Title: Welcome to My Nightmare

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: The Winchester boys are drawn to an abandoned Faire in the Virginia forest and, as usual, things do not go as planned. post 7x08 "s7 Time for a wedding" hurt/awesome!Sam/Dean

Author's Note: Last chapter! :D lots of hurt, lots of comfort and some BAMF to round things off. Heh.

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~

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"Guest room," Jim explained and smiled. "Usually it's a laid up Hunter using it. It's off the kitchen and has its own bathroom. Had it installed a few years ago after this one ornery Hunter ended up here. Rufus?"

Dean smirked and nodded. "Yeah, we're acquainted."

"Sour old pain in the ass," Jim chuckled. "I got tired of smelling him after three days and he couldn't get up the stairs to shower."

Dean had to laugh softly and could easily picture a wounded Rufus driving the doctor nuts. His estimation of the doctor went up another notch when they turned into the room and he saw there were two beds, rather than one with clean linens in a softly lit room of white walls and blue trim. His eyes passed over the open bathroom door and when Jim went for the near bed, Dean shook his head and aimed for the far instead. The gidin was still after them and he wasn't going to take chances. A lifetime of practice made it easy for him to take his brother's weight from Jim and ease him down onto the bed, careful not to jar his back and then he sat next to him; his energy finally spent.

"I'm going to grab a few things. Back in just a minute." Jim rested a hand on Dean's shoulder for a moment and then left him there.

"Ok, little brother." Dean put a hand to the side of his neck not sporting a damn bite mark and squeezed. "Any time you wanna wake up and stop freakin' me out is good."

Chapter 8

Dean stayed as far out of Jim's way as he was willing to go while the doctor started checking out his brother…which was the foot of Sam's bed. He'd come too damn close to losing Sam too many times in the last couple days and more than once because he hadn't been close enough or paying enough attention. He wasn't going to risk it happening again. He sucked in a breath after Jim cut Sam's ruined undershirt off him and got a look at the two, deep slashes to his abdomen.

"Shit," Dean hissed.

Jim bent over with a practice eye, pressing gloved fingers gently around the wound, feeling for damage the eye couldn't necessarily see. The boy had lost more blood than he'd liked, and Dean had assured him they were the same type so at least he didn't have that worry. He examined the wounds and leaned back after a moment to give Sam's brother a reassuring smile.

"I think it's alright really. Trust me. We'd smell it if something was perforated that shouldn't be." He paused. "Well, not that ANYTHING should be perforated at all, but you know what I mean. It could be much worse." He reached for a suture kit and raised a brow when Dean stopped him.

"You need holy water first," Dean told him. "Have to clean any wounds from that damn creature."

Jim sighed. "He's not going to punch me in the head when I use it, is he?" He smiled ruefully. "Rufus punched me in the head."

Dean snorted a laugh and gave a tired shrug. "No promises, man. He doesn't know you."

"Fantastic," Jim rolled his eyes for the 'fun' of treating Hunters.

"You have a laptop or computer here with Internet access?" Dean asked. "I need to look up some protection symbols to keep that thing from coming after us again until we're ready."

Jim nodded. "Yeah; out in the living room." He took a large thermos out of his bag and held it up. "You want to hold him down while I do this?"

Dean groaned and nodded. He got up and moved around the other side of the bed to lean over Sam and hold his arms in preparation. "Go ahead. Do it."

Jim's face firmed. He never liked causing his patients pain and he knew the poor boy in the bed was likely about to be screaming. He unscrewed the top and set it aside and then started pouring the holy water onto the open wounds in Sam's stomach. At first, there was only the bubble and hiss of the water, then Sam's whole body jerked in reaction and he came awake on a scream.

"DEAN!"

"Hey! Hey!" Dean fought to hold his struggling brother and catch his frantic eyes. "Sam! Look at me! Stop for a second!" Dean ordered and nodded when Jim pulled the water back. "Sam!"

Sam's stomach was a morass of white-hot pain, eating through him to his spine, and memories of the cage spun through his head, clouding his vision and his thoughts until finally his brother's voice broke through. He realized the cries he'd been hearing were his own, and his eyes snapped to Dean's. "Dean? Where…"

Dean sighed in relief and relaxed his grip a little. "We're at a friend of Bobby's." Dean told him calmly and smiled. "Doc here's cleaning out your wounds with holy water."

Sam scowled, looked down at Jim and back to his brother and then he rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back to the pillow. "Dammit…screamed…didn't I?"

Dean grinned. "Like a girl, little brother. Now hold on to me and let him finish, ok?"

Sam looked up at him and after a moment gave a small nod. He wrapped his hands around Dean's forearms, took a deep breath, and clenched his teeth.

"Ok." Dean nodded to Jim and felt Sam tense under him. He saw Jim plant a hand on Sam's hip to keep him from rolling away from the pain in order to do what needed to be done while Sam cried out and sobbed for air, and the grip Sam had on his arms was crushing. Finally the water stopped bubbling and Dean sagged in relief to look down at him again. "Ok, Sammy. That's your stomach done."

Sam cracked his eyes open to look up miserably. "Neck?"

Dean nodded while Jim moved up the bed to Sam's head. "No big deal, dude."

Jim put a gentle but firm hand on Sam's head and turned it away to have better access and began pouring the holy water. As with his stomach, the water hissed and steamed, and Sam's scream filled the room. Even though he knew it was necessary and for Sam's own good, hearing him screaming in agony like that tore at Dean's heart. But holding his brother down so that the torment could be inflicted on him…THAT, pierced him through to his very soul. With another strangled cry, Sam's back arched and then he simply collapsed onto the bed. "Sam?" Dean felt his brother's hands release his arms and panicked. "Sammy?"

"Take it easy, Dean," Jim had a hand on Sam's wrist and nodded. "He's just unconscious again."

"Son of a bitch," Dean groaned and sat on the side of the bed.

Jim felt for them. He didn't need more than five minutes in a room with them to see what put that particular tone in Bobby's voice on the phone. It had been very clear, though unsaid, that Singer considered these men family. The selfless way Dean looked after his little, albeit taller, brother without a thought for his own injuries spoke volumes.

"Anymore wounds on him I need to clean?" Jim asked softly.

Dean shook his head. "Don't think so." He gave the doctor a lopsided smile and pointed at his chest. "I've got a few though. They can wait. I'm good." Dean moved Sam's right arm so it was lying more naturally. "He wakes up again, you're gonna want me vertical. Check this arm too. Got bent under him funny when we were thrown in the pirate ship."

"Wait…" Jim turned and stared. "This story has pirates? I need to hear this later." He chuckled and picked up his suture kit and antiseptic then went and sat beside Sam's hip. "Hunters have the best stories."

Dean smirked and put a hand in Sam's hair when he started to roll his head. "Easy, Sammy," he said softly and his brother's head stilled.

An hour later, Sam's stomach was covered in bandages, his neck wrapped in gauze which had the benefit of hiding the bruises the gidin had left when he'd choked him. An IV line ran into his arm giving him much needed fluids, and Jim had even turned up a heart monitor. Dean laid on the other bed, listening to the comforting, steady, soft beep of his brother's heart while the doc taped bandages over Dean's chest. The holy water had hurt like white hot pokers drilling into his own chest, and he'd almost bit holes in the pillow to muffle his cries and not wake his brother, and still Sam had tossed on his bed, apparently hearing, or sensing, his brother's pain even in the depths of unconsciousness. Dean had tried to get up to go to him, only to have Jim's hand slap down on his wounded chest and leave him gasping with an order to 'stay'. Dean smirked and rested a hand over his aching chest. He liked Jim. He looked over at his brother, and, much as he wanted to stay there and get some sleep, they weren't safe yet.

Dean swung his legs off the bed and rolled up until his was sitting. He spent a moment leaning over and catching his breath. He was weaker than he should be and scowled at himself before standing shakily. He headed out in search of the computer and ran into the doctor in the hall.

"Dean. What did I tell you?" Jim said with an irritated scowl and took the man's shoulder, turning him around. "Bed. Now."

"Dammit, Jim. I need the computer," Dean argued as he was shoved and steered back into the room and down to sit on the side of the bed. "I need those protective sigils."

Jim took his arm out from behind his back and handed Dean a laptop. "Maybe you've heard of these. Portable computers? And there's this nifty concept called WiFi. Legs up before I sedate you and call Bobby."

Dean stared with his mouth hanging open and then chuckled. He laid back and took the laptop. "Uh….thanks. You have more holy water?"

Jim nodded and raised an amused brow at him. "Do you know how long I've been treating you stubborn Hunters?" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the yard. "I get all my water from a well. Had it blessed a decade back, so even my tap water is holy water, son."

Dean laughed again. "I think I like you."

"I'll decide to like you too if you stay where I put you," Jim smiled and slapped his leg before going to check on Sam. He was still far paler than he liked, and he frowned as he looked at Sam's right elbow. "I'm gonna get some ice to put on that. It's swelling more than I'd like." He pointed a finger at Dean as he went for the door. "Stay!"

"Yes, sir." Dean shook his head, amused and opened the laptop. "Bring back holy water and a paintbrush or something!" Thankfully, it didn't take him more than ten minutes to find what he was looking for and he showed them to Jim.

"I thought they'd be more complicated," Jim commented, looking at the three symbols on the page and shrugged. "I can do that." He set a mason jar of water and a paintbrush on the table between the beds. "You can do this room. I'll do the rest of the house, and I expect you back in that bed the minute you're done."

Dean slid out of his bed again and grabbed the jar and brush, going to the window. He carefully painted the symbols in holy water on the glass, watching it dry before going to the bathroom and doing the same there. Sam was stirring when he went back into the bedroom, and he was quickly at his side, stopping the bag of ice and towel from slipping off his elbow.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said softly and gripped a hand around his shoulder as his brother's eyes fluttered slowly open.

"Dean," Sam's voice was a ragged whisper through a throat made raw with screaming and he groaned. "Where are we?"

"Bobby's friend. You remember?" Dean frowned and then smiled when Sam nodded slowly. "Got you all patched up, but I don't think you're going anywhere for a while."

Sam looked up at him and raised a hand to tap the bandages over his brother's chest. "You ok?"

Dean snorted. "Dude, I'm not the one who had a chunk taken out of him. I'm fine. How's your neck feel?" Jim had put a row of tight, careful stitches into Sam's neck to close the bite wound, and, if he was lucky, his brother would come out of it with only a slim scar.

Sam frowned. "Feel kinda…numb mostly."

Dean nodded. "That'd be the painkillers." He'd vetoed Jim giving his brother enough to completely knock him out. It was too dangerous with something hunting them, and he wanted his brother to have a fighting chance if it came to it, pain or not, at least until Bobby arrived.

"We safe?" Sam shuddered lightly, remembering the feel of the gidim biting him and took comfort in the heavy hand on his shoulder that pressed a little heavier.

"Think so," Dean shrugged and smirked. "For now, anyway. Bobby should be here in an hour or so."

"Wonder how long…how long that thing's been…snacking on tourists?" Sam shook his head sadly.

"He's not gonna be doing it for much longer." Dean eased a hip onto the side of the bed, needing to sit and wished he could fall asleep for a week. He smiled. "I'm going to enjoy ganking this one, dude. No, keep your arm still."

Sam stopped trying to pick up his right arm and looked down at the ice atop it. "My arm ok?"

"Doc says you wrenched the joint." Dean rolled his eyes. "That puts you outta digging graves for a couple weeks."

Sam smirked. "Awesome."

Dean watched his eyes start to close again and squeezed his shoulder. "Get some more sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere." He knew with all the blood Sam had lost, he'd be tired for days while his body recovered. He'd tried to talk the doc into giving his brother some of his own, but considering that Dean had already lost a fair amount himself, the doctor had wanted to avoid that unless it was absolutely necessary…by his definition, not Dean's.

Sam tried to fight sleep, wanting to stay awake, but it crept up on him so swiftly with Dean quietly urging him that he only managed a soft groan of protest before he was out again.

Dean waited a moment to make sure he was out and then stood. He tried to roll out his aching shoulders and headed for the living room, hearing Jim's footsteps upstairs as he was no doubt gidin-proofing the windows. It was nagging at him being unarmed, and he walked softly out into the living room, smiling when he saw the fireplace and the array of old, iron pokers next to it.

"Yahtzee," Dean said and went to it, pulling one of the pokers free. He gave it a swing and decided it would do then he headed for the kitchen. He wanted a few more things in the room with him before he'd feel safe enough to fall asleep. He dug through Jim's cabinets and found a container of salt then turned up a tin of lighter fluid under the sink.

"Matches are in the drawer over there."

Dean spun and swayed into the counter in surprise, raising the poker in warning. "Shit, Jim. Don't do that." It wasn't lost on him that that was the second time that day someone had come up behind him and he narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Whoa." Jim raised both hands in the air, seeing the dangerous look cross Dean's face. "It's still me, Dean." He nodded to a knife hanging on the wall at Dean's elbow. "That's solid silver right there. If you need to give me a nick, you go right ahead." He held out his arm peaceably because, right then, Dean looked ready to strike first and ask questions later. He knew the man before him was running now mostly on adrenaline and sheer force of will to even be standing, and a weakened Hunter, especially one with someone to protect, could be a very dangerous thing.

Dean considered it, told himself he was being paranoid, and then said 'screw it'. He pulled the knife off the wall and gave the doc a small smile as he pricked the skin of his arm. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out, and he gave a startled laugh when Jim pulled the salt shaker off the counter and shook a little into his palm then licked it off. "Ok, ok. I get it. I need to relax a little." Dean set the knife on the counter and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Jim shook his head and smiled. "You ready to get in that bed and stay there yet?"

"Yeah." Dean went past him to the hall.

"I'll bring you the matches." Jim called with a chuckle. "Hunters."

Dean rolled his eyes at himself and saw Sam was still sound asleep as he came back in the room. He set the salt down on the table and lay down, rolling on his side with the poker in one hand and the lighter fluid in the other so he was facing his brother. Dean gave a weary groan and closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to feel the deep ache in his chest. He didn't want to know how bad Sam had to be hurting. He heard the sound of a cabinet closing from the kitchen and then Jim's steps coming down the hall. He squeezed his fingers around the lighter fluid and the poker, knowing it made him look like a little like a paranoid lunatic and was too damn tired to care. Jim's footsteps stopped in the door.

"Just toss 'em on the bed, doc," Dean said sleepily. He jerked when he felt hands wrap around his ankles and opened his eyes to find the motel manager at the foot of his bed. He shouted as he was dragged off the bed and flung into the hall like a sack of potatoes.

"I wasn't finished," the gidin said in an angry voice as he stalked out after him.

Dean groaned and rolled to his side. He'd hit the wall hard enough to make him dizzy and knock the air out of him. "How…d'you get in? Son of a bitch." He groaned and swung out with the poker he still had hold of, but the manager danced nimbly out of reach.

"You won't be getting lucky again." The manager snarled. He stomped down on Dean's hand, drawing a pained curse from him, and grinding his heel until the poker clattered to the wood floor, and then delivered a hard kick to his head. He smiled as Dean went limp on the floor and turned to the bedroom. "Now, then. Where was I?" He stalked into the room past Dean's bed to stand over Sam's long form and smiled. He reached out hungrily, pulling the bandage from the man's neck to bare the wound he'd given him, disappointed that it had been sewn closed and then smiled. He'd just have to start somewhere else. The gidin leaned over the bed and gasped in shock when his prey's eyes flew open.

Sam erupted up out of the bed in contained fury to slam into the manager and drive him to the floor. Dean's shout had woken him in a rush. Sam scrambled to his feet again and held out both hands, one holding the salt and the other the lighter fluid he'd grabbed from Dean's bed while the creature was in the hall. He poured both down on the gidin, covering him in a mixture of the two, the lighter fluid allowing the salt to stick him. He grunted when the manager kicked out and swept Sam's legs. He crashed to the floor with a strangled cry of pain and tried to make his body move again.

The gidin rose over Sam in a rage, no longer amused. "I was going to kill you before I ate you. Now…now I'm going to listen to you scream."

"Not in my house, you son of a bitch!" Jim staggered into the door, blood pouring down his face and held out a Zippo. He flicked the wheel and tossed the flame into the manager's chest. He lit like he was made of kindling. Fire burst into life and crackled up and down his body as he screamed. Jim cleared the door, spun and delivered a roundhouse kick into the creature's chest that sent him flying through the window behind him with a crash and out onto the lawn to burn. He sagged over the end of Dean's bed and wiped a hand down his face, grimacing at the blood. "Damn."

"What the hell?"

The startled voice from outside brought Jim to the window at a run and then he laughed seeing Bobby Singer standing over the burning and still screaming body of the gidin. "About damn time, Singer! Get in here! I can't pick these boys up alone."

"Pick them up?" Bobby glared at him and moved to look in the window. His eyes widened in shock seeing Sam groaning on the floor in the room and Dean's legs in the hall, and he glared at his friend. "What part of 'keep them safe' didn't translate for you, Jim?"

"Don't you pop off at me, Singer!" Jim bent and picked up the can of lighter fluid. He handed it out. "Put a little more fuel on the fire and get in here." He turned his back on the sputtering Hunter and knelt beside the younger Winchester. "Sam?"

"Dean…check…check, Dean. Please," Sam begged in a soft voice. It was all he could manage through the fresh pain.

"Alright. Alright. Just lie still. I'll be right back." He laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder and went out into the hall while he wiped more blood from his face, wincing at what would soon be a world class headache. He knelt next to Dean and turned his head slightly, sighing at the blood seeping from a wound high on his forehead. "Do you ever do anything easy?" He rolled Dean carefully over and was debating his ability to carry him when Bobby burst in through the front door and ran to them.

"Dean! Is he…"

"Alive." Jim assured him quickly. "Looks like he got kicked in the head. Can you get him up, gently, mind, and put him in bed?" He raised a brow at the thunderous look on Bobby's face, the man clearly reacting no better to the boys being hurt than Dean had to Sam being in pain. "Or do you need a hand? I really need to check Sam over."

"Go. I can get him." Bobby waved him off and knelt beside Dean, resting a hand over his bandaged chest. "Dammit, son," He said softly and shook his head. Bobby took Dean's arms and pulled until he had him sitting. He put a hand to the boy's face and slapped him lightly. "Dean. Get your ass up already and don't make me carry you." He smirked as Dean, even unconscious, responded to his voice and the tone and moaned softly. "That's it, son."

Dean groaned and frowned, hearing Bobby's voice, that tone of voice that had always meant he'd get a slap to the head if he didn't listen. It was so ingrained in him, Dean fought to get his eyes open and focused blearily on the face in front of him. "Bobby?"

"Well, it ain't Santa Claus." Bobby smiled with relief. "Gotta get you up and back in that bed. You do that?"

Dean nodded, still dazed, and then his head cleared. He jerked hard and would have lunged to his feet if not for Bobby's tight hold of him. "Sam!"

"Easy! Calm down! Doc's got him," Bobby held on to Dean's shoulders until frightened eyes met his and finally started to calm. "And yer' gidin is roastin' on the lawn outside."

Dean's head dropped forward in abject relief, but he still struggled to get up. "Need to see him. He hurt?"

"Stubborn…pig-headed…dammit, Dean. Hang on!" Bobby grumbled and got him on his feet, staggering as Dean tried to walk and his legs refused, nearly dropping him to the floor again. "Would you just…dammit." Bobby pulled his arm over his shoulders and hitched him up, half-dragging him into the bedroom where Jim still knelt over Sam who was still curled around his stomach on the floor.

"Sammy." Dean felt a jolt of fear go through him with his brother on the floor. "What'd he do to him this time? God…" Dean swallowed hard. "Did he bite him again?"

Jim looked up with a small smile of relief. "No. Sam took him down." He shook his head. "Damn thing almost knocked me cold when it came in the back door." Jim ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "It was the last door, I was just about to paint the sigils on it when it jumped me. I managed to get up and came down the hall, saw you on the floor and thought for sure Sam would be…" He broke off and smiled. "…but Sam got off that bed, hosed him down with salt and lighter fluid and then I torched his happy ass."

Dean stared, taking in Jim's blood streaked face and his brother and felt a burst of fresh pride for the kid. "That's my boy." He let Bobby ease him over to the bed and sat on the side. "He's ok, right? Sammy?"

"M'ere," Sam mumbled but couldn't do more. He was in too much pain. His crash into the floor had jarred some of his wounds back open, not to mention slamming his already bad elbow when he landed. He was still trying to get his breathing back under control and in no big hurry to move.

Dean blew out a breath, feeling a little better hearing Sam's voice and the relief made him light-headed while pain he'd momentarily forgotten speared through his skull. "Shit." He groaned and dropped his head into his hand.

"Alright, lay down already." Bobby gave Dean a gentle push, easing his head down to the pillow. "You good for a minute so I can help the doc get your overgrown brother off the floor?" Dean gave him a small nod and Bobby patted his shoulder. He turned and knelt on Sam's other side, sliding a hand over the top of his head into his hair and grimacing at the state of him. He'd known the boy almost his whole life and could see how much pain he was trying to manage in the light shudder that ran continuously through his long body.

"Hey, Sam," Bobby said softly and leaned down to get a better look at his pale face. "Can't stand up, can ya?"

Sam was close to sobbing in relief after hearing Dean's voice and now Bobby's, laden with care, so close. When the gidin had returned to the room and he had seen Dean lying motionless in the hall, he'd been sure…he shuddered a breath in and out, pushing that particular thought aside, and shook his head. "C…can't."

"Ok. Don't worry about it. We gotcha." Bobby ran his hand over Sam's hair one more time, knowing how it soothed him as a kid and looked up at Jim. "You get his feet."

"Nice and slow," Jim nodded and wrapped his arms around Sam's legs at the knee, letting Bobby pull his head and shoulders in. They both grunted with the effort of lifting him, groaning under the strain, and managed to get Sam back into his bed with only a few muffled cries of pain. Jim groaned, lifting his left arm to look at the small amount of blood that had flowed there. "Tore out his IV." He ran his fingers in a whisper-light touch over Sam's right arm and the elbow that had him worried before; now he felt it more. It had been a light sprain. Now he could tell Sam was lucky if it wasn't completely out of joint. "I want him out before we fix any of this."

"N…no," Sam argued suddenly, voice rising only barely above a whisper. "I can…it's ok."

"Shut up, Sam." Came in unison from both Bobby and Dean.

Jim laughed and held the boy's shoulder for a moment. "I think you've been overruled. Best do what they say."

Sam gave up without a fight, too wounded and too exhausted to object, and he welcomed the pinch of the needle, or maybe it was the IV in his arm again, before his head did one big spin and he fell blissfully asleep.

"How is he really?" Dean asked after spending ten minutes watching Jim put fresh stitches in Sam's stomach and was now in the process of wrapping a bandage around his brother's elbow.

"Not much worse off. Not really." Jim laid Sam's arm down and replaced the pack of ice atop it, hoping to stall the swelling and have a better shot of popping it back in place. He'd tried already but the tissues were too swollen to allow the movement. "I'll have to pop his elbow back into place in an hour or so once I get the swelling down some, but he'll be alright." He ran a hand along the fresh IV line Bobby had placed and looked over the heart rate monitor and its steady, if slightly fast beep.

Dean stared over at Sam's dark head that, even in drugged sleep, was rolled in his direction and sighed. "Bobby?" He asked and looked up at the older Hunter.

"Get some sleep, Dean." Bobby squeezed his shoulder. "I ain't goin' anywhere. I'll keep him safe."

Dean nodded and closed his eyes, finally feeling like he could rest, at least for a little while. "Gotta watch him," Dean mumbled as he started to drift off. "Drugs're gonna…gon' make him listen."

Bobby frowned and then his eyes widened as he looked over at Sam. "I'll take care of him, son."

Jim saw the look of sadness that came over Bobby's face and it was near heartbreaking. "Bobby, what…"

"You got a beer?" Bobby asked suddenly. "Better yet, whiskey."

"I…yeah, alright." Jim shrugged and left the room with Bobby behind him.

"First off, there ain't a damn thing you can do for the boy medically." Bobby started, wanting to make sure that Sam wasn't going to find himself being poked and prodded for medical curiosity over something that science couldn't fix. That was the last thing he needed. "Also, if you ever get the urge to just say thanks to that boy for no reason, you go ahead and do it."

"Bobby, what the hell are you ramblin' on about?" Jim fixed him with a stern gaze in the kitchen and groaned at the sight of his broken in door. "Dammit." He pulled two beers out of his fridge and a whiskey bottle from the cabinet and then fixed him with a stern look. "Well?"

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"It's been two days, Dean," Sam scowled at his brother. "I can get to the damn bathroom on my own."

Dean rolled his eyes and smirked. "You mean like this morning when you tried to hold on to the bed with the wrong arm and almost hit the floor?"

Sam grabbed his empty cup and threw it over at his brother in the door then held up his right arm, now wrapped in a sling that bound it across his chest. "Go away."

"Boys. Behave," Jim smirked as he came into the room behind Dean and looked at Sam on his feet again. "You alright, Sam?"

Sam scrubbed his good hand over his face in a bid for patience. Two days of being mother-henned by three people until he was close to screaming…he was going to kill someone. "I just…wanna pee. Is that ok?"

Jim raised a brow at the long-suffering tone and wisely didn't tease him. "Of course it is. Dean, why you don't go grab some coffee so I can give Sam an exam when he's done?" He smiled but the look in his eyes was firm as he met Dean's. "He's not leaving here today until I do, which means neither are you."

Dean opened his mouth to argue and then heard Bobby's heavy step on the stairs. He closed his mouth and flung his hands up. "Fine."

Sam smirked as his brother grumbled down the hall and realized the last couple days probably hadn't been a picnic for him either. He sighed and went for the bathroom again. "No, I don't need help."

"Didn't think you did," Jim said.

Sam looked at his easy smile and raised a brow before going in and closing the door. He almost turned the shower on, wanting to be clean but knew that someone, likely Dean, would be pushing the door in and asking what the hell he was thinking. Sam snorted, flushed, and ran his hand under the tap before going back out. "I feel a lot better now, Jim. Really."

"As you should," Jim stood beside him while Sam got back up on the bed and grinned. "I am, after all, a damn good doctor."

"And humble. Don't forget humble," Sam chuckled and laid back. "You're not gonna make me take my shirt off again are you?"

"No, you're good. Just relax." Jim chuckled. He couldn't help it. People as self-reliant as Hunters rarely took being cared for well. He tugged up Sam's shirt and gently peeled back the bandage over his stomach, smiling at Sam's slight hiss of discomfort. "Sorry." He pressed gingerly around the now well-healing wounds and smiled. "These are healing up nicely. Another day or so and you can leave the bandages off safely. Sit up?" He took Sam's good arm and helped him to sit, then pulled his shirt up in back to see the claw marks there. They were slightly further along and no longer the angry red they had been, nor, it seemed as tender to the touch as Sam made barely a twitch. Jim bent and got a good look at the bite mark on his neck, pressing carefully around and saw the flinch. "Still tender?" Sam nodded. "It will be for a while. That thing took a small portion of muscle along with the outer layer of skin." He patted Sam's shoulder and pulled his shirt back down. "It will get better. How's the arm?"

Sam sighed. "Still hurts, but it's ok."

Jim nodded and eased it out of the sling to take a look anyway. The swelling around his elbow was minimal now, and the joint had gone back in thankfully easy. "Work with this over the next few weeks. Use those exercises I showed you. You don't want to risk losing mobility."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Trust me. Dean won't let me forget to do them."

Jim chuckled and helped him get his arm back in the sling. He stood back and dropped a hand to Sam's shoulder again, just looking at him. He still had trouble reconciling everything Bobby had told him with the young man in front of him, but…he'd been present when Sam had woken the first time and seen the naked terror on his face as he stared at something only he could see, and he'd watched the way Bobby, normally so gruff and aloof, had held on to him and talked to Sam and done something with Sam's left hand that had drawn the boy's jittery gaze back from his own private hell with a sob of relief.

"Jim?" Sam asked, confused.

Jim shook himself and smiled. "Nothing. I think you boys can leave today if you promise to take Bobby with you." He smiled again at the amusement on Sam's face and went for the door, then stopped. He turned back, needing to say it. "Sam…thank you."

Sam stared, now truly lost. "For what?"

Jim ran a hand through his hair, face flushing a little and shrugged. "The rest of my life?" He grinned then as Sam's jaw dropped open in shock. "You come back and see me if you have any trouble. My door's always open for you boys."

Sam watched him leave and, for a moment, couldn't even breathe he was so stunned. He was staring at the floor when Dean came back in, and it took him a moment to realize he was being shaken and looked up into Dean's concerned eyes.

"Sammy? What's wrong? What'd he say?" Dean frowned when he saw the clear shine of tears in his brother's eyes that were just as quickly sniffed back.

"Nothing. He said…nothing. I'm good." Sam's voice was gravelly with emotion and he struggled to keep it in. "He said we can leave."

Dean studied him and knew Sam was lying to him, but whatever it was, it didn't seem bad. He slid a hand around the back of his brother's neck and squeezed. "You sure?"

The gesture from Dean, so normal and age-old, choked Sam up all over again and he just nodded, leaving Dean more confused than ever and not sure exactly what it was he needed to be concerned about.

"Ah, hell. I told him I wanted to be here if he did," Bobby said as he came in the room and got a good look at Sam's face. He sighed and smiled, ignoring the suspicion on Dean's. "You were out and Sam was drugged. Jim needed to know what to look for. I told him."

"Told him what?" Dean demanded and then his eyes widened in understanding. He turned quickly back to his brother and sat facing him, taking his shoulders in a firm grasp. "Sammy?"

"He said thank you," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bobby nodded to himself and stepped back to the door. He cleared his throat. "'bout time someone did, you ask me."

Dean heard him walk away, glad that he had a moment alone to put his little brother back together. He crouched down in front of Sam, studying his face carefully. "You alright?"

Sam nodded again and swallowed hard. "Yeah. I just…I wasn't expecting that." Sam managed a small smile and rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm fine."

Dean ducked his head, cleared his throat and pulled his brother into a hug that surprised them both. "You did good, Sam." He told him gruffly and then set him back, surprised at the rush of gratitude he felt toward the man whose simple "thank you," to his brother meant more to him than anyone would ever know.

Sam brushed away the lone tear that escaped and smiled, knowing Dean didn't just mean with the gidin. "Thanks, Dean." He gave him a watery smile and cleared his throat. "Now, can we please get out of here?"

"Oh, hell yes!" Dean grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, proud beyond words of his brother and stood. "I need a damn burger and some pie!"

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The End.