vanishing behind the pink.

"Dude, stop it. He said it was a gift."

"Who did?"

"Michael. After the portal closed up, I heard him in my head. He said he didn't need it anymore, and that I'd earned it." His voice gets even softer as he says, "He was grateful, Sammy. He didn't want the Apocalypse to happen any more than we did. I mean, if the shit hit the fan, he would've done what he had to do, but deep down…he hoped he wouldn't face Lucifer in the final battle." Dean looks at Sam. "He didn't want to kill his little brother."

Lumps form in both Winchester's throats, and Sam looks at the floor while Dean glances at the ceiling. "Anyway," Dean says at length, "that's how I got my trusty blade. And you are SO calling me Strider now."

"Yeah, still not gonna happen."

"You're just jealous that you don't have a cool sword like mine."

"Nope, not jealous, and you're not Strider." Sam gets a glare for that but shrugs it off. "What? You're not. You're Dean Winchester."

Dean starts at the "just" out of habit, only to realize that Sam didn't say that word. He isn't "just" Dean Winchester. He's Dean Winchester. The warm smile Sam gives him makes Dean feel even better, but, being that he's Dean Winchester, he can't admit it, so he just rolls his eyes and heads back into the bathroom.

"Well Dean Winchester is gonna mosey on down to the pool area," he calls out.

"What? No you're not! This TGC isn't done yet!"

"Oh yes it is. Vacation starts right now."

Scowling, Sam props himself up on his elbows. "But we didn't talk about my powers! What if they get out of control again? Should I even try using them or—"

"Vacation," Dean interrupts, still inside the bathroom.

"And YOUR powers, are they—"

"Vacation…"

"But—"

"Dude! VAY-CAY-SHUN!" Dean walks back into the room, now sporting a simple pair of black swim trunks with his tee. "Came with the room," he smiles. Sam is still sour-faced, so Dean lays out some reassurance. "Look, I know we've still got some issues, but it's all back-burner stuff. We'll worry about it when we get back to our regularly scheduled lives." He looks at Sam a moment, waiting for an answer, but Sam just gives half a shrug and lets that be his reply. "We will talk about it," Dean swears, "I promise. But right now, we have some time off, and I say we spend it enjoying some amenities. They have a sauna, Sammy—a SAUNA. I've never been in a sauna, and dammit, I wanna sauna!"

Sam pictures Dean surrounded by happy-to-please women in the sauna room and can't help but pout. "I hope it's all fat, hairy old men in there," he grumbles. Dean laughs quietly and grabs the keys as he heads for the door. Sam's pout follows him. "Well what am I supposed to do while you're sweating with the oldies?"

"Rest," Dean says. "Ree-lax. Watch TV, order some room service, whatever you want." He opens the door. "We're on vacation, little brother. Enjoy some peace and quiet while…ooh," he grins down at something in the hall, "I enjoy some piece of the hot brunette who just got on the elevator."

"Classy."

Dean wriggles his eyebrows and shuts the door behind him. Sam smirks and shakes his head in his typical "Oh, Dean" way. Reaching over to the phone, he clicks on the button labeled "Room Service" and waits for someone to pick up.

"Room Service, how may I help you, Mr. Winter?"

"Could I get a bowl of tomato soup, please? And a sandwich too—BLT if you have it."

"Of course, sir. Anything else I can get you this evening?"

Sam rubs at his ribs. "Some Ibuprofen would be great." His eyes land on his brother's duffel, where the top of the Ziplock bag that holds their meager supply of medicine is sticking out. He smiles, thinking back to his conversation with Dean at the barn, and adds one last item to the order…

Dean wanders back to the room a little over half an hour later, a towel around his neck and carrying his shirt in his hand. Just as he puts the key card in the slot, he hears a clanging clamor from inside the room, followed by a "NO!" Dean rushes inside and looks around for the threat, but there are no demons in the room—no angels, either, or shifters or vampires or any monster of any kind. And that would be great, except that there's also no Sam…

Shifting into sneaky mode, Dean slinks along the wall, eyes and ears on alert. He hears another moan just as he spots Sam's ski-length foot on the floor between the beds. Dean moves over and finds his brother lying on his stomach.

"Sam?"

"…ngh…yeah." Sam tries to roll over, but the new throbbing pain in his chest quashes that attempt in less than half a jiff. Dean shoves the foot of Sam's bed over a few inches and then kneels down beside him, gently sliding his hands underneath Sam's torso. Sam hisses at the touch but still allows Dean to help him off the floor.

"Easy, I gotcha. MAN you're cold again…" He's all tender orchestrations until the front of Sam's shirt comes into view—then he's all smirks. "Do we have to get you a bib or what?" Sam frowns, first at Dean, then at his BLT, now smooshed all over his stomach and crotch. Dean can't resist: "So how long have you had this eating disorder?"

The bitch face slams down on Dean, who laughs. "That's not even slightly funny," Sam fumes. "Eating disorders are very real and very serious."

"Dude, I KNOW, put the angry eyes away. It was a play on words, like in Airplane!" Dean gets a blank look. "What, seriously? You don't—? Urrrgh." He rubs his eyes, irritated. "Airplane!—when the guy talks about his drinking problem, and he throws the drink on his face. He's not an alcoholic, he just literally can't drink. Kinda like you and smooshing your sammitch: eating disorder. Drinking…prob…lem." The bitch face remains, so Dean clears his throat and moves on. "So what happened?"

"I was trying to eat, but my hands are freezing again, so it was hard to hold the sandwich. And then just opening my mouth wide enough for the sandwich made my ribs twinge, and I dropped it. Then I tried to catch it but I fell off the bed."

Dean smirks. "You sure you're not filming a scene from Airplane III?" Sam gives him a look that says 'Very Funny,' so Dean drops the topic but not the smirk. "All right, on your feet, Sasquatch Sam." He helps him up and then eases him back onto the bed. Telling him to lift his arms, Dean then pulls Sam's mayo-smeared shirt off and has a look at the wraps around Sam's ribs. "Looks like it didn't soak through, so that's good. What's the pain number now?"

"Five." Now Sam is on the receiving end of the glare, so he owns up, "Fine, eight. Beds are nice, but the carpeting's shit."

"Yeah, yeah. Write a note for the Complaint Box while I order you another BLT."

"It's okay, Dean, I still have soup over there," Sam points to the tray on the table, but quickly tucks his hand to his side so Dean doesn't see his shaking finger. "I'll just eat that. Have to take my ibuprofen anyway…"

"Screw that. I know I've got some of the good stuff left…" Dean goes to his duffel to dig out the medicine bag, but is surprised to find a small bottle of NyQuil tucked in that wasn't there before. He holds it out for Sam to see. "What's this?"

"What's it look like?"

"Cold and flu medicine from the good people at Vick's." Dean looks at his brother, touched that he remembered. "You got this for me?"

"It's about time someone did," Sam replies with a smile. Dean nods and then hides his feelings with humor, as per usual.

"So you bought me medicine for the cold I don't have but you couldn't order me some grub while you were at it?"

"Hey, you've got working fingers, and the phone's right there…" Sam points with his right hand, but as his arm crosses his chest, another twinge of pain hits him, and he moans. He wraps an arm over his torso, but his skin is like ice, and instead of numbing the pain, it just makes the goose bumps spread. This he can't hide—not that Dean had missed any of his earlier attempts, anyway. Dean looks from Sam to the soup to the TV, back to Sam, and then, puffing out a sigh, he starts to grow. "What are you doing?" Sam asks.

"Redecorating," Dean answers, turning away from his brother and looking at his own bed. He expands until he's about 15-feet tall and bent over so that he doesn't smash through the ceiling. Next he makes quick work of rearranging the room, taking the mattresses off his bed, picking the bed frame up and tilting it against the wall, and pulling the table over so that it's within reach. Resting the mattresses back on the floor, Dean sits down on them, throws a blanket and a few pillows over his Area, and then looks at Sam. "Well? You gonna move over here on your own or do I hafta put you there myself?"

"Where?" Dean pats his lap, and Sam gets pissy. "No way. I'm not a baby."

"Well you're about as strong as one right now, so either you sit down here and use me for support while you eat, or I shrink down and feed you the soup myself. Your choice, Sammy."

Sam hisses out a long exhale but ultimately chooses the Dean the Chair over Dean the Feeding Machine. His brother's giant hand is right there for Sam to lean on as he lowers his aching body off the bed. Then he sits there feeling awkward yet oddly comfortable (which only makes him feel more awkward): his brother's body is radiating heat again, and his flesh is firm but has just enough give to allow Sam to pretend he's resting on a sofa.

"Good?" Dean asks, and Sam nods. "Good. Soup's on in one sec." Dean lifts the tray off the table and rests it over Sam's much smaller lap. Sam steadies it so it won't spill, and as he lifts the cover off the soup bowl, Dean wraps his long left arm over his brother, holding him close but not squeezy-close. "There," he says. "Now eat while I find something for us to watch."

Sam looks up at him. "What about your food?"

"Meh, not hungry. I'm still in the post-sauna afterglow."

"Oh yeah…how'd things go with the brunette?"

"Not great. Went for a swim with her husband, so I was in the sauna alone."

"That sucks, man."

"AND they only let me stay in for 30 minutes—what a gyp! Some bullshit about dehydrating." Dean sighs as he reaches for the remote. "But it still felt good…sauna-ing is definitely for me."

"Stop using it as a verb."

"Stop harshing on my fun."

Dean clicks the TV on and flips through the hotel's options until he comes upon one of the movie channels. Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers has just started, and Dean grins and says "all right!" as he sets the remote down. He grabs all the remaining pillows and sets them behind his broad back, settling in for the long movie. He glances down at his brother and notes the spoon still resting next to the bowl. "Eat your soup, Sammy. Second my ass goes numb, I'm getting up, whether or not your bowl's empty."

Sam picks up the spoon and jabs his elbow into the cushion behind him, but instead of the expected grumble, the 'sofa' twinges and lets out a gasp of pain. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Dean asks back.

Sam jabs him again, but this time nothing happens. He glares, knowing his brother has his muscles tensed so he won't feel anything. He gives him an extra hard jab out of spite, and Dean responds with his own glare.

"Do you mind, Pokey Brewster? I'm trying to watch a movie here. Eat your soup already!"

Sam faces forward again, but as he watches Gandalf plummet from the bridge, he decides on a different tactic. He waits until the wizard wraps his hand around Glamdring before he scoffs, "Okay, there is no way he could fall fast enough to catch up with his sword." He smirks as Dean groans above him.

"Not this again…"

"I'm just saying the physics—"

"—don't matter because one, this is Middle Earth, and two, Gandalf is a wizard!"

"If he's a wizard, he should just stop himself in mid-air with a spell."

"He's not that kind of wizard."

"Then what kind is he?"

Keeping his left arm around his stubborn little brother, Dean leans to his right so he can look him in the face. "If you want to watch wizardy wizards, wait for Harry Potter to come on, all right? In Tolkien's world, the five wizards are more like scholars, y'know? Wise wizards, not wand-waving, zappy wizards."

"I know, and I think it's really cool how he can talk to animals and speak all the different languages, but would it kill him do to more magic?" Sam goes on, knowing he's getting to Dean by the increased heartbeat behind him. "I mean, they're always talking about how powerful he is, but he never DOES anything with that power except for one measly teleport in the first movie."

"What about breaking the bridge of Khazad-dûm?" Dean fires back. "What about wielding the secret fire stone? What about summoning lightning and killing the freaking Balrog?! What about—!" Dean does a sharp intake and leans back, right hand clutching at his heart. Sam sets the tray down on the floor next to Dean's leg and then gets to his feet. He wraps his arms around his aching torso but still manages to throw a know-it-all look at his brother.

"I knew it! You're still hurting. Admit it!"

Dean catches his breath and scowls at Sam. "Move out of the way, you're blocking the view."

"So we're back to this, huh? I have to be completely open and honest with you about how I'm doing, but if YOU'RE hurting, you get to keep secrets."

"I wasn't keeping it secret," Dean retorts. "I just…wasn't bringing it up."

"Same difference."

"No it isn't…"

"To ME it is! Dean…" Sam sees his brother still trying to watch the movie, so he turns around and switches off the TV.

"Hey! I was watching that."

"You've seen it a million times. Now tell me what's going on."

Dean starts to sigh out, only to suck the breath back in at the latest twinge of pain in his chest. He sees the worry on Sam's face and assumes Big Brother mode. "It's not that bad. I'm fine."

Sam shakes his head at him, looking cross. "Why do you do that? Why do you always say you're fine when you're not?"

"Uh, you do the same thing, dude…"

"I know, and it's stupid! Why can't we just say, 'no, I'm not fine, I feel shitty and I hate it and it really sucks'? Would it kill us to just admit it for once?" Sam huffs and turns away from Dean, expecting the usual, smartass answer. So it's a shock when Dean mutters something else entirely:

"What kills us is the worry." Dean looks plainly at Sam as he faces him again. "It's like I was saying before, all the shit we carry with us. The last thing I want to do is add worry to the pile, y'know? It's just extra weight. I don't want you dealing with how I'm feeling when I can deal with it on my own. I know it's the same way with you when it comes to me…" He glances at Sam, who eventually nods.

"I'm going to worry about you whether you tell me what's going on or not. But if you tell me, at least I'll know what we're dealing with, instead of letting my imagination make it ten times worse…"

"What 'we're' dealing with?" Dean repeats.

"Well, yeah, Dean—your pain is my pain and vice versa. It's not about burdens or, or…proving yourself. It's about support. Me and you." Sam rests his hand on one of Dean's big biceps to show said support. "So just let me help you, same way I let you help me, okay?"

Dean bites his lower lip as he thinks on it a moment. "Can we keep watching the movie?" he asks, mouth pouting but eyes hopeful, and Sam smiles.

"As long as it doesn't hurt."

"Only when you poke me in the ribs." He pats his lap again, and Sam settles back down into his makeshift armchair. "I think it's whatever Zachariah did to me…shocking my insides over and over again. My heart and lungs kinda burn. It's why I went down to the sauna: I was hoping it would take some of the ache away. But then they only let me stay in there for half an hour, so I had to get out just when it was starting to feel a little better…"

"Here." Sam taps the bowl of soup with his spoon to draw Dean's attention to it. "We'll split the soup. It's a cure-all."

"You sure? I can always get my own."

"And we can always get more. Right now I'm warm and comfy and my ribs are letting me eat, so I say we eat."

Dean smiles down at him. "Okay, Sammy. You got it. How about you eat a few bites and then I'll take a few slurps, and we'll go like that till it's done?"

"Deal." Sam takes his first spoonful of soup as Dean switches the movie back on. Frodo is with Samwise now, climbing down the side of a cliff.

"All right, it's the extended cut!" Dean beams.

"How can you tell?"

"Cos I've seen this movie a million times," he both reminds and quotes Sam. "And the elvish rope scene is in the extended cut. Don't question the master, Sammy."

Sam chuckles. "Yeah, okay, Nerd Master. Here, your turn for soup."

The big hand takes bowl from the tray and brings it to Dean's lips. As he takes a small slurp, Sam asks, "Hey, um…once we're feeling better and back to normal…"

"Whatever passes for normal in our lives," Dean jokes after he swallows the soup.

"Yeah, well do you think, sometimes, we could go back to having Big Nights?"

Dean looks down at it him in surprise. "Uh…sure! If you wanna, and it's not raining... Why?"

Sam can't help but blush. "I kinda…miss them. I sleep better when I'm in my pocket bed…don't get nightmares nearly as much. Plus you're, y'know…comfy. Better than a motel bed, anyway."

"I sleep better on those nights, too. Weird, huh?" Dean is a little red in the face himself as he looks back at the screen, and he passes the bowl back to his brother. "Sure thing, Sammy. I like you better when you're comfy, anyway. You don't bitch half as much as usual."

"Think you could puff up your pecs a little so I can get some pillows behind my neck?"

"Don't push it."

Grinning, Sam dips his spoon into the soup. As he raises it to his lips, his head and neck bob forward slightly as the pecs push out bigger. Neither of them says a word.

Neither of them has to.

THE END

A/N Additional: Now if only they'd open up like that on the show itself, right? LOL. It was SO nice to get to write some banter again! Hope you enjoyed it as well. Please let me know what you thought of it! And thank you, once again, for sticking around on this long and wild ride. ::HUGS:: to all!