Being left to wait was something that Dean rarely allowed to happen and did not do well. It sucked more than almost anything he could think of - anything on this earth that was. He felt completely and excruciatingly out of control when he had to wait. Waiting was torture and he knew torture.

It wasn't that he didn't think Sam knew what he was doing. The job was as simple as it got in their line of work. Just a salt and burn. A milk run. Then again, since when had a ghost given them this much trouble?

The thing was; there was always this nagging voice that worried something would happen if he wasn't there to keep a tight grip on the reins. If he knew what that something was it would help. He could tell Sam what to look out for, what to prepare for. Problem was; he had no clue. 'Something' was always a mystery that never revealed itself until the last possible second or too often (as was the case in Cold Oak) it waited until that final second had already ticked by.

Aside from the torture of waiting, Dean was freezing his ass off, he realized. Literally, the damn floor was cold! That was a distraction he could concentrate his thoughts on. It wasn't fun, but it was another subject.

The hole where the shattered front door used to be was covered with a large tarp, but that didn't do a great deal to keep the December air outside, especially not now that the power was out.

Objectively speaking, it actually wasn't extremely cold. Late fall was definitely still in charge in the southern half of the country. Earlier that day when the sun was high, it was great outside, probably a good, solid sixty degrees. It was the type of day when many people left their homes in light sweaters and shed them by lunch time. Once the sun set, however, the temperature tended to drop fairly quickly. By now, it was somewhere in the upper-forties outside with a light breeze. Still, if he wasn't injured and forced to sit inactive on the cold floor, he probably wouldn't notice the chill.

Before he left, Sam had insisted that Lester and Mike gather up little MacKenzie and bunch in closer to him. Before that, they had been several yards away down one of the snack food aisles. Dean knew why they were keeping to themselves and he didn't blame them. It was a fair bet that he looked like a horror movie extra. The kid really didn't need to see that on top of everything else she had witnessed here today.

Then he was reminded that sometimes you can't predict how a child will react to certain things. For example, when they were kids, Sam once had an irrational fear of a stuffed monkey that sucked its thumb. It wasn't the creepy monkey that banged symbols or even one of those sock monkeys, which Dean always found sort of freaky himself. This one was actually kind of cute and harmless looking, he thought. Hell, it may have even been a bear. Whatever it was, it wasn't remotely scary by any stretch of the imagination. Sam, however, seemed to find it the most terrifying thing that ever existed and Dean at seven-years-old was utterly merciless about tormenting him with it. At the time it was hilarious and made absolutely no sense. MacKenzie's reaction to him now was just as baffling, but in a completely different way.

He was suddenly a source of fascination for the child. He had gone from the shady guy who shot a unicorn to a poor, injured, potential plaything. The kid had a nurturing side that was sweet and sort of terrifying. If he had no one to look out for his interests, he was fairly certain he would soon be covered in princess Band-Aids and God-only-knows-what-else.

Dean had to admit he felt a bit nervous and defenseless as Mike and Lester squatted several feet away, talking quietly about how Mike's day had gone from typical to freak show, beginning sometime shortly after lunch that day. This left him weak as a kitten under the feverish gaze of a fascinated four-year-old.

"Mommy's a nurse," MacKenzie informed him in a sing-song voice.

She would not quit staring at him and her little hands anxiously tugged and twisted at the sides of her corduroys. She had been told not to touch him and was having quite a struggle following through. The need to tend the boo boos was strong in this one.

"Too bad she's not here."

"Yep," she agreed with a nod. "She's at work."

She continued to stand with her feet planted firmly in one place while she wildly twisted her upper body from side to side. "It's cold," she stated, when she gyrated to her next stop, facing Dean. "You cold too?"

"A little," he said. A lot, actually, but he wasn't whining to this kid.

She pursed her lips and frowned, drawing her brows together in a severe expression that looked funny on someone her age. Out of nowhere, she threw her arms out and squealed, then bounced up and down. It was a classic 'light bulb going off' moment. He was almost afraid to ask.

"Good Lord, Kenzie," her Dad scolded mildly from where he was still talking to his dad. "What are you up to?"

She looked back at Dean and put a finger against her lips, still grinning. Obviously, he was supposed to keep their secret, whatever it was.

"I'm cold," she whined dramatically.

Mike Lester paused for a second or two. Dean could tell he was just now realizing that it was indeed a little frigid in here. It was an easy thing to miss in all the excitement.

"Crap, honey," he said, looking around guiltily at the lack of options.

"I think there's a kerosene heater packed in the back somewhere, bunny," Lester chimed in as he rose to stand. "Papaw'll go and dig it out."

MacKenzie started a chorus of panicked no's. The heater was obviously not a part her brilliant plan. Dean wasn't sure what was, but he was jumping on her bandwagon. Splitting up was not a good idea. The storeroom wasn't secure and those places tended to be a giant rat's nest. Who knew how long it would take to the find the thing back there. No. It wasn't happening. As much as he'd like to be warm himself, it wasn't worth the chance.

A loud wolf whistle from him did the job of stopping her little chant quickly. She was effectively impressed into silence. All kids liked that sound. He remembered spending hours trying to perfect it when he was young.

"Sorry," he said to her wide-eyed stare, once he had her attention. "Gotta agree with the lady. We don't leave this room. What's the plan, sweetheart?"

He had her now. He was getting her most brilliant smile. His injuries had softened her, but now he was in. He was playing by her rules, which was the way she seemed to think the world should operate. MacKenzie was actually rubbing her little hands together in glee. This he had to hear.

"Dog Snuggiiieees!"

Dog Snuggies?! The hell! That was the master plan. He was going to bleed to death wearing dog clothes.

What was weirder was that Mike and Lester did not seem surprised by this. Mike just laughed a little and looked over at his dad, who was trying very hard to look stern. Dean had a suspicion that MacKenzie had been plotting to get her hands on the Snuggies for a long time. For her, this was the best possible scenario. Finally, the kid had figured out a way to get her grubby little fingers on the glorified dog blankets and she was proud of herself, even had her arms held high in a V of victory like a tiny cheerleader.

"Fine," Lester grumbled, "you just open up every box and see if you can wear all them Snuggies at once. Nobody's ever going to buy the damn things anyway. A stupid ass Snuggie for Dogs. That right there's cruelty to animals. That's what them PETA people should be so worried about instead of wasting their time…"

Dean tuned out most of Lester's rant on PETA. Honestly, they weren't his thing either. He liked animals and saw no excuse for being cruel to them, but he wasn't giving up bacon cheeseburgers any time soon. MacKenzie was much more entertaining. She had lost interest in anything her grandfather had to say the very second she knew she had the green light.

It was like Christmas morning, except this Christmas all the boxes held the same present, only in different sizes made to fit anything from a Chihuahua to a Great Dane. There were probably around fifteen to twenty cardboard boxes and she tore through them all with equal enthusiasm.

She would struggle with the industrial strength packing tape holding many of them closed, grunting and whining at them as she did, and often ended up ripping the box in half getting them open. She would then pull out what appeared to be a blue piece of felt, shrink-wrapped in plastic and "ooh" and "ah" over it before tossing it aside - often still wrapped in plastic - then go straight for another box. In less than five minutes, it was all over and the front part of the store looked like a small tornado had struck.

In the end, Dean was draped in two Great Dane sized Snuggies and one that was probably meant for a Golden Retriever, while MacKenzie did her best to wear the rest herself and put the tiniest ones on the unicorn he shot earlier.

The damn things were paper thin. They were the very definition of cheap crap, but they were something. Right now he was just too cold to care. Turned out he wasn't too proud for dog clothes after all.

"Hungry!" she screeched excitedly, whirling around sending all her Snuggies swirling around her. Dean cringed when their ends brushed against one of the various circles of salt on the floor, sending little grains scooting out of line. Despite the secured doors and windows, there was a unanimous consensus to keep the child inside her own personal ring of salt at all times.

"I've got her," her dad said, scooping her up and carrying her toward the snack food aisles where she could be heard chattering about cupcakes. Lester hurried in behind her to reclose the line with a box of salt.

"Damn this looks crazy," he said to Dean, pointing to the circles and lines of salt everywhere. "I can't wait to explain this mess to my Farm Bureau agent. How you holding up?"

"I'm great," he lied. "Never been better. Could use a beer, though," he said hopefully. He wasn't sure if this was a dry county. There still were a few out there and they tended to be the rural ones. God, how he hated the dry counties.

Lester called to his son and asked him to grab a bottle of water on his way back. "You can have a tiny sip of water, but that's it. You ain't got enough blood in ya to drink no beer. Sorry."

Great, he was going to die wearing dog clothes while sober. Things just kept getting better. Because he had to admit that the dying thing was starting to feel like a reality. He was tired, but it was more than just that. He knew what it was like to be so tired he could barely go on, to sleep standing up. This was different.

Being in Purgatory had been a constant state of hyperawareness. No matter how tired he was, his adrenaline was always coursing, always ready to kick back in and send him into fight mode. But this, this was like being powered down by something beyond his control. His senses were beginning to dim. He was still cold, but it was distant. Still in pain, but he was almost to weary to feel it. The light of the candles wasn't bright, but he had a feeling it was brighter than he perceived it to be. Everything was off, muted. This must be what it is like to die slow. After all the times he'd died, he was finally getting that experience.

"So what's up with all the As-Seen-On-TV crap?" Dean asked, shaking off his grim train of thought.

Lester sat down beside him against the cinderblock wall and lit yet another cigarette before answering.

"Dudley over there," he said, nodding a head toward his son. "He was great with a baseball. He's a good hearted boy. Was always good to his momma when she was alive, and he's good to his wife and Kenzie… but he's got no head for business or much common sense. Mike's like a black pit that just sucks up the money like one of them Hoover vacuums. Always has been. Decided to open up a As-Seen-On-TV Store off Exit 12. I bailed him out. Had to. Boy's got the golden ticket."

"The little girl?"

"Oh yeah. Can't let Miss Kenzie go under, can I? Now I got a store full of shit ain't nobody with an ounce of sense is gonna buy."

"I was wondering."

"Yeah," Lester nodded and then confided under his breath, "I was kinda sore at him. Now this bunch of crazy going on here tonight. Seems like I'm always bailing him out of one mess or the other. It's a good thing my daughters have good jobs and some sense, because he'll probably end up with most of what I got on account of him being such a dumbass. It ain't fair to them. Nothing's ever even like it should be."

Dean realized he still had a tiny bit of adrenaline left in him, just enough to feel that kick of rage. "Hell no, it's not," he agreed through gritted teeth.

Lester looked at him and frowned through a puff of smoke. "You got a lot of anger in you, boy. I'm not trying to head shrink you, but you ever go down to the VFW? Might help you out," he shrugged. "Mostly it's just bingo and a whole lot of bullshittin', but it does help to be around people who been there. Could make you feel less squirrely."

Dean leaned his head back against the cold wall and groaned. This guy meant well, but he had no idea what he was talking about. Still, if he was going to die here, he was getting it off his chest before he went.

"Look, I wasn't in Afghanistan or Iraq… No offense, but there are no people who've been to this place. Just me… My brother had no friggin' clue what I was going through over there. No clue! He was shacked up with some chick having this perfect, normal life - playing house with a dog while I was fighting for my life every second of every day. Starving. Cold. Bleeding. Not knowing if I'd ever see another human being again. Fuck him. You know? Fuck him!"

Lester took a moment to soak it in before whistling low. "Damn! I'd say horseshit, but trouble is I believe you. I'm too old to learn about this mess, too. I'm not flexible enough to adjust to the crazy you've seen," he admitted. "But, hell, I figure war is war when you get right down to it. Why do you think I signed on for that third tour? Why do you think anyone in their right mind would up and volunteer to do what I did? I was a tunnel rat. You ever hear of that?"

Dean nodded. He had heard his dad talk about those guys. They were usually small in stature like Lester. They would sneak down in the Vietcong tunnels, barely armed, and try to gather info and flush out spies. Even in wartime, it was particularly dangerous work. A lot of them didn't make it back.

"It's some crazy shit," he confirmed off of Dean's nod. "But hell, I felt like the guys over there were the only ones that understood me, the only ones that really cared. Everybody here was living their life, watching TV, going out to eat… Protesting the damn war!" He stopped to shake his head and take a few furious puffs off his smoke before continuing.

"Did you know Mike's mom even went out with this local dipshit college boy for a little while? We was just dating then and we'd broke up. Hell, I hadn't wrote her in forever and I had signed back up for another tour. But still, I was pissed. Lord, was I pissed. So, I'm not so sure it's as different as you think it is. That's all I'm trying to say. Hell no, these people back here don't understand! But do you really want 'em to? You really want your little brother to understand that? You want that mess in his head?"

Of course Dean didn't want that in Sam's head. He certainly hadn't wanted Hell in his head. He just wanted… Honestly, he wasn't sure what he wanted anymore.

"How'd you know he was my little brother?" Dean asked as a distraction. "He's not exactly little anymore. The kid ate his Wheaties."

Lester let out a phlegmy laugh. "I was the oldest. And in your case it's real obvious. You're a bossy son of a bitch."

Dean tried to think of something smartass to say, but was stopped when Lester pointed out what he would have noticed had his senses been normal - the wail of an ambulance headed in their direction.

"Sounds like your ride's here," he said.

Oh no. God knows he needed an ambulance, but not now. The lockdown wasn't over yet. He could feel it.

"The grave," he whispered urgently now that MacKenzie and her father were back in earshot. "Has Sam had time?"

Lester shook his head and gave a sad, half-smile. "Wouldn't bet on it; it's in what you'd call the boonies."

The foreboding that never quite went away was back and screaming in Dean's ear. What a fucking mess this was.

Without thinking about his broken leg he tried to scramble to his feet. He had to at least try and meet these people at the door. He couldn't just sit here like a useless ass. Luckily, Mike caught him before he face planted on top of his daughter. That move nearly ripped his consciousness away for good, but he managed to hold onto it, if just barely.

"Sit your goofy ass back down," he heard Lester say as he helped his son slide him down the wall and back into a leaning position.

"I'm sorry," Dean managed to gasp out. "I told Sam not to…"

"Course he did," Lester scolded, speaking louder as the screech of the ambulance got closer. "You're blood. Either way I'm grateful to you'uns, but if he hadn't taken care of you first, I'd have always wondered if that boy was right in his head."

"But, they can't get in here," Dean said.

"Yeah they will. I've got a plan I was holding on to. Was hoping I wouldn't have to use it, but it looks like we're down to it."

Dean squinted up, trying desperately to hold onto consciousness and make sense of what was being said. Lester leaned in close and spoke quietly so only he could hear.

"When we was trying to get you scooped up off the floor and salt all the doors and windows… right in the middle of all that, she 'bout got ahold of me," Lester told him. "She didn't look mad about it neither. Don't think she had no intentions of throwin' me through a door. She was real gentle like," he said wistfully. "Looked happy and kind of sad at the same time, like she wanted to laugh and cry. Kindly felt sorry for her. She favors my Momma a little, you know. Funny how you can still see that family resemblance."

He paused and Dean knew the other shoe was about to drop.

"She reached out for me; called me 'blood'. I think she'd a taken me if your brother hadn't showed up and filled her full of rock salt first. So, I'm going out there. I was my momma's firstborn. She can have me instead."

"In case you haven't noticed," Dean thundered back with a renewed surge of strength. "You're not exactly a cute little toddler anymore. No offense, but I doubt she wants your ugly old ass."

"So? I'm a whole lot younger 'n she is. Besides, I'm a son. I'm bettin' that's what she really wants if it came down to it. That's what she lost. She killed herself before her oldest son came back and she's been trying to get her a new firstborn ever since. Back in them days, sons was the most important thing in the world. That woman was no women's libber, you can take that to the bank. Hell, I'm a countin' on it. 'Cause she ain't getting that baby girl. She just ain't."

"You don't know that," Dean pleaded desperately. This situation had spun so far out of control it was ridiculous. Something had to give.

"She could kill you and it wouldn't help anybody!"

"I've got to try," he said solemnly. "Those are my kids. What choice do I have?"

"Shove me outside the door," Dean said. He could feel hot tears beginning to spill out of his eyes. "You throw me out of that damn door and hope they get to me in time. That's all you have to do. If they don't, you tell Sam whatever you have to."

Lester shook his head and patted Dean on the shoulder. "Son, we owe you more than that. Whatever you're feeling guilty for, you ain't paying that debt here. This is our fight. If you and your brother hadn't dropped in, our baby girl would be gone right now. And if I'd lived through it, I might have never spoke to my son again over it. So, you got to let this one go. This ain't on you. This is got nothing to do with you."

The wail of the siren had come deafeningly close and then stopped. The flashing lights could be seen bouncing off the walls in the shadows of the store. The ambulance had arrived.

"Time to go," Lester said as he stood up.

The rest was like a dream, or more like a nightmare.

A family embracing for the last time, a man telling a little girl lies about going outside "just to meet the ambulance people", some shouts of terror from outside that Dean knew were the terrified cries of those same "ambulance people" being confronted by a ghost, and finally Lester setting aside the shotgun and walking outside to meet his great grandmother, to see if she was indeed willing to take him in trade for his granddaughter… and also for Dean's life.

Dean didn't think it would work. He supposed he had gotten so cynical that he expected the worst. Not that the entire situation wasn't awful as it was. But, he had learned to expect awful on an entirely different scale - an epic, apocalyptic scale.

At the very least, the ghost was going to waste the EMTs just for being there and then kill Lester for getting in her way, and then he was going to bleed to death anyway. Extreme worst case, Sam wasn't going to burn the bones on time and she was going to eventually find her way inside, get her hands on that little girl, and probably leave her dad alive for good measure.

That would be the cruelest thing, after all. Killing almost everyone the man loved and then leaving him alone in a room full of carnage he couldn't possibly explain would be the icing on the cake. That's how hunters were made.

But this time, little of that happened. The horror was kept to a minimum. Dean was almost glad for the haze of near death he was in. It did shield him from the pain around him.

The fear and confusion on that little girl's face when she realized her Papaw was going away in the ambulance too. And the equally sad fact that her father knew what had happened and knew that his father would not be coming back.

Even the poor bewildered EMT's - who clearly did not understand what had just happened and why a man they had most likely known all their lives was now lying dead in the parking lot - were hard to take.

What made it all worse was the fact that Dean didn't think he could hold on any longer. Even as he was being put in the ambulance, he knew he was a goner. If he closed his eyes, that was going to be it. He was going to slip away and, no matter how hard he fought, the battle to keep them open was becoming harder and harder to wage. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't blame Sam.

He felt bad for Sam. His brother was going to come back to this and find that Winchester luck had struck again with a vengeance. He would find that his gamble to save his brother had failed miserably. No doubt, he would also always believe Dean had died pissed when - truth was - he really was the furthest thing from angry right now. He was just sorry. Sorry for the mess that was everything. Sorry he couldn't hold on just a little longer. He wanted to live to prove that at least some of their decisions turn out okay, to prove that the Winchesters aren't just miserable screw ups, damned to the worst case scenario. Of course, there is no way to prove something that simply isn't true.

~ Epilogue ~

Dean was warm and cocooned in blankets. A rhythmic beeping was going on somewhere to his left and a slight funky smell in the air was covered by an even funkier antiseptic odor. If he listened closely, he could just make out the sounds of what sounded like a soap opera droning away on a television set somewhere close by.

This was a hospital room, which meant he had survived. Somehow, he'd managed to make it out once again. Someone else had died, but he was still here. It was a familiar story for him, but he supposed it was a victory of sorts. At least the sacrifice hadn't been for nothing.

A slight snoring to his right revealed Sam, which was sort of an amusing sight. Poor Sam; he was way too big for what passed as a recliner in this place. The foot rest was open, but his feet and part of his lower calves stuck out over the end of it. His chin was also pressed against his collarbone at a painful-looking angle and his floppy hair masked most of his face.

His brother's elbow jutted over the arm rest and poked into a white curtain that divided the room. Dean guessed that signaled he had a roommate. Hopefully, whoever it was, they weren't too chatty and they didn't have a bunch of noisy visitors, but he wasn't overly concerned about that at the moment.

That was the great thing about morphine. It didn't actually fix anything, but you certainly didn't give a crap. The pain was still there. He could feel it every time he moved even slightly, but the drugs made it seem far away, like it belonged to someone else. Still, his abdomen was so tender he couldn't imagine getting up. Thing was, that was probably the first thing these bastards were going to want him to do around here.

Get up. Walk up and down the hall with his ass hanging out and an IV pole trailing after him. Make sure all his plumbing still worked. In other words, harass the living hell out of him. He couldn't wait.

Sam came awake with a start just then, snapping his head up and looking around alarmed and out of sorts. Dean chucked lightly at the little bit of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth and the huge impression on his chin where one of his jacket buttons had pressed into his skin.

"Lookin' good, Sammy."

Sam ran a hand across his face and made what looked like a painful attempt to sit up straight in the recliner. "Dean… what time?" He squinted at the clock across the room which surprisingly showed half past one in the afternoon. "Man, I didn't mean to fall asleep," his brother continued. "How long have you been awake? You need a nurse?"

"'m good. Just woke up. How long have I been here?"

"Since around ten last night. You don't remember anything?"

The ambulance was the last solid memory Dean could muster. After that, he could only gather a snatch here and there of being prodded and poked by strangers, but he wasn't sure what was real and what was dream.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said after a long minute.

He looked over to see his brother looking half sorry and dewy eyed, yet half defiant. Sammy was on the defensive, but Dean was a little too zapped to put two and two together quickly, so he just stared back at him dumbly. Why was it that a man couldn't just lie back and enjoy his morphine buzz?

"I tried," Sam said with barely contained anger. "I busted my ass to burn those bones in time. I almost killed myself speeding on those twisty back roads in that huge car of yours! I had to get you some help first, so I drove to the volunteer fire department and told them to come and get you. I couldn't just leave you there to die! And yes, Dean, you would have died."

Yeah, definitely. But, whether he would have died or not, it didn't matter. Not really. The thing was he understood why Sam did what he did and he would have done the same thing. It was the only thing family could do.

"I know, Sam," he said. "It's okay… I mean… I wish it had gone down differently, but I get it. I do," he emphasized seriously, hoping that would get his meaning across. He wasn't exactly great with the big talks.

"Really?" Sam looked suspicious, still clearly on guard. He appeared to be not quite sure if there was going to be a big argument or not.

Dean nodded. "Really. Dude, I'm tired of all the fighting. You did what you had to do. Just please tell me everyone else made it out okay?"

Sam sighed and relaxed a bit in his seat. "Yeah," he nodded. "One of the EMS guys had to have a few stitches, but he's okay. They're all okay. Joey made it through his first salt and burn, and Mike and MacKenzie came by to see you a couple of hours ago," he said as he pointed to a small table across the room with a smirk on his face. "Didn't you notice your present?"

Oh crap. He had his own pink, yellow, and blue unicorn pillow now. He must have been flying high to miss that thing sitting there staring at him with its beady little eyes.


"Knew you'd like it," Sam said with a laugh. "You can thank MacKenzie personally when she comes back. She said you have to be nice to it and not shoot it," he warned.

Dean groaned. Of course she had a rule against shooting the stupid thing.

"Lester's body?" he asked reluctantly.

"They're doing an autopsy today. It's required by law," Sam said carefully. He didn't seem quite sure if this was safe ground yet. "Mike's wife is a nurse here, so she's heard things. Nothing is official yet, but it looks like they're going to declare it natural causes. Possibly a major heart attack brought on by hardened arteries and lack of oxygen from advanced, untreated lung cancer."

"Bastard did smoke too much," Dean agreed, "but we all know that didn't kill him. Not last night."

His brother just shrugged weakly. Of course everyone who was there knew better, but this was how things worked. Cancer and heart attacks – that's what the world understood.

"His body?" Dean asked again.

"They're having him cremated as soon as he's released. Mike promised me," Sam emphasized before he could argue. "We'll stick around to make sure it gets done. Besides, I'm thinking you won't be going very far for a little while."

All of that made sense. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best game in town. He could always hope the old guy had moved on when Sam torched Annabelle's bones, but if not, they would make sure he moved on as soon as possible.

"I need to warn you about your nurses," Sam said, breaking his train of thought. "I'm afraid you're going to be an ass."


"MacKenzie's mom is one of them. She was here last night. She's off today… because of everything," Sam added awkwardly, "but she's pretty and really nice. So, don't be a jerk."

Okay, this was coming from far out of left field.

"What? Jeez, Sam. I'm not messing with that little girl's mom. Give me some credit."

"Well, one of your other nurses is really cute too. She has long, curly, red hair and… she's well endowed," he added with a knowing smirk, holding his hands out in front of his chest to illustrate his meaning.

"So?" Dean asked, feeling a smile creeping across his face. "You're saying this lady can't be a good nurse just because she has large breasts? That's offensive! I'm surprised at you, Sammy. I thought you were a better man than that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, I know you. Please don't start with the naughty nurse, porn fantasy stuff. You're too old to act like that. It's embarrassing."

The redhead came into the room right as Sam finished his sentence and beamed a smile in his direction, giving him a friendly greeting and scolding him about not leaving to get some rest. Then she exclaimed in a thick East Tennessee accent about how wonderful it was to see Dean awake and alert, before starting up with the inevitable crap about getting him 'up and around' later today. He was ignoring that part for now. Sam was right, she was cute. Very cute.

When she turned her back he looked over at his brother and pumped his brows, just so he could get the warning headshake he knew he was going to get. It was far too easy.

Oh, Come on. As if he could seriously make a move on a girl right now. He liked to consider himself the world's biggest badass, but even he had his limits. Taking a piss on his own was going to be an achievement, but that didn't mean he couldn't have a little harmless distraction and mess with Sam in the process. It would be nice to wind Sam up just for fun for a change, much more satisfying than doing it for spite. He was stuck here for the next few days; he may as well be entertained.