A/N: Oyyyyy. So, so sorry it's been so long. I couldn't figure out how to finish this or where to really go next. This chapter is about 6 times the length of all the other ones, so hopefully that makes up for it? Just a little? I decided to throw in a lot of hurt Dean cause I wanted it... :) Once again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read, and I'm sorry if there's anyone I didn't reply to - I definitely will this time around. Thanks guys, you've all been wonderful!

Sam knelt by Bobby and his brother, helping Dean sit up. Sam knew Dean's chest had to be a mess, but he was also concerned by the large, still-bleeding gash on Dean's forehead. "How bad is he?" Sam asked Bobby, choosing to ignore the annoyed look Dean shot him and the mumbled "He's right here."

Bobby shook his head. "I can't tell – it's too dark for me to see but I think the Devil got him good this time. Let's just get out of here, get him back to the motel."

Sam nodded, turning to Dean. "You think you can stand?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "Help me up." Both Bobby and Sam had to give Dean a hand standing and it took him a few more minutes after that before he was ready to move. Once his panting breaths had slowed down and he seemed steadier on his feet, the three made their way slowly across the muddy field, Sam doing his best to shield his brother from the grizzly sight of Brian's and Gary's bodies. They'd call in an anonymous tip in the morning – hopefully the final casualties of the Jersey Devil for quite awhile.

The forest had grown eerily quiet, the only sound the soft patter of the rain against the trees and Dean's pain-filled gasps as they continued their trek. Dean gripped Sam's shoulder tightly, trying his best to keep moving, to stay conscious. Sam didn't say anything and for that he was grateful. Dean knew his brother was worried but all he wanted to concentrate on right now was getting somewhere warm and dry. His chest was on fire, the latest gashes much deeper than the previous ones and he could feel a sharp pain on his left side, undoubtedly from broken or cracked ribs. In addition to all that, he was certain he had a concussion. The forest was spinning around him and his head was pounding.

"Almost there," Dean heard Bobby say aloud, though the statement didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular and Dean assumed he was trying to reassure himself as much as he was the boys. As it turned out, though, he wasn't wrong, and after a few more minutes they found themselves in front of the narrow, steep path leading out of the woods.

"Sam," Dean whispered. The long walk had taken its toll on him. He was freezing and the blood loss was making him feel woozy. There was no way he was making it down this path.

"I know," Sam responded. "We'll take it slow, Dean. We don't have a choice – this is the only way out."

"I'll go first," Bobby volunteered, gently removing Dean's arm from around his shoulder and walking to the edge of the path. "Sam, give me your bag." Sam handed it over without question, knowing he'd probably need both arms free in case Dean passed out. Bobby looked over at Dean who was hanging limply against Sam's shoulder. "Almost done, boy," he said, nodding once and then turning back to the path. "If you two fall on me, I'll kill ya."

Sam smiled as he watched Bobby begin the descent. The path looked treacherous, to say the least, and he had a feeling they'd all lose their footing at least once on the trip down, probably multiple times. Bobby grabbed onto trees for support, sliding as the mud gave way under his feet. He turned back to the boys, signaling that they should follow.

"Okay bro," Sam said, "just lean on me."

The first half of the descent was easier than Sam had anticipated. Dean was obviously trying his hardest to be able to walk on his own and it made it easier for Sam to support him. Sam could hear his brother's breathing getting shallower, his breaths coming in short pants and he pulled to a halt, crouching down in front of Dean. "Deep breaths, Dean," Sam instructed, worried that Dean didn't seem to be capable of complying.

"Ca...n't," Dean choked out, his voice hitching on the word, his eyes conveying the panic he was experiencing at the inability to catch his breath.

"Yes you can," Sam insisted. Bobby had also stopped when he realized the boys were no longer following and he doubled back, coming to stand by Sam, immediately seeing what the problem was.

Dean was on the verge of hyperventilating, the fear causing his breathing to speed up even more. He took one last gasping breath before his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward, Sam just barely managing to catch him before he hit the ground.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, shifting his brother's weight to get a better look at him. Bobby had crouched down next to Sam and was checking Dean's pulse, satisfied that it was strong, if a bit fast. He then turned to Dean's chest, pulling back the layers of clothing to examine the latest wounds."Punctured lung?" Sam asked Bobby nervously.

Bobby shook his head after a few seconds. "I don't think so, Sam. I think he's just exhausted – and terrified. He's been through a lot in the last week." Sam looked back down at his brother, noticing that his breathing had slowed slightly, becoming steadier than it had been when he was conscious. "He still has some pretty serious injuries though," Bobby pointed out. "And the fever seems to have gone up. We need to get him out of here."

Sam nodded, helping to shift some of Dean's weight onto Bobby's shoulder. They both managed to stand with Dean hanging limply between them. "Slow and steady," Bobby instructed, and they continued their descent.

Dean came to when they had almost reached the bottom of the path, and Sam was thankful he had been out of it for most of the hike down. The bottom half of the path was far more treacherous than the top half had been and Sam could only imagine how much pain Dean would have been in had he been conscious.

For how weak Dean was, he put up a surprising fight when he awoke, trying to swing at Bobby, then Sam, confused and disoriented. It took a considerable effort on both their parts to calm him down and it was only by some miracle that they didn't tumble the rest of the way to the bottom of the path.

"Dean," Sam said calmly, patiently once Dean had given in. "It's okay, you're alright. We're just trying to get back to the car, remember?" Dean nodded slightly, though Sam wasn't sure he truly did remember. "Just a little further, Dean," he said encouragingly, moving forward with Bobby's help, the two of them still carrying a majority of Dean's weight.

The Impala seemed illuminated in the dim moon light, a beacon in the night. Sam let out a relieved sigh and Bobby echoed his sentiment. "There's m' baby," Dean murmured and Sam chuckled at that. Dean didn't put up a fight when they ushered him into the back seat, instead collapsing against the comfort and familiarity of the car's soft leather, seemingly unconcerned that he was getting dirt and blood all over the car's interior.

"How you doing boy?" Bobby asked once he and Sam had stowed the weapons and had climbed into the car. Dean was a mess – his whole body covered in dirt and blood and he was shivering relentlessly. He gave Bobby a weak thumb's up before closing his eyes, knowing that he couldn't fool the older hunter. "Yeah I'm sure," Bobby grunted, turning forwards again as Sam started the car.

Dean was asleep – or passed out – by the time they reached the motel, and Bobby and Sam went ahead and prepared the room before attempting to extricate him from the car. Sam looked at Bobby expectantly, but Bobby held up his hands, backing away. "I don't think so, Sam. There's only room for one of us to pull him out of the car and I'm not gonna be the one he swings at."

Sam smirked, nodding. He hadn't actually expected Bobby to volunteer for the job, but it was worth a try. "Yeah, yeah," he said, reaching in to shake his brother. Unsurprisingly, Dean reacted the way he had in the woods, but Sam was ready and easily dodged the first swing. Dean seemed to be more aware of the situation this time around and he allowed Sam to help him from the car, shaking him off once he was vertical.

"I'm fine, Sam. Get off," Dean insisted, though the shaky steps he took towards the motel room belied the reality of the situation, and Sam made sure to stay close in case he fell.

Dean stopped at the door of the motel room as a coughing fit overtook him, stealing his breath. He put his hand to his chest, feeling the give in the ribs on his left side. "Perfect," he murmured quietly, finally straightening up once the coughing had died down. "I'm fine, Sam," he repeated before Sam even had the chance to ask, and he smirked when he heard Sam's pissy response.

They set Dean up on the bed closest to the bathroom, attempting to strip him of his torn and stained clothing, Dean fighting against them the whole time. "Personal space, dude," Dean muttered when Sam had tried to get Dean's jeans off.

"Well then you take them off, Dean. They're soaking wet and you're shivering."

Dean grunted, struggling to get out of the soaked denim, having a very difficult time as every attempt seemed to send jolts of pain through his body. After five minutes of what ended up being nothing more than ineffectual wriggling, he looked up at Sam pathetically, refusing to give in and ask for help.

"You're really something," Sam huffed, grabbing a hold of Dean's jeans and managing to get them off with remarkable ease, flashing Dean a triumphant smile.

"Shut up," Dean mumbled under his breath, closing his eyes and trying to take a deep breath, wheezing on the exhale. Sam saw the grimace on Dean's face and the gravity of the situation immediately returned to him.

"Dean," Sam said, shaking him slightly when he didn't open his eyes. "We need to get your shirt off, see how bad the cuts are." Dean nodded but didn't attempt to help him. Bobby came to the other side of the bed, helping Dean sit up while Sam lifted the edges of the shirt, pulling them up and over his brother's head. "Shit," Sam murmured when they'd gotten off Dean's shirt. The cuts were much worse than he had anticipated. They weren't just deeper, but they spanned almost the entire length of Dean's chest. He reached out to probe the wounds, worried that the dirt and grime imbedded in the cuts had already caused infection to set in. It would certainly explain Dean's high fever.

"Sam," Dean's pain-filled cry stopped Sam and he pulled back his hand. Dean looked up at him, his eyes bleary and unfocused.

"Dean," Sam responded, reaching a hand up to feel Dean's forehead, frowning at how much hotter he felt. Dean shook his head weakly, trying to get Sam's hand off his head, and that somehow managed to calm Sam a little.

"Water?" Dean croaked out, opening his mouth slightly. Bobby appeared with a glass and helped Dean lean forward.

"Small sips," Bobby instructed when Dean tried to drink greedily from the glass. He handed Dean a few painkillers and forced him to down them with the last of the water.

"We need to clean these wounds, man," Sam said gently once Dean had finished drinking. "It's gonna hurt." Dean nodded in understanding, closing his eyes again. Bobby had brought over a bowl of lukewarm water and some washcloths. "These look bad, Bobby," Sam said quietly.

"I know," Bobby answered. "I didn't want to worry you out in the woods. There was nothing we could do out there. He's gonna be okay," Bobby added when he Saw the concern on Sam's face.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, though his voice hitched slightly on the word. "He's always okay."

Sam and Bobby got started cleaning out the wounds, examining them to see whether stitches were required. All of the cuts looked bad, but luckily only two were still bleeding rather steadily. Even so, Sam had a difficult time trying to do an adequate stitch job, struggling to keep a steady hand while Dean shifted and writhed on the bed. Though the stitches weren't pretty, they did the job, and Sam and Bobby packed them with antibiotic ointment in order to protect against further infection. Dean remained as stoic as he could, but he was clearly in pain, unable to stop himself from whimpering from time to time when the pain got the best of him. He was no longer making snarky comments or attempting to fight their ministrations and that worried Sam almost as much as the bloody cuts did.

But the cuts weren't the only wounds that the Jersey Devil had inflicted on Dean. Once Bobby and Sam had cleared away the dirt and the blood, they were able to see clearly-defined bruises where the Devil had trampled Dean. "Bobby," Sam murmured when he saw the deep bruising, "shit."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed. "I didn't expect that." Bobby palpated Dean's chest gently, feeling for any depressed areas which would indicate broken or cracked ribs. He found one – just above Dean's belly button on the left side of his stomach. Dean's eyes shot open when Bobby pressed down, and he cried out in shock and pain, gasping for breath just as he had in the woods.

Sam immediately tried to calm him, putting a steadying hand behind his back and grasping his other hand firmly. "Breathe, Dean," he instructed, a feeling of deja vu washing over him. But this time Dean didn't hyperventilate and he managed to calm down considerably.

"I think he broke a few on the left side," Bobby told Sam, "but we can't wrap them, not with those cuts." Sam agreed, and Bobby went to get ice from the vending area outside the room. Sam focused on cleaning out the head wound while Bobby was gone, thankful that stitches weren't necessary. Sam cleaned the cut with alcohol and placed a butterfly bandage over it. Dean came to just as he'd finished.

"Sam," Dean cried out weakly again, and Sam bent down to hear him better. "We...get...him?" he sputtered, his breath still slightly ragged.

"Yeah, Dean, we got him," Sam told him, worried that Dean didn't seem to remember. He couldn't tell if it was the fever or concussion, but either way Sam was concerned. Bobby came back into the room, carrying a bucket of ice and setting it down on the nightstand.

"How's he doing?" Bobby asked, noticing that Dean had closed his eyes again.

"Seems confused," Sam told him worriedly. "I think he might have a concussion."

"Damn," Bobby said softly. "Kid can't catch any breaks, can he?" Sam huffed out something between a laugh and a sob, shaking his head. "You got a thermometer?" Bobby asked after a minute.

"Yeah, should be in the first-aid kit," Sam answered, rifling through the fully-stocked kit, pulling out the desired instrument and handing it to Bobby.

Bobby turned back to Dean, intending to wake him up and was surprised to see Dean's eyes open, blinking tiredly. "Need to check your temp, kid," Bobby said gently, and Dean opened his mouth slightly, letting Bobby put the thermometer in. "102.7," he said grimly when it finally beeped.

"Bobby," Sam said quietly, not wanting Dean to hear. "You don't think the Jersey Devil could still be causing the fever, do you? We exorcised it."

"But we don't know if the victims can be cured, Sam," Bobby pointed out. "No one else survived."

"Dammit!" Sam shouted, frustrated. Dean looked over at him, scooting up against the headboard with Bobby's assistance. Sam returned to the bed, pulling up the chair and sinking into it.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean told him, "Doesn't feel like before." He paused, putting a hand to his still-aching head. "Don't think it's the Devil."

"But we can't be sure, Dean," Sam said, his voice still raised, though he didn't miss the fact that Dean didn't seem at all confused anymore. "What if it is? What if that sonofabitch isn't done?"

"Sam," Bobby said, his voice considerably lower in deference to Dean's obvious discomfort from the head wound. "You're right – we can't be sure. So there's no point in worrying over something we won't be able to determine. We'll treat his injuries best we can, and if he takes a turn for the worse, we'll deal with it then."

"What he said," Dean agreed quietly. "And lower your voice, Sammy."

"Sorry," Sam apologized, looking guilty. "Okay then, you're stitched, dosed, and cleaned up. Time to work on that fever, then." Dean groaned, slinking back down on the bed, his shivering increasing as Bobby and Sam placed bags of ice around him. "Sleep, Dean," Sam ordered gently. "We're gonna wake you up soon for concussion checks anyway."

Dean closed his eyes and Sam heard him grumble something that sounded distinctly like "fuck you, Sam."

"What was that, Dean?" Sam asked, amused.

"Said 'thank you, Sam,'" Dean answered innocently.

Sam laughed, "Yeah sure. Get some rest." He nudged Dean's arm, adding a quiet "pain in the ass," as an afterthought. Once he was sure Dean was sleeping and as comfortable as he could get, he turned to Bobby. "Your turn, Bobby. I know you haven't slept in more than a day. I'll be fine watching him tonight. Get some rest."

Bobby was going to protest, but he knew Sam was right. Plus, they didn't need two people to wait around watching Dean sleep. "Yeah okay," he agreed reluctantly. "But wake me up if he gets worse." Sam assured him he would and Bobby climbed into the other bed, falling asleep the second his head touched the pillows.

Sam got up, turned off the lights and then returned to Dean's side. Though Sam could see he was sleeping, it didn't seem to be a sound sleep at all. Dean's whole body was quaking with shivers and he would flinch every few minutes, letting out involuntary gasps of pain. Sam decided to wake him before the two hours were up, when it seemed like Dean was in genuine pain. He shook his brother's shoulder gently, trying his best not to startle him too much and cause Dean to hurt himself further.

Dean woke up rather quickly – he hadn't been in a deep sleep to begin with. Sam asked him the usual post-concussion questions, satisfied with the answers he received, but not happy with the trouble Dean seemed to be having with breathing. Those damn ribs, he thought grimly. "How bad's the pain, Dean?"

Dean was breathing hard again, the wheezes more pronounced than before. "Not...good," Dean answered, and Sam assumed that was one of the main reasons for the shallow breaths.

"Okay, I know it hurts, but you need to take deeper breaths, Dean. I don't want you fainting again."

Dean glared at him. "Didn't...faint."

"Like a girl."

Dean ignored that comment, trying his best to do as Sam instructed. "Ahh," he cried out as his head wound decided to make itself known.

"Dean?" Sam asked, concern ratcheting up a notch.

"My head," Dean answered shortly, pressing his fingers into his temples, trying to force the pain away.

Sam left him for a second, grabbing the painkillers from the kit and a bottle of water. "Dean," he shook his brother's arm gently. Dean opened one eye to glare at him, eyeing the water and pills and swallowing thickly.

"Feel sick," he said, shaking his head slightly.

Sam looked sympathetic. "If you get sick, then I'll figure out something else, but we might as well try the painkillers." Dean seemed steadfast so Sam went for his fail safe, adding a quiet "please," to back up the pleading look he was giving him. "Seriously, Dean. I'm sick of seeing you in pain."

Dean looked unconvinced but he held out his hand for the pills, popping them into his mouth and taking a swig of the water Sam handed him. "Why's the bed all wet?" Dean asked drowsily after a few minutes had passed, the pills starting to take effect.

Sam seemed confused, then remembered the ice he and Bobby had used to try and cool Dean down. "Oh!" he shouted, jumping up. "The ice packs," he said picking one up. "Shit."

Dean squirmed on the bed, knocking the other ice packs to the ground. "'S cold, Sam."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Gonna have to change the sheets." He went over to the closet, pulled out a spare set of sheets and set them on the nightstand so he could help Dean up. Dean was sitting on the bed, feet on the floor and his head bent low, nearly touching his chest. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his busted ribs and his breathing was labored. Sam crouched down in front of him. "C'mon, man. Let's get this over with."

Dean nodded, reaching a hand out as Sam bent to wrap Dean's arm around his shoulder, standing slowly to allow Dean to adjust to being vertical. They shuffled over to the chair Sam had abandoned and Sam lowered his brother down very carefully. Even so, Dean gasped in pain as his ribs shifted. "Sorry bro," Sam murmured.

"'S'okay," Dean grunted in reply.

Sam worked quickly, seeing Dean's head bobbing as he struggled to stay awake. He quickly pulled off the damp sheets, replacing them with the dry ones and tucking the edges in tight. "Ready to go back to bed?" Sam asked.

Dean pushed up off the chair without Sam's help, stumbling to the bed and collapsing, then curling in on himself at the pain the movement caused. Sam watched him, amused. "Really? I would have helped you."

Dean was still hunched over, cradling his ribs, but he snorted out a laugh. "I'm not a baby, Sam."

Sam just shook his head at his idiotic brother, picking up the damp sheets and piling them in the corner of the room. He returned just as Dean was attempting to straighten out as best he could. Sam leaned forward to feel Dean's forehead, thankful that the fever didn't seem to have gone up. "Try and get some more sleep," Sam told him.

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine, Dean. Bobby and I will switch in a little while."

That seemed to be a sufficient enough answer for Dean and he was soon drifting off to sleep again, aided by the painkillers he had taken earlier. Sam watched him for a little, but the stillness of the night combined with the utterly pitch-dark room were making it hard for him to keep his eyes open. He pulled out his phone and set an alarm for one hour just in case he happened to fall asleep by accident.

The alarm proved unnecessary – though Sam's eyes would drift shut on occasion, every little sound had him jolting awake. Dean seemed calmer than he had before, his sleeping no longer punctuated by frequent groans of pain and Sam had decided to forgo getting more ice packs, seeing as how the last ones hadn't done much more than soak Dean's sheets. It could have been minutes or hours later when Dean started to stir again, but Sam was still wide awake and immediately by his brother's side.

"Hey Dean, how you feeling?" Sam asked, watching as Dean opened his eyes, looking once at Sam and then shutting them tightly. "Dean?" Sam asked again, concerned that his brother hadn't answered.

Dean rolled onto his uninjured side, facing Sam and swallowing hard. "Sammy," he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't...feel good," he choked out, putting a hand to his mouth as he hiccoughed slightly.

"It's okay man, I'm here," Sam told him, putting an arm underneath his brother's armpit, managing to get him into a sitting position. Sam had placed the trash can by Dean's bed earlier just in case and he helped him lean over it. Dean groaned, clutching at his ribs, panting heavily as the nausea and dizziness increased with the change in position. He spit into the can as water flooded his mouth, trying his best not to be sick, knowing how much that would hurt his busted ribs.

"Sam," he groaned again, didn't know what his brother could do to help him.

"Breathe, Dean," Sam told him, and Dean huffed out a frustrated breath, ended up gagging instead. He groaned one more time before emptying his stomach into the receptacle. Sam kept his arm wrapped tightly around Dean's back, holding him steady as he continued to heave.

The pain was nearly unbearable and Dean cried out as his broken ribs shifted and the cuts on his chest pulled. By the time his stomach calmed, Dean was shaking hard against Sam's arm. Sam looked over to Bobby's bed, seeing the older hunter stir but remain asleep.

"Dean," Sam whispered quietly. Dean didn't answer but Sam could hear his teeth chattering as his body continued to quake against Sam. Sam reached a hand out, palming Dean's forehead. Instead of the fever that had burned so high earlier in the night, Dean was now clammy, cold sweat beading across his forehead. "Dean," Sam said again, beginning to panic at his brother's unresponsiveness. Dean had closed his eyes tightly and his skin looked gray. "Shit," Sam muttered, recognizing the signs of shock. He placed his fingers against Dean's carotid, worry increasing when he felt the weak but rapid pulse. "No, no, no. Don't do this Dean," Sam pleaded. "Bobby!" Sam called out, knowing he needed the older hunter's help.

Bobby was up almost immediately, needing just a moment to take in the situation. "What's going on?" he barked out, rounding the other bed to come stand near the brothers.

"Think he's going into shock. Pulse is weak, skin is clammy, and he's unresponsive."

"Balls," Bobby muttered and Sam could see how worried he was. "Let's get him on the floor, Sam." Bobby bent down, putting an arm around Dean's back.

"Watch his ribs, Bobby," Sam warned, standing up slowly with Dean's arm draped over his shoulder. The two moved carefully, trying to prevent further injury, and gently placed Dean so he was lying flat on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Bobby knelt by Dean's head, trying to get him to respond, realizing that Sam didn't seem to know what to do to help. "Bring me some pillows," he told Sam. Sam grabbed all the pillows off the bed returning to Dean's side, again waiting for Bobby's orders. Sam knew how to deal with shock – John Winchester had made sure his sons knew the signs, how to prevent it and how to remedy it – but it was just too much for him to remember right now and Bobby's instructions were both welcome and necessary. "Okay let's get his feet elevated," Bobby told him, lifting up Dean's legs while Sam slid the pillows underneath them. "Feet above the heart," Bobby reminded him and Sam nodded, piling more and more pillows on top.

Sam pulled one of the blankets off the bed, spreading it over Dean's still-shaking form. "Salt water, right?" Sam asked, uncapping one of the water bottles and putting a few pinches of rock salt in it, bringing it back to Bobby who was gently slapping Dean's face, trying to get him to come around.

"Good job," Bobby told him, taking the bottle from Sam. He lifted Dean's head slightly, frowning at Dean's unfocused, glassy eyes. "C'mon son," he encouraged Dean, putting the bottle up to his mouth and tipping it back. Water trickled into Dean's mouth and he sputtered, spitting out the salty liquid.

"Dean, you need to drink," Sam said from his perch at the other side of Dean's head.

Dean seemed aware of his brother's presence, his dull eyes reflecting recognition, even if he didn't acknowledge him. Bobby tipped the bottle back again, holding Dean's mouth closed so he couldn't spit it out this time. Dean swallowed the water, grimacing at the taste and coughing a little.

"S...a...m," Dean whispered, and Sam was just happy that Dean was talking, even if he still looked and sounded awful.

"Hey man," Sam answered, frowning when he saw Dean's throat muscles working, realizing the water wasn't going to stay down. "Shit, Bobby turn him." Sam supported Dean's head while Bobby did his best to turn him without causing further pain. Dean heaved weakly, vomiting water and bile onto the rug, groaning in misery. "Shhh," Sam comforted, "almost over," he promised.

"No...more," Dean pleaded, and Sam assumed he meant the salt water.

"You're going into shock, Dean. You need it," Sam insisted.

Dean shook his head weakly. "Don't wanna puke again. Hurts."

Sam turned to Bobby. "Is there anything else we can do?"

Bobby looked at Dean, concern evident on his face. "He should be in a hospital, Sam. But Leed's Point doesn't have one and I think the trip out of here would only make him worse. He's in too much pain as it is."

Sam nodded, even more scared than he'd been before. "He threw up the painkillers I gave him earlier."

Bobby sighed. "The vomiting is only aggravating the chest injuries, so no more water or pills. I may have some morphine in my kit in the car. Stay with him, make sure his breathing is okay. I'll be right back."

Sam helped Dean roll onto his back again. "How's the pain, bro?"

"Awesome," Dean bit out. He was breathing slightly faster than normal, but Sam didn't think it was the biggest concern right now and he was just happy Dean was responding. "What's goin' on? Where's Bobby?" Dean slurred.

"Went to get morphine – help with the pain. Be honest, how do you feel?" Dean closed his eyes, humming softly. "Dean?"

"Dizzy," he finally admitted. "Chest hurts."

Sam nodded. He'd expected that, but to actually hear Dean say it was worrying. Still, the constant shivering seemed to have subsided a little and the fact that Dean was talking to him, was aware – to an extent – was definitely a good sign. "Bobby and I were worried about shock. From the pain," he explained. "Hopefully the morphine will help."

Dean didn't respond but Sam saw him move his head slightly in a nod. Sam turned his attention to Bobby when he came bustling in, his own med kit in hand. "Got the morphine," he said triumphantly.

Bobby was well-practiced in first aid and injected the morphine without even batting an eye. Dean was drifting again, more comfortable now. Sam felt for his pulse, noting it was more steady now, slower. "Better?" he asked his brother.

"Mmhm."

"Okay, we're gonna keep you down on the floor for a little, alright?" Bobby asked, putting away the syringe and pulling the blanket back over Dean. "Sam's gonna get some sleep, but just ask me if you need anything."

"Good make sure...sleeps," Dean murmured as he fell asleep.

"You heard him, Sam," Bobby said, turning to the younger brother. "Get some sleep, kid."

"In a little, I swear. Just wanna make sure he's okay."

"His pulse is slower and his color's better. He's barely shivering anymore. You did good, Sam, but your body needs rest too. I'll take care of him."

Sam nodded, knowing he wouldn't stand a chance arguing with Bobby now anyway. "Okay. Wake me if...just wake me?"

"Of course."

"Kay, good. Thanks Bobby. For everything."

"Don't mention it, kid. Now get to bed."

Sam didn't wake until sunlight was streaming through the openings in the curtains, flickering on the carpet. He lay there for several minutes, trying to figure out why the sound of birds in the distance seemed so out-of-place, finally realizing that this was the first time that he'd heard them since arriving at Leed's Point.

Bobby's gruff "Hey kid," pulled him back into the present, and he sat quickly, anxious to see how his brother was doing. Dean no longer lay on the floor, instead curled up in the bed, blankets piled high on his still-sleeping form. "He woke up a few hours ago," Bobby explained. "Seemed so much better I didn't think it would hurt to try and get him comfortable." Sam nodded, the only piece of that sentence that really stuck with him was the "so much better" part.

Dean woke up after another hour, accepting the painkillers and water that Sam offered. "Thanks," he said, once the pain had dialed back a little. "What happened last night?"

"You don't remember?" Sam asked, concerned that maybe Dean hadn't improved as much as they had thought.

Dean blinked, trying to recall. "I remember pain...a lot. Not much else."

"That's probably for the best. It got scary, man." Dean grunted, pushing himself up against the headboard, wincing at the pull in his ribs. Sam offered him a hand. "You really feel better?"

"Still hurts like hell. But yeah, I feel better."

"Great!" Sam said a little too loudly, smiling for what felt like the first time in a week.

Dean continued to heal slowly but steadily, with no more complications or setbacks. Bobby and Sam returned to the woods, to the site of the final showdown, searching for any evidence of the Jersey Devil. Thankfully, they found none. "So one hundred years?" Sam asked Bobby on their trek out of the forest.

"Hopefully. I'll let other hunters know what we did in case it comes back before then."

Sam agreed, silently vowing that this was the last time they would be here, in Leeds Woods, regardless of whether or not the devil returned. "Sounds good, Bobby."

Bobby left a few days later, headed south to help out one of his friends on a poltergeist situation in Louisiana, but Sam refused to leave the town until he was satisfied Dean was well-enough to travel. Even then, Sam insisted on driving, threatening Dean with another week in the Devil's Lair motel unless he relinquished the keys. Sam sat in the driver's seat, holding out his hand expectantly.

"This is ridiculous, Sam. I'm fine. I can drive a damn car."

"Your ribs are still broken. You remember how rough the ride up here was – you really think you can handle the Impala in your condition?"

"Yes," Dean fumed, but gave up the argument because he knew Sam had a point. And he didn't want to risk hurting his baby if he lost control. He slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and dropping the keys into Sam's hand. "You so much as put a scratch on her, you're dead."

Sam laughed, turning the key in the ignition. "Whatever."

"I'm serious!" Dean looked back at the motel room and the town which somehow seemed far less ominous than it had when they'd arrived. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. "Can't wait to get away from here. If I never hear or see another thing about the Devil again, I'll die a happy man."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, amused. He took the desired cassette out of Dean's box of tapes and pushed it into the tape slot, putting the car in drive and pulling onto the road. Dean had closed his eyes, trying to sleep through the rough ride out. He opened an eye when he heard the first chords of the Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil playing out over the speakers, Sam's off-tune voice happily singing along.

"Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man's soul and faith."

"Sam," Dean warned.

Sam ignored him, turning up the volume and raising his voice.

"Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name."

"Sam!" Dean tried again. "Seriously?" He asked when Sam stopped singing and looked at him, flashing a smile. "Change it." Sam shook his head. "Okay, then I'll change it," he declared, hand reaching out to the dials. But Sam stopped him before he got the chance.

"Driver picks the music, Dean," Sam said, smiling at the incredulous look Dean shot him.

"Oh for the love of..."

"Shotgun shuts his cake hole." Dean glared at him, but Sam could see his lips twitching upwards in amusement and he nodded in defeat.

"Just drive, Mick Jagger. We better be far away from Jersey by the time I wake up."

Sam nodded, pressing down harder on the gas as he sped along the roads, leaving the town of Leeds Point behind for good.

At the edge of the woods, a pair of beady red eyes stared out, hidden in the dense underbrush of the forest. The creature watched, waiting in silence. Once the sleek, black car had passed by, it emerged from its crouch, stretching out its massive wings and making one giant push towards the sky, emitting a chilling, inhuman cry as it circled its woods.

In the Impala, Dean stirred awake, certain he had heard the familiar cry of the Jersey Devil. "Did you hear something?" he asked Sam, looking over at his brother.

Sam shook his head, though to be fair he hadn't really been paying attention. "Nah, it's probably just your imagination."

Dean hesitated, still unconvinced. "You're positive we got it, right?"

"Yes, Dean. Bobby and I even went back to look. No Jersey Devil. Now go to sleep."

"Kay," Dean agreed, putting his head against the glass and looking out at the clear-blue sky. As his eyes were drifting shut, he could have sworn he saw a large, birdlike creature circling the skies, but he shook it off again. Just my imagination, he repeated, closing his eyes and falling asleep to the soft hum of the Impala's engine as it took them far away from the Jersey woods.

A/N 2:
Here's my reasoning on the ending. I WAS just gonna have the thing with Sam and Dean in the car with the Rolling Stones song, but A) it seemed too abrupt and B) I really didn't want the Jersey Devil to just be gone. Where would the fun be in that? I had said previously in the story that even though the JD was still spotted after the exorcism, no one was really killed for 100 years...so technically the exorcism DID work, and we can assume that there won't be anymore problems in Leed's Point for quite awhile. But I didn't want it to just be gone, cause that kinda would take away the mystique from Jersey, and what else do we have besides Jersey Shore and Real Housewives of NJ? So there it is. I hope you enjoyed the story, all 19 chapters of it. Thank you so much for reading and I would LOVE to hear what you think. I signed up for 2 challenges in the hoodie time comment meme so you'll be seeing more of me rather soon. OK good night all!