Title: Home is Where the Haunt is

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Dean decides his brother's room in the MoL Bunker doesn't look lived in, redecorates and finds that some things are where they are in the bunker for a very good reason. Post 8x15 "Man's Best Friend" hurt/caring!Sam/Dean

Author's Note: This one is a three-fer prompt for JaniceC678, Shee 1 and hotshow. Shee 1 supplied the title, hotshow the setting; a la Dean redecorating Sam's room in the bunker and Janice, as usual, brainstormed at me to bring it to life in my head. :D Gonna be a little 'cracky'. Lol

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

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


Sam stood in the door to his bedroom and stared in absolute shock for a moment as his eyes took in the changes that hadn't been there before he'd gone on a supply run. He blinked, shook his head and stepped back into the hall.

"DEAN!" Sam bellowed. He knew he sounded angry but really, he was just stunned…and a little touched. He did his best to keep the smile off his face when his big brother came around the corner grinning as if he'd been waiting. "Did a decorator fairy explode in my room while I was gone?" He looked back in and had to stare again. The simple green blanket that had been on his bed, one they'd had in the Impala's trunk for years, was gone and replaced with a thick, brown comforter. Dean had found a spare book shelf somewhere and that was across from his bed and lined with books and knick-knacks…actual dust collectors his brother had unearthed from somewhere and put on display. His small, metal desk had been replaced with a larger, wood desk from one of the other rooms and a footlocker sat at the foot of his bed.

"Problem, Sammy?" Dean couldn't get the satisfied grin off his face. After Dean had made his bedroom his own, it occurred to him that Sam had no idea what it really felt like to have a place that was just his. Dean looked in Sam's sparse room every time he passed it and finally understood - Sam wasn't 'nesting' because a home wasn't something he had ever known aside from their car. The kid had spent his whole life forced to live out of a bag and now he had an entire room he didn't know what to do with. Dean couldn't stand it any longer and had been quietly collecting odds and ends for a few days, waiting for Sam to take off for a few hours and he finally had.

"What did you do?" Sam asked in a daze as he stepped into his room and really took everything in, running his fingers over the spines of the books on the shelves and tapping one tray of an antique, gold apothecary scale that sat on the top. "This is…"

Dean frowned as he watched Sam's pensive face look around and began to feel a little ridiculous for having done it. "Look, if you don't like it, I can pull it all back out. I just thought, you know, it's your room. I mean it's YOUR room, dude. No sharing, no packing up tomorrow. It should look like someone friggin' lives here."

Sam turned and met his brother's green eyes and finally smiled the warm, genuine smile that lit up his whole face that Dean had not seen in a long, long time. "I like it. I really do. It's, uh…I mean, I don't know what to say. Thank you?"

"Damn right, thank me! I'm awesome." Dean rolled the tension out of his shoulders now that he knew Sam appreciated it and was glad to have been able to put that look back on his face, if only for a little while.

Sam bent to look at his new desk and his brows rose. Amid the cups of pens, notebooks, journals, and the lamp was a picture he hadn't seen in years taped to the wall behind it. It was a picture of them as children with their Dad, sitting on the hood of the Impala. Dad was holding him and Sam figured he couldn't have been more than two or three, and Dean had an arm out and wormed under their father's around Sam's waist and Dad…Dad was smiling. Sam smiled and felt the shine of tears in his eyes.

"So, it's ok then?" Dean asked in a fit of insecurity as Sam spent way too long studying the picture he'd put up for him. "'Cause I can change stuff, or…umph." Dean grunted in surprise when Sam turned and threw his arms around him. He chuckled and hugged his little brother back. "Ok, ok. Dude. It's just a room. Nobody's dying or just back from the dead. Lemme breathe already!"

Sam laughed and released him, backing up a step as he wiped self-consciously at his damp eyes. The simple gesture from his brother had moved him more than he had expected, reminding him just how much Dean cared, even when he tried to downplay it. He grinned and sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand over the new comforter. "This is really cool, Dean." His brother gave a satisfied nod and turned to leave. It sunk in for Sam as Dean slapped his shoulder and left him alone to enjoy it that this was home. They had a home. A real place to stay and live, and he didn't have to look at everything in terms of what would stay safe in the trunk anymore. "Wow," Sam whispered and flopped back onto his bed, smiling at the soft give of the comforter under him. He felt a cough building deep in his chest and swallowed hard, refusing to give in to either the cough itself or the fear of it. He forced a smile back onto his face and got back up to explore all the things Dean had brought in.

Dean grinned to himself in the kitchen and then chuckled; he really was turning into Susie-friggin-homemaker in this place. He shrugged and went back to mixing his burger meat together. He didn't think Sam understood that most of the 'nesting' his brother accused of him doing, Dean was doing because he wanted Sam to finally know what a real home felt like. His brother's words came back to him, that Sam saw a future for them, a light at the end of the tunnel, and really, all of this was Dean's way of trying to see it too.


Dean jerked awake to the sound of his brother's voice raised in alarm. He was out of bed in an instant fearing that there was a side-effect to the trials Sam hadn't told him about, and he ran the few steps down the hall to fling the bedroom door open. "Sam?" Dean gasped and flicked on the light and then burst into laughter. "Holy crap, Sam. You fell outta bed?"

Sam stared up at Dean from the floor and scrubbed a hand down his face. "I…uh, yeah. That was weird." He grabbed the side of his bed and pulled himself up to stand beside it. "I was dreaming, I guess, and I could have swore someone was…pulling me off the bed." He smiled sheepishly and rolled his eyes while Dean laughed. "Ok, you can shut up now."

"Only you, man." Dean slapped his brother's arm with a laugh. "Can I go back to sleep now or do you need me to check under the bed for monsters? 'cuz, you know, I can take care of those for you. I know how."

"Shut up." Sam gave him a shove to the door. "And…put some pants on next time, dude." He smirked as Dean slapped his own ass over the boxers he slept in.

"Just jealous, Sammy," Dean snorted and padded on cold feet back to his room, climbing under his blankets and groaned happily in the dark as the memory foam seemed to cradle him. "I love my bed."

Sam turned the light back off and got back in his bed. He rolled and wrapped his arms around his pillow and tried to think what he'd been dreaming about that made him roll out of bed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and yelped in shock when something cold closed around his ankles. "Dean!" Sam shouted and gasped as he was pulled from his bed and thrown across the room into the door. He hit with a thump hard enough to rattle the door in its frame and slid to the floor.

"Not funny, Sam!" Dean called as he crossed the hall. "If you're screwin' with me at three in the morning…" He turned the knob to push the door open and snarled when it only moved an inch. "What the hell?" He gave it a harder shove and gained a couple more inches, enough to reach in and turn the light on and then heard a groan from the floor on the other side of the door.

"Ow." Sam slid to the side a little when the door banged into his back and looked up as Dean stepped into the room. "I did not fall out of bed." He waved a hand around the room. "Something pulled me."

"When you say 'something'…"

"I mean, I felt - I dunno - cold hands on my ankles." Sam pulled one foot up and tugged his sleep pants out of the way. "Holy crap."

Dean knelt and stared as humor and irritation were replaced with fear and confusion. There were clear handprints beginning to bruise into his brother's legs just above both ankles. "Ok, up. Now." Dean grabbed Sam's arms and yanked him to his feet. "Out." He didn't know what the hell was going on, but he knew Sam wasn't staying in that room until he figured it out. Dean shoved him into the hall and past his own room, steadying Sam when he limped oddly.

"What's going on?" Sam rubbed a hand over the back of his head and felt the small lump there from his impact with the door. "Is the bunker haunted?"

"And we just haven't noticed until now?" Dean shook his head dismissively and aimed Sam at a chair in the library, letting him drop down into it. "No way. Gotta be something else."

"How does something even get in here?" Sam leaned back, rubbing his head and tried to make sense of it. "The whole bunker is like one giant panic room. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, gets in here."

"I dunno. How's your legs?" Dean tugged one of Sam's feet up by the leg of his sleep pants to take another look. "Anything broken?"

Sam shook his head. "Just my pride. Jumped twice in my own bed."

Dean snorted. "You know, usually that's the kind of thing I cheer about."

"Dean," Sam groaned but smiled at the dirty comment. "I need to figure this out. I can't just keep hiding from my own bedroom."

There was a sudden loud crash from the hall that made both men startle. "Oh, NOW what?" Dean turned and jogged back down the hall and slid to a stop. "Oh, you son of a BITCH! Not my awesome mattress!" His memory foam mattress and all his bedding were standing upright in the hall with Sam's desk chair propped precariously on top of it.

Sam couldn't help the grin. "Looks like it's not just my room. Maybe you should…" a strange rattling sound from Sam's room cut him off and he eased around the standing mattress to his own door. He pushed it open and looked inside and his jaw dropped. "Uh…Dean?"

"What?" Dean reached up and dragged the desk chair down, letting it hit the floor with a clatter before he pushed the mattress against the wall and went to look. At least a dozen books, pens, pencils, the pen cup, and even the desk lamp were whirling through the air in Sam's bedroom in a complicated dance, sometimes knocking into each other and spinning out towards the walls before being pulled back in. "Ok, Carol Ann. What the hell's happening? 'Cause that's some full-on Poltergeist crap goin' on now."

Sam shook his head and pulled the door shut. "I don't like this." He went back around Dean's mattress with his brother and looked up as the passed Dean's room. Dean had hung several small throwing knives, among many other weapons, on the walls and three of them turned suddenly. They stood out from the wall on their own and then whistled through the air to the door and at both men.

"Shit!" Dean grabbed Sam and tackled him to the floor. He groaned when he felt a line of pain along the back of his right shoulder and quickly rolled off his brother to grab his arm and pull him up. "Move!" He dragged Sam along with him down the hall and back out into the library.

"Wait, wait. Should be safe here." Sam stopped Dean's rush toward the bunker's entrance. He pointed his left arm toward the end of the hall. "See the seal? Whatever it is, it won't be able to pass that."

Dean nodded and then his jaw dropped. One of the small knives stood out from his brother's bicep, embedded in the outer muscle. "Son of a bitch! You ok? Come here."

"It's fine." Sam grimaced and took hold of the knife's handle, pulling it out with a quick jerk before Dean could argue.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean slapped a hand over the wound as blood started to flow and Sam hissed out a pained breath. "You couldn't have let me do it?"

Sam rolled his eyes and sat next to one of the long tables in the library. "Like that's the first time I've been stabbed? Dean, this is nothing. Purely superficial." Sam grabbed his brother's arm and turned him. "You, on the other hand, that's gotta hurt like hell." There was a several-inch-long gash along the back of Dean's right shoulder blade. With no shirt to stop it, the knife had sliced cleanly through the skin on its way past. He stood and shoved Dean down into the chair instead. "Stay."

"I'm not a dog," Dean grumbled while Sam went to fetch the first aid kit. Now that Sam had pointed it out, his back burned like hell and Dean leaned over the table in resignation.

Sam came back and laid the kit out on the table next to his brother's head. He thought while he worked, taking out the peroxide and bending to clean the long cut. "It can't be something that came in with us, so it has to be something that was already here. Sorry." He cleaned the cut quickly while Dean grunted out a pained breath. "Where did you get all the stuff you put in my room?"

Dean groaned. "Here and there."

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled out the butterfly bandages. "Define 'here and there'." He started closing the wound with the little strips. "You've searched more rooms than I have so far. Where did you find some of that stuff?"

"Few places…crap!" Dean flinched at particularly painful tug of skin and settled. "Most of the furniture came from other bedrooms, so that stuff should be fine."

"What about the knick-knacks?" Sam placed the last strip and smirked as he picked up the bandage to cover it. "Which, by the way, knick-knacks? Really? I'm impressed dude. That's like…Better Homes and Gardens worthy."

Dean swung an elbow back into his brother's gut and grinned at the explosive grunt. "Shut up, bitch." It did embarrass him a little but not enough to actually stop making the Batcave a home. He could deal with the teasing. It was worth it. "I dug through a couple rooms downstairs. One of 'em was just shelves of dust collectors and pictures and crap." He smirked. "Figured we could go out tomorrow and find you some geeky crap to hang on your walls."

"What rooms?" Sam asked, ignoring the jibe about his being a geek because…couldn't argue with that one, and stuck to the matter at hand instead. "Do you remember what you took out of them?"

"I suppose. Are you done yet?"

"Yeah." Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back, patting the last piece of tape in place. "I need to check the archive."

"Nuh-uh." Dean caught his arm before he could walk away and pushed him into the chair. "Your turn, or did you forget you're still trailin' bodily fluids all over the place?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Sam rolled his eyes. "Just slap a band-aid on it. This is more important." He smirked. "And getting you back in your pants is definitely more important."

Dean flushed and poured the antiseptic over Sam's arm with a grin as his brother yelped. "You were saying?"

"Geez. Nothing." Sam groaned and let Dean pick at the wound, cleaning it out and closing it with a few butterfly strips before he covered it. "I'm glad you sharpen your knives or that would have hurt a lot more."

Dean snorted and nodded. He let Sam stand and go quickly to the archive drawers filled with an old library system of cards that held reference to pretty much everything the Men of Letters had collected. "You know, don't you think they would have marked a room with dangerous crap in it?"

"They might have and we just didn't know." Sam looked up from the card file with a sheepish look. He pointed to the floor. "There are seals, devil's traps, and sigils all over this place."

Dean looked down at his feet at the now familiar carvings in the tiles and sighed. "So maybe the room was marked. Dammit." He frowned and then slapped his head. "One of the rooms did have carvings all around the door. I thought it was just, you know, decoration!"

"Know soon enough." Sam found what he wanted and crossed the room to the alcove with narrow drawers from floor to ceiling. Each one contained maps and floor plans of important locations all over the world, but it was their own he wanted. He tugged open the drawer number he'd found in the file and picked through the blueprints inside. "Got it." He tugged one sheet out and brought it to the table, laying it flat.

"What's that?" Dean leaned over the diagram drawn in white on the faded blue paper and whistled. "Dude, that's the bunker?"

"One floor." Sam smiled. "Downstairs."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean recognized the halls he'd been in over the last week and pointed to one room. "That's the one with the carvings around the door."

Sam bent to look at the reference for it and frowned. "It's another archive reference number. Hang on." He went back to the stacks, rolling out his sore arm and found the book he wanted.

Dean took the opportunity to head back to the hall and look down it. He couldn't hear anything now from the direction of their rooms. "It's too quiet. I don't like it."

"Alternative," Sam mumbled while reading.

"Share with the class, Sam," Dean said and leaned over his shoulder to look. "Whatcha got?"

"It says here they were looking for an alternative to having to build a curse box every time they found a cursed object and couldn't destroy it, or rather, destroy the curse on it." Sam frowned and his eyes flew over the page. His brows winged up his forehead and he lowered to book to look at his brother. "The room."

"What about it?"

"The whole room is one giant curse box." Sam flipped the page and pointed to the markings inscribed there. "They used a combination of sigils from a few different places to basically, lock the whole room down. Once something's put in there, it's inert."

"Inert." Dean repeated and then dropped into a nearby chair. "Until some idiot wanders in and takes it out. "Friggin' great. Why couldn't they put a damn sign on the door?!"

Sam chuckled and set the book down. "They probably trained anyone who came in here. They weren't planning on being wiped out." He added the last softly and set the book aside. "We need to know what you took from the room and put it back."

"Without getting fileted. Right. Come on." Dean stood and tried not to feel self-conscious that he was forced to strut around in his damn underwear. First stop would be his room and the nearest robe. He was not arguing with a pissed off cursed object in his skivvies. He went to the bags left by the door and took out the two sawed off shotguns, handing one to Sam.

Sam automatically checked that it was loaded with rock salt rounds and clicked it closed with a practiced flick as he jacked a round into the chamber. "How do you wanna do this if things are still doing air time in my room?"

"I took two…no wait, three things outta that room." Dean stepped to the end of the hall, for once doing more than glancing at the gold seal in the arch and realizing it was so much more than just decoration. There was another like it at the other end of the hall and they were clearly keeping whatever spirit was raging down there trapped between them.

"Dean." Sam raised his shotgun as a spirit flickered into view at the turn in the hall toward the bedrooms. It was a man. He was tall, nearly Sam's height with a thatch of black hair on his head, cruel eyes that narrowed to look at them and wearing a white, long coat.

"Dude, is that…some sort of lab coat?" Dean eyed the spirit, shrugged and fired a round into him. The man vanished as his image shredded apart wisps of smoke.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Lab coat, period clothing…" his voice trailed off as he thought and then he turned and ran back to the library. "I think I know what the object is. Hang on!"

Dean growled and lowered the gun to follow because he'd been ready to kick some spirit ass. "If you know what it is then let's go get it!"

"I want to be sure." Sam was already at the archive files, digging through the lists for item manifests. He went quickly to a stack of shelves and pulled down a book from the top shelf, flicking it open. "Manifest for the items in the curse room."

Dean went back to the hall and itched to go in, knowing Sam would kick his ass if he left him, so he waited. He groaned when he heard more banging from down toward their rooms. "Man, gonna take days to clean that mess up. Knock it off, you Caspar son of a bitch!" He shouted.

"I'm right." Sam jogged back down to meet him and smiled. "It's those scales. They belonged to a turn-of-the-century apothecary. Guy was bad news; accused of making deals with the devil, raising ghosts to do his bidding, and my personal favorite, keeping victims in his cellar that he fed a piece at a time to his pet hellhound."

"Well, there's a guy who deserved to get dead," Dean snarled and jacked a fresh round into his shotgun. "So, grab the scales and chuck 'em back in the curse room. Easy."

Sam snorted. "Oh, yeah. Piece of cake. Sure he's just going to let us walk in and walk out with them."

"I'll distract him. You grab the scales." Dean stepped forward and Sam grabbed his arm.

"No way. I'll distract him and YOU grab the scales." Sam raised a hand. "He's already fixed on me because the scales are in my room. May as well use it."

Dean growled, not liking that plan at all but seeing the logic in it. He clanged the barrel of his gun into his brother's lightly. "You get dead, I'm kickin' your ass."

Sam chuckled and nodded. "Deal. Let's do this."

They strode over the seal and into the hall together, guns ready for when the apothecary decided to show himself again. Dean turned the corner ahead of his brother, slipping in front of Sam and ignoring the dirty look with a smirk as he peered around the corner.

"Well, hell." Dean stared in surprise as it seemed most of the furniture from both their rooms and some from the other unoccupied rooms was now in the hall, stacked in impossible structures that shouldn't be holding up under their own weight. "Seriously, this guy's been watching too many '80's ghost flicks or something."

Sam whistled softly. "Whoa." Chairs and tables, desks and lamps had turned the hall into an obstacle course of dangerously stacked furniture. There were even towers of books that shouldn't have been standing under their own weight but somehow were. "I don't see my bookshelf."

"How can you even tell?" Dean eased down the hall and had to duck and twist to get around past the piles. "Remind me never to play Jenga with this guy."

"Nice, Dean." Sam squeezed around one structure and looked up worriedly as it shook when his chest knocked into it and made it jitter. "So this wasn't part of your redecorating scheme?"

"Shut up, smartass." Dean reached his room and looked in. It was damn near empty. His bed frame was gone and he spotted it further down the hall holding up an upended wing chair. He smiled though, seeing that his picture of him and his mom still somehow sat untouched and propped against the desk lamp on pretty much the only thing that hadn't been moved or thrown. He squeezed into his door and grabbed a pair of his jeans from the floor. "Watch my back."

"Trying not to." Sam said with a laugh as Dean hurriedly pulled his jeans on and hiked them up over his boxers. "Gonna check my room." He moved away from Dean's door and had to execute a couple contortions to get to his own. It was closed, and he could feel a chill on the metal when he put his hand to the knob. Sam looked over as Dean appeared and raised a brow.

"In there?" Dean asked and Sam nodded. "Hang on. Lemme…dammit." He squeezed past a tower of books and got into a position where he could cover the door. "Ok."

Sam turned the knob and pushed the door open. The apothecary's spirit had been busy. All the knick knacks, pens, book, and any other small object it could find were spinning slowly in the center of the room in an intricate pattern that almost looked like a three dimensional pentagram to Sam. "Holy crap."

"That what I think it is?" Dean asked, looking around his brother's shoulder.

"I think he's actually trying to summon something." Sam glanced to his right, and the bookcase was the only furniture still in his room and on top of it were the scales. "Got 'em. Get ready to run."

Once again, Dean really didn't like the plan as he stayed in the door and watched the structure revolve in the air. It bothered him that the spirit had that much power and control even after being blasted. "You don't take any chances, Sam."

"Wasn't planning on it," Sam replied softly and moved over to the bookcase. He reached up, shivering in the swiftly dropping temperature in the room and took hold of the scales at the base. The little dishes swung wildly as he brought it down and then tossed it to Dean. "Go! Now!"

Dean turned and ran, no longer trying to be careful. He plowed down the hall, shoving towers of furniture out of his way to crash behind him as he went.

Sam spun back to the center of his room as the gently spinning structure of odds and ends suddenly spun up into a frenzy. "No way." Sam raised his shotgun and fired a round into the center with a wince for the damage the rock salt would do to some of his books. It blew apart, but rather than fall to the floor, the objects were thrown outward at speed and Sam ducked. He gasped as he hit the floor and several things slammed into his back. There were stinging pains and then the temperature dropped in earnest. Sam shouted in surprise as cold hands wrapped around his neck from behind and dragged him back into the open space. He looked up into the snarling, enraged face of the apothecary and brought his shotgun up again.

Dean sprinted the length of the hall. He turned another corner and saw the gold seal in the floor at the end of the hall and the stairs just beyond it. There was a crash from behind him and then a shout from his brother and he tried not to think about it, trusting Sam to stay alive while Dean fixed this.

He slid across the seal with the scales and Dean staggered. There was a concussion to the air, like something exploding. Dean didn't stop to figure it out. He took the stairs two and three at a time and slammed through the door at the bottom into the hall with a grunt. He burst into the hall and turned left toward the curse room.

Dean skid to a stop when a shelf along the wall next to him rattled suddenly and flung itself down in his path. "Oh, no way, asshole!" He vaulted the fallen shelf and grunted in pain when something struck him in the back, taking him to the floor. "Crap," Dean groaned breathlessly and turned over to find the apothecary's spirit standing over him. "Really tired of your crap!" Dean brought his shotgun up and fired into him. He didn't wait around to watch the dead man vanish. He turned and crawled the last few feet to the curse room.

Dean stood and shouldered the door open. He threw the scales inside and felt the concussion to the air again as they crossed through the door. "Damn!" He dropped down to sit against the wall for a moment and catch his breath, hearing nothing but silence in the bunker and then a rumble of falling furniture from the floor above.

"Sam." Dean dragged his tired body to its feet and ran back to the stairs. He was panting by the time he reached the main floor and ran back down the hall. He turned the corner and had to climb over the piles of fallen furniture and books. They had all crumpled without the spirit's power to hold them in place. "Sam?" Dean reached the closed door of his brother's room and shoved it open. "Shit!" He was instantly on the floor next to his prone brother and pulled his head and shoulders up into his lap. "Don't you do this," Dean whispered and put a hand to his neck, relaxing a bit when he found his pulse strong and steady under his fingertips. He grinned as Sam began to stir with a soft moan and then scowled when he saw the clear mark of handprints on his throat...again. "Always with the neck, little brother," he murmured softly.

"Dean," Sam groaned softly and blinked his eyes open. He coughed and shot up so he was sitting, hunched over himself.

"Take it easy," Dean held on to his shoulders until the coughing passed and eased him back. "You good?"

Sam nodded, rubbing his throat and beyond relieved that no blood had come up with the cough. "That guy's…got a hell of a grip." His voice was hoarse and his throat sore and all he wanted was to curl up in bed. He looked out into the ruin in the hall and slumped back into Dean's arm because bed was a long way away at that point.

"Come on. Up you go." Dean got up and pulled Sam with him. He spotted the frame of Sam's bed and sighed. "Let's get the beds put back together. Sort out the rest tomorrow…I mean later." He ran a hand down his face. He was exhausted and Sam was clearly on the same page. "Maybe just the mattresses."

"Like that idea better." Sam groaned and rolled his shoulders, trying to stretch out the ache in his back. "Pillow and a blanket. I'm good."

Dean snorted and gave him a nudge out. "Five minutes, sasquatch." He helped Sam pull his mattress out of the jumble in the hall and drag it back into his room and even found the brown comforter and a couple pillows. Sam was already sprawled on top of the mattress on the floor when Dean came in with them. He chuckled and snapped the comforter out over him and tossed the pillows toward his head. "Get some sleep."

"Help with yours?" Sam mumbled sleepily from under his pillows. He'd get up again if he had to. He just didn't want to.

Dean laughed. "I got it. Sleep, dude." He picked through the debris strewn around the room and quickly found the other two objects he'd taken from the room; a snowglobe and a broad, heavy fountain pen. He jogged tiredly back down and tossed them in the curse room, flipped a finger at the gold scales lying on the floor and went back up to his brother's room.

Dean listened to Sam sleeping for a moment and then turned the light off but didn't pull his brother's door closed all the way. He couldn't. He wanted to be sure if anything else strange went wrong, he'd be able to hear it while he wrestled his own mattress back into his room. Dean fell down on it with a groan and couldn't be bothered to turn off the light or find a blanket as he tumbled into exhausted sleep.


Sam propped the last few books on his shelf and smiled. It had taken them two days to fix the chaos the cursed object had caused. Dean had done most of the heavy lifting and Sam figured his big brother considered it penance for having caused the mess, however inadvertently. He looked around his room with a smile. It looked like a home again with all the new old furniture back where Dean had put it. Sam sat in his desk chair and brushed his fingers over the photo of them as children with their Dad. It had a small tear in the corner from the Apothecary's rampage and Sam was relieved it had survived.

"Check this out." Dean grinned as he came in the room with a long roll of paper under his arm and a roll of tape.

"What is that?" Sam asked as Dean went to the far wall.

"Poster." Dean gave him a wink and waved a hand. "Close your eyes."



"Oh, for…fine." Sam chuckled and put a hand over his eyes, listening to his ridiculous brother unroll the poster and then the sound of tape. "You're a giant five-year-old sometimes, you know that?"

Dean snorted and nodded without replying as he carefully taped down the corners of the poster. He stepped back, making sure it was straight and then moved away so Sam could see it unobstructed. "Ok, dude. You can look."

Sam pulled his hand away and stared and then burst out laughing. Dean had unearthed a poster of Albert Einstein somewhere. Further proving Sam's comment about his age, Dean had drawn glasses and a mustache on him with marker. "Holy crap, Dean." He gasped for breath and shook his head.

"Figured you might need tips from the genius on how to manage that hair." Dean smirked, pointing between the two, Sam's long hair and Einstein's trademark crazy locks.

"Bite me, Dean. There's nothing wrong with my hair." Sam slapped a hand into his brother's arm with a laugh.

"Nothing a lawn mower wouldn't fix." Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed Sam, wrapping an arm around his neck while he took a fistful of his hair and gave a tug. "Come on, dude. Five minutes with some garden shears. I'm beggin' ya. Gonna make me a Sam-skin rug."

"Get off!" Sam elbowed Dean in the stomach and tried to get out of the headlock without causing him real damage. "I will shave you bald in your sleep!"

Dean laughed and let him go, heading for the door. "Come on. Lunch and weekly Tran-time. Garth said the kid's eatin' him out of house and home."

Sam chuckled, straightening his hair out with his fingers and took a last look around his room. "Home," he whispered with a smile, turned off the light and followed his still chuckling big brother down the hall.


The End.