Summary:  Sam hides his hurts away as Dean struggles to keep things together.
Spoilers:  Post "Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things".
A/N:  Well after ‘Children shouldn’t play with dead things’ little niggles at the ending just kept picking away at me and this piece covers that. Call me a LimpSam chick (and I hold my head proud with that) but both brothers are hurting and I just wanted address the balance here with what has been going on with our youngest Winchester a little bit.
Disclaimer:  Usual disclaimers apply.

Jeez his arm throbbed. Not just ached a little but seriously pulsated pain every time he moved it, but he knew that this was the last thing Dean wanted to hear or deal with right now. He’d get it checked out tomorrow he told himself, another day and a few more Advil would cover it till then.

That zombie bitch may well have broken his arm but his brother had frozen his heart solid later with his confession about dad’s death. Because if anything it was his failures that had caused dad’s sacrifice not Dean. However his tongue had remained stilled, struggling not to alienate his brother even more than he had lately frightened to offer up any words. And the eruptions that came with it.

It seemed that whatever he said or did lately was the wrong thing. His cheekbone still wore the deep bruise of his brother’s fist as a reminder at the anger that he held against him. Silence sometimes was the easiest option.

So silently he watched his freshly showered brother move around the room picking up his keys, wallet and jacket readying to leave for the bar a few miles down the road and all he could think was suck it up and let him go.

Don’t drag him back down. Give him the space to breathe. He needs to escape from you. Away from the freak.

Dean’s warning words to not call him unless it was a ‘freaking emergency and especially for no Sammy chick flick moments’ hung heavy in the air as the door slammed behind him and he knew that he had been excluded from his brother’s immediate space for the foreseeable future.

Wearily Sam heard the roar of the engine of the impala pull away and prayed that his brother had enough sense to keep the keys firmly in his pocket rather than drive back to the motel later. With a small soft laugh he knew that if Dean went with his usual pattern of behaviour then the only thing he would be doing later was to stagger back to his latest conquests place. He would be safe.

Suddenly he felt too alone and the room was suddenly so oppressively quiet that his own breathing sounded loud to his ears.

‘No Chick Flick moments’ he reminded himself, cutting off the admittance of feelings, of heartache as he determined to make himself stronger. Dean needed this stoicism from him he reasoned, and slowly but surely he was learning to suck it up, hide all the pain away and let his brother have the space and silence he needed.

Carefully he stood up, testing the bruises on his torso with a stiffened yawn and winced slightly at the tug of sore ribs and battered muscles that came with it.

Ignoring the throb and aches he headed for the bathroom desperate to feel clean again The stench of upturned soil, peaty and sweat stained, smothered his clothes and skin and he just wanted rid of the stench.

Peeling of his shirt he looked briefly in the declouding steamed up mirror in the bathroom and noted the mottled pattern to his ribcage with fascination. A surreal jigsaw of purpling bruises littered his chest and side and he marvelled at just how quickly they seemed to be darkening.

Fingering tentatively the raised marks he shook his head wondering at just how screwed his life had become when he let himself be bait for a frigging zombie.

Eyeing his slowly swelling hand and misshaped lower arm he knew the signs of a break and traced the pulsing skin wondering at the invisible breakages that lay beneath. Grimacing at the touch he tucked the pain away. A few more Advil would tide him over till morning, then he could get Dean to drive him to the nearest free clinic and get it all sorted out. No big deal.

The shower had fizzled to luke warm then freezing cold after a few minutes and tiredly he towelled himself dry as best he could. Pulling on some clean clothes he sat at the end of the bed wondering what to do next.

It would be nice to talk to someone, but who? All his friends and life from Stanford were just that, a lifetime ago, no longer real. Blinking back the tears he realised that the few people that he might have wanted to talk to and would have understood him were gone. Jessica, Pastor Jim, Caleb, even Aaron, all were gone because of him. And now dad too.

In just a year he had been stripped of all pretence of normalcy, to be anchored now in this dark life, a living hell.

No wonder his brother wanted rid of him. What a fucking mess he had made of it all, and of Dean too. Bitterly he acknowledged that he should have died in that fire in Lawrence two decades back and then his family would have at least had a chance at keeping their normal life. When he saw his brother’s indifferent gaze on him lately he knew he was just not frigging worth it.

The key was a bitch. It kept missing the keyhole on purpose refusing to unlock the door denying him a chance to crawl into a nice warm bed and sleep off the infancy of a hangover from hell to come. Cursing loudly he decided to kick the door instead when once again it refused to open. Damn stupid door was so stupid it deserved a good kicking he reasoned.

His eyes blinked wide when the door suddenly opened in mid kick and he fell through to land in an untidy sprawl a few yards into the room. Soft words met his ears but they were an irritant to him and he batted them away along with the hand that tried to pick him up.

“Fuck off man. I don’t need your prissy freaky ass helping me,“ he cursed out loud pushing the aid away with a sharp shove and the soft whispered words and the hand immediately disappeared. Slurring heavily he repeated himself. “I don’t need your help. Leave me the fuck alone.”

Sam picked himself off the floor, wincing as his arm protested at the exertion, and watched his brother collapse onto the nearest bed. As dawn’s light broke through the thin curtains he dragged off the shoes and jacket off his brother’s inert form then pulled a blanket over him. In sleep his brother looked free of his burdens, of him, and Sam sagged back onto his bed battling down his own tears.

This life was too fucking hard.

Dean woke groggily, his mouth desperately dry and his head beating a vicious beat that screamed hangover from hell. It took a good few seconds for the hands on his watch to gradually came into focus and he winced at realising that it had gone past noon. Hell Sam would be pissed he realised at wasting away the day like this.

Thinking on his brother he croaked out in a hoarse whisper. “Where’s the frigging aspirin dude?”

Patiently he waited for his always present brother to respond. After a few seconds when the magical pills didn’t materialise he groaned and turned onto his back, feeling green with the motion. “Hell little brother just give me the goddam bottle. And some water.”

Again there was no response and Dean hauled himself to sit weakly on the edge of the bed, his guts heaving with the motion after too many tequila shots from the night before readied to upchuck if he moved too fast.

Bleary eyed he glanced around the room, into the open bathroom and realised with a sour grunt that his brother was not about to come to his rescue as he was nowhere to be seen. “Oh what a bitch” he muttered under his breath as his head swam and he sank back onto his bed with a groan. ‘Should have said no when that last bottle of tequila appeared….”

Watching Dean sleep only worried Sam further. Lately it seemed that his brother needed the comfort of a bar and alcohol to get through the night.

Curled up on his stomach his brother looked worn out, his hair awry, snoring lightly and completely dead to the world. A herd of elephants could be tap dancing in the room and he wouldn’t wake he realised with a wry smile.

Sighing Sam stood up, tired beyond belief but sleep had deserted him yet again last night. There had been too many things to think on and too many memories to haunt his dreams to get any comfort from it. Perhaps Dean had the right idea and may be a few cold beers might do the trick tonight. For a few hours sleep he was willing to give it a go.

Glancing once again at his comatose brother he knew that when he woke he would need some space away from him. Being around his brother now only seemed to serve as an irritant and being hangover Dean was bound to be more than a little testy. No way did he want to be in the firing line of his brother’s sharp tongue when he awoke.

The awkwardness of yesterday did not need to be repeated he told himself, still chiding himself for not finding the necessary words of comfort when his brother had opened up to him.

There still weren’t enough words to help heal the wounds that damaged his brother, and he didn’t want to aggravate them further by hanging around him when he needed his space.

If anything staying at Bobby’s had helped reinforce this for him. Stay away from Dean unless he asks. He didn’t need the constant reminder around of brother to reinforce just how screwed up his life had become.

He knew that his silence yesterday had only further annoyed his brother, but what could he have said to make any of this better? ‘Sorry Dean for not killing the demon when dad had begged me to. Sorry brother that dad loved you enough to die for you. Sorry that your entire life has been screwed because I’m demon tainted? Sorry that I’m this fucked up burden that you can’t escape from?’

Shaking his head Sam knew that the best thing he could do right now was to keep his stupid mouth shut. A big fat sorry just wasn’t going to be good enough to fill the gaps between them now. As Dean had put it was all too little, too late. All he could do was watch out for his brother the best he could now. And that meant preparing for the hangover from hell to make its appearance.

Checking that the coffee was made and that the small fridge still had a half used carton of orange juice he felt fairly confident that he had everything prepared for when his brother woke up. Then he stopped short with a frown on his face at seeing the now empty bottle of painkillers on the table. Oh this was so not good. A hung-over Dean and a headache were never a good match.

Hurriedly he snatched up his jacket just glad of something positive to do. Picking up the canister of salt he redid the line by the door and taking another look at his sleeping brother closed the door behind him.

The day was grey, spitting a cold rain, and he was thankful for the blanket of clouds as bright sunshine certainly didn’t match his mood. Against the damp cold air he shrugged on his jacket with difficulty, cradling his damaged arm to his stomach as he walked realising that he needed the painkillers as much as he brother would on waking.

The aroma of percolating coffee slowly brought him out of his stupor and he blinked hard in the dusky lit room as memories of the night activities leapfrogged back into memory. Drawing a hand across his face with a desperate groan he wiped away the drying spittle on his chin. Yeah, coffee sounded good right about now.

As he sat up he realised that he had been sleeping fully clothed, except for the fact that his jacket and shoes had been removed. That had to been the doing of his little brother who he vaguely remembered trying to offload him into the bed in the small hours of the morning.

Frowning anew he looked around the small room noting that it was empty though the bubbling sound of the coffee was a welcome sound.

Thankful of not having to see the recriminatory looks on his brother’s face he staggered over and snatched a cup of the brown stuff and sipped the hot bitter brew. ‘Way to go Saint Sammy,’ he smiled sourly as he took another sip,

‘Make me feel like a right jerk again,’ he whispered to himself noting at how tidy the room was, including his jacket hung over a chair with his shoes peaking out from beneath.

‘You’ll make someone a lovely little wife someday Samantha,’ he chuckled humourlessly to himself as the pinpricks of a conscience started to worry at him.

Fiddling one armed with a childproof container was no fun. Especially when you were in pain. Exasperated at his inability to get the damn bottle open Sam finally gave up and shoved the bottle back into his pocket trying to block out the fact that his right arm was throbbing ugly spikes of agony every time he moved it now.

Dean’s easy taunts the night before about being ‘too delicate’ when he had complained about breaking his hand had stung. They both knew that a broken arm was only to going hamper their hunting ability, and the way Dean was into the hunt right now he seriously could seriously see this pissing him off no end. Yep, this was another mistake his brother would nail him to the floor with.

The light grey drizzle that followed him around was getting heavier and he knew that he would have to go back to the motel and face Dean sooner rather than later. Swallowing back his reluctance he just hoped that the fact that he came bearing gifts would help lighten his brother’s mood. The painkillers, freshly baked doughnuts and the late morning papers might just do the trick.

When he entered the room he could hear his brother singing off key in the shower and he felt a familiar feeling hit him and smiled. A singing Dean was always a good sign. Perhaps today wouldn’t be too bad after he hoped as he used his foot to shut the door behind him with a large thud.

“Hey that better be you geek boy?” demanded Dean at hearing the front door slam his singing forgotten as he dried himself off.

“Yeah.” responded Sam placing his shopping on the table, wiping his sleeve over his face to wipe away the sheen of sweat and rainwater off his face.

With a towel wrapped around his waist Dean scowled up at his brother as he made his way over to his bed. “Where the hell you been? At least tell me you got some frigging painkillers.”

“Yeah. Here,” Sam threw over the bottle over and watched his brother snap the top open with ease and then swallowed two pills back with some lukewarm coffee.

Dean eyed the doughnuts with a wide smirk and snatched up the bag stuffing half a doughnut into his mouth with one bite. “Hmmm. Good,” was his response before shoving the rest of the sticky dough into his mouth as he started to get dressed.

Sam knew that he was hovering, unsure of what to say next but his brother sharp tongue drove him back to silence.

“You standing there gawking for a reason Sammy boy? Or you just intending to enjoy the little peep show going on here?” snapped Dean as he got into his jeans.

It felt downright uncomfortable having his brother stare at him like that and he wondered if something had gone on last night that he should be remembering. For the last few days Sam had had that well patented puppy dog look on his face, as if something really important needed to be said, but that he didn’t have the nerve to say it. And this was freaking him out as nerve was something is kid brother had always never been in short supply of.

Sam ducked his head down, holding himself in, and like a mantra playing in his head he kept telling himself. “Don’t make it worse. Shut up. Stay quiet. You’ve got no words to help him anymore.

Shrugging a dark t-shirt over his head Dean glanced over to where his brother had been standing a little disturbed by Sam’s lack of response. He raised an eyebrow in surprise that his brother had retreated to the small table, giving him some personal space without any of the customary bitching and he let out a frustrated sigh.

“You pissed that I got a little stewed last night?” he demanded, wincing inwardly at the challenge the tone of his voice had taken. When his brother shook his head he shrugged deciding to take another tact. “So you managed to find us another gig yet geek boy. Or have you been sitting on your butt all day watching me sleep?”

“No.”

“No as in that you weren’t watching me sleep or No as in you’ve dug up diddly squat?” He threw his hand wide in the air, grinning maliciously at his brother waiting for the snarky come back. Already his headache was lifting and the thought of dealing with his little brother and his mood swings didn’t seem to big a chore right now.

“Come on Sammy – cat got your tongue or do you just plan do Mr Monosyllabic for the rest of day?” Grinning wide at his brother he knew that last taunt one would raise a response. Monosyllabic. Ha, go chew on that one College boy!

He didn’t get to hear his brother’s come back as his cell suddenly broke the tension, beating out a rap tune that made him curse out loud. This was another one to kick Sam’s butt about later no doubt. The kid had to play with frigging everything.

“Leave my fucking phone alone,” he growled at his brother who looked up in him in wide eyed innocence, before seeing the caller Id and his face broke into a broad grin. “Hey dude, you’re still alive then! I thought for sure those little hellions would have eaten you whole last night.”

Sam watched curiously as for the first time in weeks a warm honest smile reached his brother’s eyes. He had forgotten that look and wondered just who it was that could make him appear in high spirits again.

After a few seconds Dean snapped his cell shut and threw a cursory glance over to his brother. “I hooked up with an old buddy of mine last night. Ben Anderson.”

“Anderson?” queried Sam, curious at the connection this guy had with his brother, swallowing his anxiety that Dean was readying to sideline him again like he had with Gordon Walker.

“Hell that dude could win a pissing contest with the devil himself.” Dean oblivious to his brother’s concerns laughed vaguely remembering the lines they had used to impress the local girls, each one working a treat. Shaking his head he added. “Look he’s passing through onto another gig. Thought I’d catch up with him for a few drinks before he goes.”

“I don’t remember him,” responded Sam quietly.

“Yeah well not like you ever met him college boy.” snapped Dean. “He helped us out a couple of years back, saved dad’s ass on a hunt that went bad. Good guy. Knows his stuff.”

”I didn’t know,” admitted Sam miserably feeling the accusations roll off his brother in waves that he hadn’t been there for him, for dad. Again.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, about me, or about dad, seeing that you left us for four years Sammy boy. Bound to be gaps, eh? Anderson is just one of many.”

For a second Dean paused, looking at the pain flitter across his brother’s face but he chose to ignore it. Dealing with Sam and a potential chick flick moment was not high on his agenda of things to do right now. Ben and a few cold beers sounded like a bit more fun. Hellva lot more fun.

Leaving Sam alone for a few hours would do them both good he reasoned. Sam could get on and do his usual research. This poky little town was bound to have a library he could stick him in for awhile and he could grab a few hours with Ben without having to deal with Sam shadowing him everywhere. It was a win – win situation for him. And for Sam, he told himself.

Picking up his car keys he cocked his head to his once again silent brother and blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Look if you want I’ll drop you off at the library and you can disappear into a corner and do your usual geek act. I’ll hook up you with later. Ben and I have some business to finish up first.”

Sam looked up at him and shook his head. “Thanks but I’d rather stay here and catch up on some sleep and other stuff. I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah, later,” breathed out Dean a little too quickly, glad of the easy escape his brother had given him.

It was dark by the time he returned to the motel, and the pangs of guilt at having neglected his brother the last two days was starting to eat away at him so that not even a few beers could rub away the sharp edges of concern.

Little brother was being too damned quiet, too damned compliant he reasoned. Something was going on his screwy little head and no matter how much he had tried to ignore it tonight he would get it out of him, even if he had to sit on him to force it out. If could open up to Sammy then his kid brother could do the same with him.

“Sam,” he yelled on opening the door, “Yo Sammy I’m back little brother.”

In the open doorway he paused, noting the unmade bed that looked like it had gone ten rounds with his brother and his gangly frame and lost and waited for his brother to call back from the bathroom. “Hey kid, ” he barked, banging on the bathroom door before pushing it open with a sinking feeling. It was empty.

“Damn it” he snapped, more angry with himself at expecting his brother to just wait around for him to come back. Pressing speed dial he rang Sam’s cell, the wait before his brother eventually picked up turning the acid in his stomach into bile in his throat.

“Dean?” answered a too softly spoken Sam, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Where the hell are you?” demanded Dean in a rush.

“I dunno,” responded Sam, the hesitation in his voice then followed by a high pitched giggle. “S’right Deano. Its all good now.”

Dean’s face fell open, “Are you smashed? Sweet Jesus Sammy I leave you for a few hours and you get drunk? What the hell are you playing at? I’m gonna kick your scrawny butt when I get hold of you.”

“Okay.”

Dean swallowed hard. “What? Okay about what?”

“You kicking me. S’okay if it makes you feel better,” slurred Sam.

“Sammy?” Dean couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. “Just tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you. No kicking of your sorry butt I promise.” He waited for a response and after a few minutes found himself pleading again. “Come on little brother give me the directions and I’ll come and get you. What’s the name of the bar that your at.”

There was a hitching of breath down the phone before Sam finally responded, his voice heavy with confusion. “Nope, no bar. Scary lady kept making a grab for my butt. Had to leave….long time back.”

“Sam this isn’t funny.”

“Yeah it is” responded Sam with giggle. “Cos I think I’m lost.”

A/N:  This chapter is Sam heavy, taking him on a little excursion leading up to his phone conversation with Dean at the end of the last chapter.

Waking with a start, a cry still dying on his lips, Sam shot up in the bed gasping painfully against the panic beating in his chest. Worried eyes searched out the dimly lit room and when he found it empty his breathing steadied. ‘Just a dream,’ he told himself numbly, ‘Just another stupid dream.’

Grimacing he looked at his watch and sighed, having managed only forty five minutes before he was torn from sleep again. It wasn’t worth it he realised as the cost of sleeping was the always the waiting nightmares.

Stiffly he got off the bed, leaving a tangle of blankets behind and picked up his jacket angry with himself. No wonder his brother was weary of him if this is what he had to face each night, being waken by his pathetic shouts and screams.

As he shrugged into his jacket he hissed out loud as pain jolted up his right forearm like fire. ‘Damn it,’ he cursed silently under his breath unable to ignore the pain any longer, as the painkillers hadn’t even touched the edge of the throbbing that had persisted all morning long.

His arm needed to be looked at so finding the nearest free clinic had to be his highest priority. Briefly he wondered about calling Dean but remembering his brother’s happy mood at speaking with that Anderson dude earlier he sure as hell didn’t want to spoil it for him now because of his inability to bounce properly. Sam shook his head, reasoning that it was best just to leave him alone and get his arm fixed on his own.

Determinedly he told himself that he didn’t need his brother to hold his hand to get his arm looked at. If he played it right he could get it all sorted out before Dean returned.

‘Just how difficult could it be to get a stupid cast put on?’ he asked himself with a small self depreciating laugh.

Standing in the crummy reception of the motel Sam blinked hard at the news that the nearest ‘free clinic’ was twelve miles over in Hadley while the motel clerk gave him a dirty look. A bus ride away, thought Sam with a sigh, but he had no alternative as walking didn’t seem a viable option.

For once luck seemed to be on his side as the bus had gotten him to the sleepy backwater town within the hour. Now all he had to do was find that clinic and then he’d be home and dry in no time.

Ignoring the rumbles of his empty stomach and the persistent headache that walked with him down an all too familiar main street Sam just wanted to get back to the motel before his brother got back. Surely the anger in his brother’s voice at asking him where he had been earlier had to mean something? Perhaps Dean really did need him to be there for him.

“Well you’ve well and truly broken your arm in spectacular style here Mr Winchester. Just when did you say this happened?” demanded Dr Pike, his eyes flicking back and forth over the X-ray in front of him.

Sam hid behind his bangs and whispered. “A few days ago. I fell and it felt a little bit hinkey, and….”

“And the pain didn’t give it a way to you then that you might have broken something?” snorted the young doctor studying the X-ray with a small frown of disbelief at seeing the sickening torsion of bone under skin.

Dr Pike continued with a tired tone to his voice, having spent his free time on a very long shift before he had to return to his paying job. “So you do understand that you’ve got two breaks going on here. Lucky for you both can be set and you’ll have to wear a cast for at least 6 weeks. After that you may have to have some physio,” pausing he took a deeper breath, “But you should know that if the bones don’t knit properly you may have to them reset and the biggest break pinned.”

Dr Pike waiting for a response but his patient simply nodded and he sighed again. “Look we just don’t have the facilities here to do anything more fancy than a realignment and a cast. If you need anything more specialised….”

Sam gave an accepting laugh interrupting the doctor. “Yeah I know doc, go elsewhere. Don’t worry I’ll be fine. Just get me fixed up so that I can get back to my brother.” Please don’t give him any more cause to worry.

Two hours later Sam was less than happy. The cast had gone from the top of his forearm to cover half of his hand. Not little at all and not subtle. And not something he could slip past Dean as just some dumb minor fracture. His mood further soured when he realised that he had missed the bus back by a matter of minutes and would have to wait another hour and half for the next.

Running his fingers tiredly through his lanky hair all he wanted to do was get back to the motel, try and dig up the next hunt that Dean expected of him and then perhaps get something to eat. His stomach growled at the thought of food and realised that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. A combination of pain and painkillers had deadened his appetite, still he shrugged tiredly he should have snagged one of those doughnuts earlier that Dean seemed to enjoy so much.

Briefly he thought about stopping at the dilapidated Diner before him but the smell drifting his way of greasy meatloaf made his stomach roll and then his stubborn streak kicked in again. Food could wait one hour more he told himself tersely, determined to get back to the motel before Dean did. Already he has wasted too much time, too much of the day, and the next gig needed to be sorted out. Quick time. Or he would have Dean riding his case again.

His lips thinning with determination he started the walk down the main street to the highway, calculating that if he hitched a lift back all was still doable. Then the heavens opened and fat freezing rain splattered the ground and he knew that his day was only going to get worse.

Sometimes his life well and truly sucked.

Carly ‘Candy’ Jenkins felt really good today. Her newly bright blonde hair had been teased and curled into long waves and along with her red plastic shiny nails she hoped for some action tonight. Still if that didn’t do the trick the short pleated skirt that barely skimmed her generously proportioned backside would certainly get her noticed. She was in the mood for a bit of fun and something to dig her new nails into.

As she drove down from Hadley her eyes skimmed ahead noticing the tall figure waiting by the roadside in the rain. A part of her screamed a warning. ‘Girl don’t you dare stop… could be some psycho serial killer’ but as she drew nearer and saw the fresh faced boy her mouth curled into an appreciative smile.

Yep some eye candy definitely up ahead ripe for the picking she hoped and tapped her red fingernails on the rim of the steering wheel expectantly.

As she pulled a few yards ahead she watched the tall figure hurry up to the passenger door and he leaned in as she let window down. The first thing she noticed were his way too pretty eyes looking at her earnestly, glad for a chance to get out of the rain.

The next thing that struck her was his voice, deep and soft. “Hey thanks for stopping - are you going anywhere near Ridlington?”

“Sure honey, hop in and get yourself out of that filthy weather.” She watched him slide into the seat next to him and checked out his profile with an admiring smirk. Pretty and fresh, just how she liked them. “Hi,” she purred, “I’m Candy.”

“Sam, Sam Winchester,” and he turned to her with a bright innocent smile of appreciation at her stopping for him, hoping that his luck was changing for the better.

Candy took in the dimples and knew that there was a god after all. Carefully she smiled back all the while calculating how long it would take her drive to Ridlington and knew that it was too short a ride. A little detour may just well be in order she realised.

As Sam pushed the wet hair away from his face she offered him a tissue to wipe the rain out of eyes. “Here you go Sam. You look a little chilly there. I’ll just crank on the heaters for you?” She eyed him again as she pulled away from the roadside, adding. “So what makes you want to get to Ridlington. Girlfriend waiting?”

Sam snorted at the idea and smiled ruefully. “No, just my brother.”

Candy cocked an eyebrow pleased at the answer. A brother she could deal with. A bitching girlfriend would have been an entirely different matter to get past. Then when she heard the gurgle come from his stomach and saw the blush spread across his cheeks she couldn’t but help smile again.

“Sounds like you missed lunch honey. Hope you don’t mind if we haul into O’Malley’s for a brief pit-stop as I’m in desperate need of a coffee.”

He flashed her another smile nodding his agreement, his thoughts all the while racing ahead to Ridlington and Dean. Still a few minutes stopping for a quick coffee would do no harm he reasoned, and as the local anaesthetic had worn off a good hour ago he could do with taking a few more Advil to offset the edges of the pain.

Coffee sounded too good to turn down right about now he thought through chattering teeth.

Candy’s red nails tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel as they sped down the highway a half smirk played across her lips in anticipation. O’Malley’s wouldn’t be to busy this early in the day and if she played it right she could steer him into a dark corner and work her magic. Oh yeah, O’Malley’s would be perfect.

It wasn’t the coffee house he had expected as he walked after Candy through the heavy steel door, but rather a seedy bar that made the Roadhouse look clean and fresh. It was darkly lit and the place stretched out in a long L-shape, with booths down one wall and open tables in the middle. The air was musty with cigarette smoke and stale beer and Sam felt a moment of regret that he had agreed to step inside this place with his ride home.

For the first time he really noticed his driver, a large brassy haired woman of uncertain age and too much makeup, whose clothes were too short and too tight, and he felt a flicker of uncertainty in his gut. Maybe this hadn’t been his brightest idea of the day and just maybe waiting for the bus might have been a better option.

He visibly flinched when he heard her name being called out in welcome by the bruiser of a bartender and he knew that he would have to stay for that coffee. To turn tale and run at this point would be just plain rude. And Sam Winchester was nothing but polite when it came to women.

Gritting his teeth in a false smile he let Candy steer him to a booth. Awkwardly he sat down as she pushed herself into the booth next him. He swallowed his discomfort at the proximity and fiddled in his pocket for his prescription.

At seeing the pain pills appear Candy seemed to notice his arm for the first time and her mouth pursed into a silent ‘Oh’ wondering if that was going to spoil her plans for later, and decided that even one handed he was worth the chase.

“You had a bit of an accident sweetie?” she asked taking the bottle out of his hand and popping the lid for him, squeezing the fingers of his cast hand sympathetically, her red talons bright against the wooden tabletop.

“Um, yeah.” responded Sam with a blush spreading across his face, carefully disentangling his hand from her fingers, before adding lamely, “I fell over.”

Candy nodded and then swivelled round and with a voice that could melt lead yelled out across the bar. “Hey Burt, we need something to warm us up here, how about two of your world famous pick me up coffees.”

“Sure thing Candy.” came back Burt with a knowing wink to one of his most regular customers.

Sam tried to shift himself back further into the booth but Candy only slid in further with him till his back was against the wall. When the dark shadow of Burt appeared coffee in hand he gave a weak smile of relief taking the opportunity to slide round to the other side of the booth.

“Thanks Burt, put them on my tab,” simpered Candy up at the older man and Sam gave her an appreciative nod before he popped his pain meds into his mouth and took a long drag of the dark liquid to help them down. His brows lifted in confusion at the unexpected taste and he locked eyes with the bartender questioningly

“The whiskey is what makes is special, right Candy? Snickered Burt at Sam’s startled expression.

Candy caught the look and laughed. “That will get the chill out of your bones in no time Sam…”

Sam spluttered, feeling the warmth of the coffee chase down the pills and shook his head. “I um, well, haven’t eaten anything all day and this” he paused placing the coffee back down on the table. “isn’t such a good idea.”

“Hey no problem,” answered Candy with a bright smiling turning back to the bartender. “Sam’s starving here Burt, how about a bowl of your finest chilli to chase that away?” T

Masking his irritation Sam tried to cancel the order as Burt walked away, his sole intent was on getting the hell out of this dump and away from Candy and Burt. “No, I really don’t have time to do this Candy. I have to get back to Ridlington, my brother…”

“Sam, by the looks of things you really do need to take ten minutes out and just relax. A bowl of Burt’s special is not gonna kill, you right?”

Blinking furiously Sam tried to think of an escape, but his stomach betrayed him by gurgling again and Candy laughed knowingly. “Jeez Sam relax why don’t you, we’ll be on our way soon. I promise.”

Within seconds it seemed Burt had reappeared with a bowl of steaming chilli that even to Sam’s suspicious eyes looked pretty good. His mouth started to water and he admitted silently to himself that Candy may just be right about this.

A few minutes chowing down before getting back to Dean might not be such a bad idea he told himself. After all why waste time when he got back to Ridlington finding a Diner when he could grab something now and get straight on to researching the next hunt when he got back?

Candy watched him take a mouthful and grinned as next he snatched up his coffee to drown the burning sensation on his tongue. He didn’t even grimace at the taste of the whiskey this time, just anxious to chase the fiery peppery taste away.

Slyly Candy waved over to Burt and mouthed the word “Beer” as Sam’s face reddened from the fiery heat of the chilli and she remarked innocently at her prey. “Hot stuff, right sweetie? Burt’s chilli is as famous as his coffee…”

Coughing slightly Sam didn’t notice the beer appear in front of him, all he knew that it tasted sweet and cold chasing away the heat from his tongue as he nodded at Candy before shovelling another mouthful in, his hunger overriding all other needs.

Burt’s recipe was incinerating hot, reminding him of Dean’s own efforts in the past to kill him with his cooking, but it was hitting a hollow spot in his stomach and after a few minutes the heat receded to warm tingle on his tongue.

Soon the food, coupled with the beer, took away that empty feeling that had shadowed him all day and he could feel himself relaxing, enjoying the chance of a breather to just sit back and pretend to listen as Candy talked non-stop in the booth next to him, all the while tap-tap-tapping her fingernails on the wood in a mesmerising rhythm.

Bemusedly Sam watched the women hiss at each other and wondered what the fuss was all about. It wasn’t Candy after all who had her butt felt up by the dark haired woman but him. His ears burnt as Candy screamed language at the shorter stockier woman that would make a sailor blush.

“You dirty whore,” snarled Candy at the other woman trying to muscle in to her territory. “Keep your slutty hands away from him Shandy or I swear you’ll be losing more than a few fucking teeth tonight.”

“Don’t see yer skanky brand anywhere on him,” snarled Shandy back, tiptoeing to meet Cindy eye to eyeball, casting a quick appreciative glance back at the young man who had taken her fancy. “Looks to me like he’s free property and can go with anyone he wants to bitch.”

Sam felt his mouth drop open at the implication that he as being haggled over like piece of meat and mouthed a silent indignant, “What the hell?”

Shaking his head he took another sip of his beer then giggled realising that his big brother would be proud of him right now. Having a couple of women fighting over him was high in the Dean Winchester of all things labelled ‘cool’.

Still somewhere along the way his quiet ten minute break for a quick coffee had turned into a an evening off loud music and snarling bitching women who even on a good day would scare the bejeezers out of him. It really was time for him to get back to Ridlington. Candy and her entourage of so called friends with their groping hands be damned.

He stood up shakily and wagged a finger at the women. “Sorry ladies but I really do think I have to go now.”

As he stood to his full height Shandy looked him up and down, her chest inflating as she drew closer to him, licking her lips appreciatively. “No honey you gotta stay…”

Candy clocking the look Shandy gave her Sam did what came naturally to her and swung a punch that rocked the dark haired girl back onto her behind. Blood spurted from her nose and she howled in response before grabbing at Candy’s legs and hauled her down onto the floor in whirling mash of arms, legs and clawing talons of red and pink.

Sam stumbled away as the crowd of cheering drinkers egged on the women tearing tufts of hair off each others heads and he found himself back outside, feeling instantly the effects of the cold night air hit his lungs and lighten his head further.

Eyeing the road up and down he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “Looks like your walking back Sammy boy,” he snorted to himself, taking another swig of beer from his bottle held loosely in his left hand.

The ringing of his phone was loud in the silence of the open road. Fumbling for it he flipped it open at seeing the familiar ID pop up and answered softly, “Dean?”

His brother’s response was hot and angry again demanding to know where he was and he felt the familiar stab of pain in his gut again. Just like dad all he managed to do with his brother lately was to get him mad at him, and then the shouting or disapproving looks would start up all over.

As he listened to his brother’s angry voice he fingered subconsciously his left cheek bone, and blinked back his confusion. Why couldn’t he stop making him so mad all the time? Was he turning into as bad a brother as he had been a son?

Stumbling a response to his brother’s questions he weaved down the foggy road, feeling a familiar chill run up his spine. Blinking hard he tried to refocus his thoughts as he heard his brother ask where he was yet again and for the life of him he realised he had no idea. and told Dean why.

“Sam this isn’t funny.”

“Yeah it is” he responded with giggle. “Cos I think I’m lost.”

There was long silence before Dean answered. “Listen Sammy. Just tell me the name of the bar you went to and then I can find you. Okay?”

Sam cocked his head, a little confused wondering if that really was a glimmer of concern he could feel coming from Dean? Couldn’t be right, he reminded himself, as his brother didn’t do that sort of thing anymore when it came to him.

“Sam?” called Dean again anxiously.

“Yeah Dean?”

“The name of the bar?”

Sam frowned, trying to think, knowing that Dean expected an answer. What had Candy called the place? “S’Malleys.” He giggled again, “You’d like it –lots of stupid girls fighting..”

He heard Dean take a long breath down the line. “Sam, is that anywhere near the motel?”

“Nope.”

“No?” queried Dean suddenly more than a little afraid for his brother. “Just where the hell is it then.”

“Umhh, Candy was driving me….”

“Candy?” demanded Dean. “Is she with you now?”

“No” pouted Sam. “Last time I saw her she was smashing Shandy’s face to the floor….”

“Okay, okay,” responded Dean with a shaky breath. “So this Candy was driving you from where?”

“Umm… Hadley,” smiled Sam, suddenly pleased with himself that he was able to give a complete answer to at least one of the barrage of questions that Dean kept firing at him.

Recalling that he driven through the small town to get to Ridlington Dean swore out loud. “Just what the fuck where you doing going there Sam?”

When he didn’t get a response he called out again. “Sam?”

“Yeah Dean?” whispered Sam, his eyes now tracking across the width of the road to see a misty shape lingering by the edge of the roadside.

“Listen you idiot just stay where you are and I’ll come get you. You got that? Don’t do anything stupid. And believe me you fucking moron when I do find you and I are going to have a few words about this all.”

The phone went quiet in his hand and Sam blinked hard, swallowing down the sudden feeling of nausea. The coalescing shape became more solid and he found himself watching fascinated as it weaved around the perimeter of the fenced off graveyard, hissing a whisper as it slid up and down.

“Oh Shit,” he said out loud as the figure suddenly seemed to stop and hover, as if noticing him for the first time turning an ashen face towards him. And then it howled.