Secret Santa for Alexys52 - Then And Now (SPN, Dean)

[Anilkex]

Alexys52!!!!!!! Soooo excited to be your Secret Santa!

I know you like my AU, and I toyed with the idea of a story there, but I wasn't sure, so cue days of lamenting and idea hunting.

And then...DING!

The initial idea for this fic sprang from a cool prompt by Tarotgal, which got tweaked by Northern Angel, and ultimately morphed by me so I can ensure your buttons are puuuuuushed.

I hope you like it! There are 2 parts, so don't worry, the rest is coming shortly!

Happy New Year!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Then…

Dean cleared his throat, already irritated with the uncooperative witness. The heaviness of each eyelid was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, as a slight pressure throbbed dully behind them.

A quick glance at Sam earned him a Dude, what? look in return. Dean shrugged his eyebrows and went back to examining the plain décor, counting the seconds until they could leave. Sam continued to earnestly grill the moron who now claimed to not have seen the spirit shove an old dude down some stairs, even though his statement to the police said otherwise.

When the cliché “Thank you for your time” words were spoken, Dean immediately headed for the door, craving any fresh air to help clear the cobwebs tangling up his thinking. Stepping outside was like being splashed with cold water, and Dean drank it in, despite the sniffle that developed as a result.

As they walked down the steps toward the Impala, Sam started in, eyes narrowed and suspicious. “What was with all the looks in there?”

Dean shook his head, not wanting an argument, and definitely not liking the sluggish feeling accompanying the movement. “Nothing. He’s lying, that’s all.”

Snorting, Sam rapped his fingers on the hood as Dean unlocked the doors. “No shit, he was lying. I shoulda pushed a little harder.”

Dean snorted. “Last time you pushed, the guy ended up needing a brace for his shoulder. Let’s just dig up the files, figure out which person can’t cross over, then deal with the remains. The witness doesn’t matter at this point.” He yanked open the door, sinking into the seat, almost crying at how good it felt.

Sam frowned over his shoulder at the house. “Yeah...I guess.”

The drive back to the motel was quiet, which was both a good and bad thing. It was good, because Dean’s headache loved to rap on his skull to the beat of whatever sounds it heard. But it was also bad, because silence meant less for Dean to focus on, which meant exhaustion threatened to take over at every straight stretch of road.

When they finally reached the motel, Dean heaved a sigh as he put Baby in park, closing his eyes against the sharp light.

“What’s with you? You’re all...off.” Sam scrutinized him with the practiced eye of someone proficient at finding fault.

Dean half shrugged, dragging his eyes open while pulling the keys from the ignition. “Got a bad headache. I think I’m - “

“Take some Tylenol or something, then. We have work to do.” And with that, he slammed the Impala’s door and headed inside, leaving Dean blinking in the driver’s seat.

xxxxx

The next day brought too much research while trapped inside the motel, as the sky opened and dumped a celestial sized bucket of water onto the town. Sam flipped through newspapers and websites, sighing and huffing, pacing and muttering. Dean fought off his impending cold, and did a damn good job of it, too, considering the bed was right fucking there.

He couldn’t process any of the information in front of him. Words danced on the pages, like the fever tingling in his limbs.

Angry at their lack of progress by late afternoon, Sam growled, “There has to be something we’re missing. We have all the information.”

Dean absently nodded, massaging the bridge of his nose, attempting to force the subtle yet persistent tickling into submission. He felt heavy, like a weight pressed on his entire body, trying to convince him to just lie down.

Sam haphazardly tossed a stack of newspaper clippings into a pile on the small table, ticking off items on his fingers. “I mean, we have all the obituaries, personal accounts from family and friends, eyewitness stories, county clerk records…”

Dean’s nostrils twitched, his lungs slowly filling with air.

“I don’t get what we don’t get. It’s not adding up.”

Eyelids fluttered closed, his mouth opened…

“Dude! Are you even listening to me?”

“Hihhhhhh-Hetschhhuhh!” Dean kept his head bowed a couple seconds, before sniffling and raising bleary eyes to Sam. Fight over. He was done. “Yeah. We’re missing something. I heard you. Look - ”

Sam rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is pissing me off. We should’ve been done by now, and moving on to another hunt.” He abruptly stood, slamming his chair into the table, knocking some papers onto the floor.

Sighing, Dean bent to retrieve them, grimacing as a dizzy spell socked him between the eyes. He tossed the papers on the table, muffled another sneeze into the crook of his arm that vibrated throughout his entire head, and gently pushed back his chair.

“Sam, I feel like crap. I really need to lie down before -”

“Where’d you find this?” Sam pointed at a piece of paper lying on top of the pile Dean just made.

Dean dug the heel of one hand against an eye. “Off the floor just now. Listen, please, I gotta - “

Sam smacked him on the arm. “This is it! This is what we were missing. Jesus Christ, it must’ve been buried in the pile or maybe I just kept glossing over it, but...now we know which remains are his!”

Oh, shit. “Sam...“

But Sam was already grabbing his jacket, throwing Dean’s at his brother. “Come on. We can dig him up right now.”

Dean wrapped his arms around himself, shaking his head. “Sam...I can’t - “

“Don’t be a pussy. Just take a pill or something and let’s go. Now that I know we can actually solve this, I wanna hit that bar when we’re done, and take that waitress’s order, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Good grief.

“Hey - you can call that Lisa chick. You haven’t seen her in, what, a few weeks?” Dean fought the urge to punch the leer off his face. Lisa was not a topic to be discussed. Not with him, not when he’s like this.

Impatiently snapping his fingers, Sam huffed. “Come on, man.” He studied Dean a moment, moving in for the kill. “You want someone else to die because you have a stupid headache?”

xxxxx

Dean sneezed, exhausted and cold, against his shoulder. He futilely wiped at the rain streaming down his face, thankful that his numb fingers couldn’t feel the difference between the water and his running nose. Another sneeze ripped out of him unexpectedly, causing him to almost lose his footing and fall ass first into the grave.

Technically, he did lose his footing. Sam’s hand shot out, catching Dean’s arm just in time. “Jesus Christ, that’s the second time you’ve almost fallen in. What’s going on?” He shoved Dean’s arm aside, impatiently moving around the wet hair plastered against his face. “And this,” he gestured at his head, “is annoying. I need to get a buzz cut or something.” The fact that Dean let that go without comment was a testimonial to how shitty he felt.

Sam tossed a disdainful look at Dean, lit by the intermittent flashes of lightning, making him appear more cold and distant than normal. Given the way he’d been acting, that was really saying something. “If you’re just gonna keep getting in the way, why don’t you just...stand watch or something.” Sam waved his hand around vaguely before shaking his head and dropping into the grave.

Dean would’ve retorted, but a nice string of coughing bent him double, followed by another sneeze. Pressing his lips together, Dean pried stiff fingers off the shovel, dropping it to the ground and immediately folding his arms across his chest. He shivered, watching, both their surroundings and Sam’s movements, until the bones were dust.

xxxxx

Sam was still crowing about solving the case and his upcoming reward when they returned to the motel. The door clicked shut in tandem with Sam’s phone, which he now waved triumphantly in Dean’s pale face. “Her shift ends in ten. I’m gonna shower then head out.” He grabbed his duffel, asking over his shoulder, ”Wanna come along? I’m sure we could arrange something.” He barked a laugh when all he got in return was a sniffle. “Whatever. It won’t take long, then we’ll leave early in the morning.”

The bathroom door slammed. The shower, and all the hot water most likely, burst to life, and Dean just stood dripping in the doorway.

xxxxx

End Part 1

[telltale]

Ahaha, I love it way to much that Dean is cold and sick and had to stand out in the rain. /hearts for eyes This is really great and a good look at that season too; looking forward to more.

[LeadaAlexys52]

OH MY GOD!!!! I can't even describe how lucky I feel!! The whole Sam being an ass makes me so sad, and I just want to go and give Dean a cuddle!! Very excited for part 2!!!!!!

[SpamKey]

Ahhh good old Soulless Sam. Always good for all your feeling sorry for Dean needs

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Omg.......Soulless Sam........ *melts......*

This is too great, I can't wait for more!

[TheMaster]

I love jerkish soulless Sam. This is just so perfect and poor Dean not having to deal with being sick on top of soulless Sam.

[gingerdean]

omg, you captured Souless Sam perfectly! I loved the comment about the hair Poor Dean, he's so gosh darn pitiful here. Looking forward to reading the 'now'

[Anilkex]

Sigh.

So, this will actually be in three parts. It's too long to plop in one post (how unusual for me), and I want this part posted asap. Part 3 (I swear, last part...) will be up either tonight or tomorrow.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Now...

Dean cleared his throat, unequivocally annoyed with the reluctant witness. Pressure was building in his head, signalling a monstrous head cold headed his way, and that was the absolute last thing he needed right now.

A quick glance at Sam earned him a What’s going on with you? look. Dean shrugged his eyebrows and went back to studying the overcrowded walls, filled with country themed knick-knacks and Home Sweet Home crap. Sam was working his magic on the witness, cajoling her into admitting what she saw despite her fear that they’d think she was crazy.

Dean didn’t have to pay super close attention. Sam would have it all memorized and catalogued with all the other information they gathered, so instead he idly wandered the room, tracing the prickle dancing throughout his nasal cavity. Midway through the second wall, the prickle grew into a mild burn that Dean scrubbed at while reading that damn Footprints poem, clinging to the wall by a silver cross.

When his eyes began to tear, he knew the fight was over. But he was ready. The itch fanned out, he raised his wrist, “Hiiiiiihhhhh-H’eh’NGXHT!” One sniffle, quick massage under his nose, and…

“H’gnxt!” One more.

Sam thanked the lady for her time, and they left the house. Cold air rushed past, just as he inhaled, causing him to lose control and, “TSCHHHuh!” before he could stop it.

“Whoa!! Jesus, Dean!” Sam yelped.

“Sorry...I’m fine. Let’s get going.”

They walked in silence, until Sam, in this quiet voice, said, “Okay...let’s head back to the motel and try to piece all this information together.”

Dean frowned at him. “I thought that’s what you were already doing in that giant head of yours. We should check out the building, then wait until dark before heading to the cemetery.” They reached the Impala, and Dean simply opened the doors and climbed inside. He knew Sam suspected he was getting sick, so he mapped a route to a drug store for non-drowsy cold medicine and cough drops.

Still outside, Sam fiddled with the door handle, probably deciding whether to ride with his germs.

“C’mon, Sam. We’re close - I wanna finish this before someone else gets hurt.”

Sighing, Sam opened the door and climbed in. Dean swallowed down the urge to sneeze, and drove away from the curb.

xxxxx

Dean pulled into a parking spot, shutting off the engine and announcing, “Gonna grab some beer. Be right back.” He was surprised that all came out without his breath hitching.

“I need a couple things, too,” Sam said, making Dean close his eyes briefly in annoyance. He just wanted to grab some medicine and swallow a couple pills before they broke into the building. He was about to tell Sam to just give him a list when the prickly sensation was back, tingling his nostrils, threatening to make him sneeze in front of Sam.

He shrugged, and practically leapt from the car, bolting for the store before...“HNGXGT!”

That. Before that.

Dean sniffled his way to the coolers in back, grabbing a six-pack. When the cold air kissed his warm neck, “H‘GNT! H’XNT!”

In the medicine aisle, his headache throbbed more painfully from all the stifling. As he scanned the boxes, he reflected, definitely a sign of a budding fever. Logically, he knew that Sam, his Sam, was back, and there wasn’t a reason to hide that he didn’t feel well. But the sting from the ultimate pneumonia from several months ago still hurt, and Dean just had a hard time letting go.

He absently toyed with the tip of his nose, wiggling it left and right, up and down. Dean bit his upper lip, breathing through his mouth, each inhale a little deeper than the last. Closing his eyes, he resigned himself to the sneeze, choosing not giving a shit over constant fighting and hiding.

Only, of course, it wouldn’t come, leaving Dean blinking and sniffling through teary eyes, trying to read the boxes while scrunching his nose and praying to sneeze, but nothing would happen.

Naturally, that’s when Sam entered the aisle.

Startled, Dean momentarily forgot all about the sneezing. He was just starting to move past the ridiculous notion that maybe a piece of his soulless brother remained, until Sam rolled his eyes.

Clenching his jaw, Dean snagged a box of pills off the shelf, and made to push past Sam, when his body remembered the sneezing. The whole walk down the aisle, Sam’s eyes on him, his breath caught, and the wild inhaling began. “Hiiihhhhh...heh-hih…” Each breath brought his hand a little closer to his face, his head rearing back a tad more, his steps slowing.

Fuck.

Then it slammed, his voice rising in pitch with each inhale.

“Hih-hih-hiiihhh’HRSCHHHHuhhh! Hp’TSCHHHYUuu! HETSCHHH!”

He sniffled just as he reached Sam’s side, his brother’s doe eyes wide with surprise.

Mustering up his dignity, he brandished the beer. “All set.”

Wanting to get a dose of the medication down his throat before Sam got back to the car, Dean scrubbed at his nose, flashing a brilliant smile at the cashier in hopes that she’d move a little faster.

Clutching the bag to his chest, Dean released the sneeze trapped inside during the whole checkout process. “H’ATSCHHHYUUuu!” He caught it in his sleeve, bending at the waist from the force.

He scrambled for the keys, shoving himself in the driver’s seat while hunting in the bag for the pills, managing to pop and dry-swallow three, just as Sam showed up.

Dean was just about to start the engine, when Sam, who probably refused to make eye contact because now he knew for sure that Dean was sick, said, “Hey, Dean? I left my good tools in the room. I need to go back for them.”

Dean thought this over. He could put on an extra layer, grab some toilet paper for his nose which was starting to run, and get a little time for the medicine to take effect.

“Sure.”

XXXXX

Really, Now…

Sam patiently nodded, his sympathy-filled eyes on the witness, but his everything else trained on his brother. Dean abandoned the interview a good five minutes ago, suddenly obsessed with the needlepoint projects and family portraits decorating every square inch of the living room. Dean wandered behind the teary woman, appearing to avidly read one of those Footprints in the Sand poems, neatly cross-stitched in purple.

Something was up with him, but Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. They were still “finding their way” since Sam’s soul was restored, and while all signs pointed to the reunion being a positive one, a couple days ago, Dean started pulling back. One word answers, pushing himself to actually research (huuuuuge red flag), and an almost defensiveness in place that left Sam both curious and concerned.

He was just about to convince the woman to admit she saw her dead son’s ghost, when the sound of someone clearing their throat made him glance up, thinking he was being signalled. But Dean wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, Dean brought his wrist up, hunched his shoulders, and stifled a sneeze that left him blinking. He quickly peeked at Sam, who tilted his head.

You okay?

Dean shrugged his eyebrows and went back to studying the overcrowded walls, but not before Sam noticed the blush creeping up his neck, onto his cheeks.

After a couple more minutes, Sam finally got the admission, and thanked the woman for her time. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean stifled another sneeze into his bandana, hastily shoving it in his pocket before waving a goodbye.

A chilly breeze lazily rolled in just as they started down the stairs.

“TSCHHHuh!” It caught Dean off-guard, and he gripped the railing tight to keep his balance.

“Whoa...Jesus, Dean...” That was too many sneezes in a short amount of time for a supposedly healthy Dean Winchester. Sam reached out to help, simultaneously fumbling in his pocket for a tissue or something, worry gnawing at him.

Dean stiffened, pulling away, cueing Sam to cease the whole “trying to help” plan. What did he do wrong? He ran over everything, but came up empty.

Then Dean did something that really put Sam on edge.

He apologized.

Apologized? To Sam? For what? Sneezing?!

Going for nonchalant, Sam fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket. “Okay...let’s head back to the motel and try to piece all this information together.” He figured once they were in the room, he could convince Dean to get some rest, sleep it off, whatever he needed.

“I thought that’s what you were already doing in that giant head of yours. We should check out the building, then wait until dark before heading to the cemetery.” Dean got into the car, leaving Sam biting his lip on the curb. “C’mon, Sam. We’re close - I wanna finish this before someone else gets hurt.”

What the...Dean hadn’t used that line in years. Sighing, Sam opened the door, and climbed in.

xxxxx

Surprisingly, Dean drove straight to a drug store. “Gonna grab some beer. Be right back.”

Gears turning, Sam decided to pick up cold medicine and cough drops, and at least have them on hand in case Dean decided to use them. “I need a couple things, too.” He didn’t miss the flash of irritation on his brother’s face before he shrugged, exiting the car. Whatever. He wasn’t going to stop caring about his brother just because said brother wanted to be a little dickish.

Dean was already at the store by the time Sam closed the Impala door. He thought about jogging to catch up, but when Dean’s shoulders tensed, head snapping forward to meet his hands, Sam figured walking was fine so Dean had some space.

He grabbed a basket, slinging it onto his arm and headed straight for the aisle with tissues. He passed an endcap with, wow, hot water bottles. Sam hadn’t seen one in years. Cinching his mouth to the side, he shrugged and tossed one into the basket, fairly sure it’d come in handy later.

His eyebrows rose when he turned into the medicine aisle. There stood Dean, one hand under his nose, the other clutching a six-pack of beer. It took Sam a second to realize that Dean was desperately trying not to sneeze. He tried to walk away undetected, but Dean’s head turned just in time to make eye contact, his eyes widening in surprise, like he got caught doing something wrong, not just sneezing.

Unless...unless he thought “the wrong” was the sneezing. Sam rolled his eyes. Just like the water bottle, it’d been years since Sam saw Dean act out all that stoic, macho crap. He thought they were past it, able to openly acknowledge when they weren’t up to hunting, and maybe just...needing the other.

He took a step closer, when Dean blindly grabbed some box off the shelf, stomping toward him, his mouth slightly open, his nostrils twitching (when did they turn so red?), his forehead wrinkled, until he was a few feet away. Then he lost control.

“Hih-hih-hiiihhh’HRSCHHHHuhhh! Hp’TSCHHHYUuu! HETSCHHH!”

Sam’s eyes widened. The force of each sneeze spoke volumes. Dean was well on his way to a massive head cold, and Sam silently thanked the store employees for setting up the hot water bottle display.

Dean raised the beer, a smirk already plastered on his face. “All set.” He brushed past, heading straight for a cashier.

Luckily for both of them, Sam had a trained eye. He caught the type of medicine clutched in Dean’s hand.

Nighttime stuff.

Nighttime stuff that would knock him out in roughly half an hour.

Pulling at his chin, Sam checked over his shoulder, pleased to find Dean occupied, attempting to flirt with the cashier while fighting off another sneeze. He hurried down the aisle, finger brushing several boxes, until he found the one he wanted. Non-drowsy capsules, for after Dean gets some solid sleep and insists on returning to the case. He also found cherry cough drops containing menthol.

He tucked it all in his basket, relaxing when he saw that Dean had already left the store. On his way out, Gatorade and a couple cans of soup were added to the pile. Satisfied, Sam paid, asking for paper bags to hide it all.

Awesome. Stooping to his level.

Sighing, Sam clutched the bag to his chest, entering the Impala with what he hoped was an innocent smile, not missing the shiny glint of a blister pack disappearing into Dean’s pocket.

Shit.

He knew Dean would fight him, but he absolutely had to get Dean back to the motel, before the medicine knocked him out. Going to the building was so not an option anymore.

Okay. Take the hit, Winchester. It’s for a good cause.

“Hey, Dean? I left my good tools in the room. I need to go back for them.” Gaze averted, Sam vowed not to take the disapproving look he knew was headed his way personally.

There was a pause, then, “Sure.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged a little with relief, and they headed back to their room.

xxxxx

End Part 2

xxxxx

[SpamKey]

Well now we need part 3, so everything can be good again! Poor Dean, he still thinks Sam's an asshole! And poor Sam, who doesn't know what he did wrong.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

I absolutely LOVE the two sided PoVs! And the after effect with soulless Sam.

OMG I don't want this to ever end. Like. Ever.

[Anilkex]

Part 3! Happy New Year!!!

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It took about fifteen minutes until they were back at the room, Sam gnawing on a fingernail the entire time. Knowing his brother, Dean probably shoved more pills than necessary into his mouth, figuring that more medicine meant he’d be more capable of hunting. A furtive glance to the left confirmed that thought. It also confirmed that this cold was rapidly debilitating Dean, and drowsy cold meds or not, he needed to be in bed, not snooping around a cemetery in the cold.

“Huuhhhh...almost there. Hurry up so we...heh...so we can...hih-hih-hiiihhhh…dammit! *sniffle* so we can go.” Dean pressed a knuckle under his nose. His eyes teared, his breathing ragged, but no release.

He parked, too preoccupied to notice that the car was crookedly split between two spots. Eyes clenched shut, Dean scrubbed his hands all over his face, as the persistent itch returned. Head tilted back, he held his hands ready, then...dropped them into his lap, helpless and frustrated.

Sam felt the wind pick up, so he calmly opened his door, hoping the breeze would help things along. Sure enough, the instant the cool air hit Dean’s red nostrils, “Hih’HESCHHHUuuu!”

“Coming in?” Sam asked innocently, while Dean wrestled with another stuck sneeze.

“Yeahhh-hih...Etschhhew! But bake it fast.”

A firm grip on his bag, Sam led the way inside, taking off his coat once the door clicked shut.

Dean held out a hand in protest. “What’re you doing? Don’t get combfortable. We deed to fiddish.” Congestion was now added to the growing list of symptoms. He started toward the bathroom, but stopped when Sam opened his bag, pulling out...a hot water bottle? and other supplies.

Not looking up, Sam replied softly, “You need to get in bed.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, following a hasty throat clearing. “I’m finde - it’s just a stupid headache. I cad hundt.” Why did he feel like he’d been duped?

Sam splayed his hands. “It’s more than a stupid headache, Dean. And yes, I know you can hunt sick, but not after you’ve eaten a bunch of cold medicine that’ll have you loopy in twenty minutes.”

As Sam filled the coffee pot with water, Dean checked the blister pack, swearing under his breath when he read the label. As an extra release of frustration, he knocked a chair into the table.

“What’s the big deal, man? So you’re sick.” Sam held up the medicine from his bag. “I got you this stuff, because I knew you were gonna push working. But right now, I’m glad you took those other pills. Some sleep would be best. I’ll go through everything and we can set out in the morning, and you can take these instead.” Sam nodded at the package of daytime cold medicine on the table, then filled the hot water bottle. He met Dean’s gaze, trying to suss out the true source for all the angst. He was too upset for this to just be about flexing testosterone.

They stood there, staring at each other, until Sam switched tactics. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

There was a fight inside Dean’s head - and he was sure Sam saw it, plain as day. Jaw muscles twitched, eyes flickered here and there, fingers curled and uncurled. Dean’s tongue darted over his lips, and he took a deep breath. Maybe it was the meds kicking in. Maybe he needed to believe his brother was really back. “I...uhm...I don’t...I don’t feel that great,” he whispered hesitantly.

Sam huffed a laugh. “I know, man. That’s why you need to take it easy.” He screwed the water bottle shut, gesturing at the bed. “Come on. Get in.”

That was what Sam said out loud. His eyes, that damn puppy-eye look, spoke more. You’re more important than any hunt out there. I’m here for you. It’s okay. It’s really me.

Nodding slowly, Dean peeled off his jacket, and crawled into bed.

Through half-closed eyes, Dean watched Sam putter around the room, adjusting the thermostat, checking Dean’s temperature, fussing with the blankets, and generally being as un-OtherSam as possible.

Maybe borderline girly.

Dean didn’t mind.

It confirmed what he dared to hope for - that his Sam was truly there, watching his back, showing that he cared, moving the fricking Kleenex box for the fricking fourteenth time.

“Sab! Jesus, quit hovering. How ab I supposed to sleep with you practically breathing od be??”

==end==

[Mai]

Awww this is so nice!! Please continue, I'd love to read more

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Sab! Jesus, quit hovering. How ab I supposed to sleep with you practically breathing od be??”

Yup. Sam is back!

Loved every word of this piece of art! Thank you for writing

[telltale]

I loved the juxtaposition between the Sam of then and the Sam of now, and Dean being all furtive about his illness and Sam just wanting to care care of him but letting his brother take it at its own pace. That was all just so in character and just, really excellent. Plus, I just adore people taking care of Dean; he doesn't allow it enough, so while the setup of the story, jumping from soulless Sam to Sam as himself, worked so well as a storytelling device, it worked on my ohhh Dean feelings too.

[LeadaAlexys52]

Ahhh, so satisfying! I love the different versions of the 'Now' part from Dean's perspective and then Sam's. It was so perfectly in character! Thank you so much!

Also I love the last line!

[sierraplaid]

Aww, poor Dean, and yay for (finally ) caretaking Sam! Once he gets it together he really gets it together. I really liked this--thanks for sharing!