“Where are we?” Sam had been so engrossed in waging the losing battle to keep his brother conscious that he hadn’t been paying attention to the road. Dean was out of it now and they were no where near the hospital. In fact, it appeared that they were even farther from civilization and John had just shut the engine off.

“This is Bennett Scott’s house. He was a friend of mine in the Marines, the guy I went to see in town today.”

“You’re visiting a buddy?” Sam was sure he was trapped in one of his many reoccurring nightmares, and his father was now the thing that was trying to pull him apart one piece at a time. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dean mumbled something and shifted slightly against his brother, but didn‘t open his eyes. “Listen to me, Sam.” John turned to look at his son. “Bennett was a medic in the service. He’s a vet now. He’ll be able to help Dean.”

Sam’s hold tightened on his brother. What was his father thinking? Dean had passed out from blood loss, he was having trouble breathing, and he hadn’t stopped shivering since they’d left the lodge. People died from less traumatic injuries. “You brought Dean to a veterinarian? He’s not a fucking stray dog, he’s your son!”

“Watch your mouth, young man.” John shook his head in exasperation and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The ‘F’ word seemed to have become a permanent fixture in Sam’s vocabulary since turning fifteen and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. He’d mentioned it once and Dean had ever so helpfully pointed out that it was one of John’s favorite terms also.

“Veterinarians go to medical school too, you know.”

Sam was not going to see reason. “To treat cows and horses, not people. Not my brother.”

“Damn it, Sammy.” John raked both his hands through his hair to keep them from around the youngest Winchester’s throat. “Bennett has more first hand training in trauma and triage than any two- bit doctor we’ll find at a hospital in the middle of Washington State.”

John was tired of arguing with the boy, wasn’t even sure why he had begun to in the first place. He was in charge damn it, and no fifteen year-old brat was going to tell him how to run his family.

John opened his door and got out, slamming it behind him. The rain was coming in hard sheets now. He strode around the Chevy and jerked Sam’s door open. “Get out, now!”

Sam hesitated, so John grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him out, nearly slinging him to the ground to get him out of his way.

Sam could only watch helplessly as the oldest Winchester lifted his brother from the truck and started towards the small plank house in the distance. He was so angry that he had to bite his lip to keep the tears of frustration from falling. If he started crying now, he might not be able to stop. At that moment there was nothing he wanted more than to run as fast and far as he could to get away from his father and their fucked up life. Well, there was one thing he wanted more. Dean. So he was forced to silently follow John, his gaze burning a hole into the back of his father’s head the whole way.

“Knock on the door.” John was in full Marine mode now.

Sam grudgingly wrapped on the door, and then used his fist to pound on it when no one answered quickly enough to suit him. John took a deep breath and tried to think of something pleasant, like a nice cold beer and a good game of pool, or even better, a time when Sam would be past this adolescent phase. Please, God, let it be a phase.

Sam beat on the door again, this time adding his boot to the job.

Finally the door opened with a jerk and a bleary-eyed black man stepped into the porch light. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, with a dull blue terrycloth robe that had seen better days. The shotgun he held at the ready in his hand made it obvious that he wasn’t happy his sleep had been interrupted.

He blinked, adjusting his eyes “John? What the hell?”

“Bennett, I’m sorry. My son is hurt.”

Bennett Scott was used to folks pounding on his door in the middle of the night, but they were usually bringing him an injured dog, or sick cat, even a constipated turtle once, but he hadn’t seen a bloodied body since his time in special ops. It wasn’t something he’d ever hoped to see again. There was a reason he chose veterinary medicine over surgery.

“Come in.” Bennett quickly stepped out of the way and motioned the other man into the house. Sam followed his father in and Scott closed the door behind them.

John was soaking wet and covered in blood, and so was the boy in his arms. The kid looked to be about eighteen and he was unconscious. There was another boy also. He was just as wet, and Bennett had to wonder if he was injured also, considering the gore covering him and the hurt expression on his youthful features. He’d seen combat soldiers come out of a mission gone bad looking better than these three did. “Bring him in here.”

They walked through a short hall that led to another door, which when opened revealed a small exam room complete with metal tables and various machines. Bennett quickly grabbed a blanket and spread it over the cold-looking surface. “Put him here.”

Dean moaned as his father laid him down and his eyes opened. “Sammy?” John stepped back, surprised that it hurt him when his son asked for his brother, instead of him. When exactly had that changed? Both his boys use to want him when they were sick or scared. He hadn’t even realized that he missed that.

Sam moved around his father and into his brother’s field of vision. “I’m here, Dean. You’re okay.”

Bennett couldn’t help the slight amusement he felt as the other teenager with John nearly shoved him out of the way to get to the hurt boy. There was no doubt in his mind that the tall kid was also John’s son.

“Where…?” Dean tried to lift his head to look around the room, but nothing wanted to seem to cooperate with him.

“We’re at a friend of John‘s.” Sam shot his father a quick look before turning back to his brother. “He’s a doctor.” No need to mention that he was a veterinarian, although if Dean pulled through this, his little brother would find all kinds of ways to rub it in.

“Good. I feel like shit.” He shivered, and a slight gasp escaped him as his body seemed hell bent on betraying him. “It’s…cold.”

Dean knew that he sounded like a wimp at that moment, but damn it, he was freezing and the pain in his head and chest was consuming most of his bad boy energy.

Sam looked at the doctor/vet, who didn’t seem to be intimidated by the look of contempt he was trying hard to convey. “He’s cold.” Didn’t the man have anymore of those blankets.

Bennett ignored John Jr., instead focusing on the man he hadn’t seen in almost twenty years until earlier today. “What happened?” Bennett had stepped forward now, running his trained gaze over Dean.

“He was stabbed, several times, and he has some broken ribs.” John rubbed his hand across his mouth and beard, feeling more tired than he could remember. “It happened about thirty minutes ago, forty tops.”

“Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

Okay, so maybe this guy wasn’t an idiot. Sam shot his father an ‘I told you so’ look but kept his mouth closed.

“I killed the bastard who did it.” He met his old friend’s gaze. “I’m not on the good behavior list with the Feds.”

If Bennett was shocked, he didn’t show it. Instead, he tightened his concentration on the examination of his patient.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Dean.”

He grabbed hold of Dean’s T-shirt and ripped it open with one jerk of his hands. Junior glared at him even harder as his brother winced in pain. “Sorry, kid, but I need to see what’s going on here.”

“That was one of my favorite shirts,“ Dean told the man with a slight smile.

Bennett grinned back. He could tell that this one would be a handful. “Trust me, nothing could have saved it, kid.” The vet pulled the roll-a-way overhead light closer to them, so that it showed directly on Dean’s chest.

“You a Skynard fan?”

“Who…isn’t.”

Bennett sighed. The wounds were ragged and deep, and two of them were still bleeding heavily. Thankfully, most of the damage was on the right side, the heart shouldn’t be a direct issue. “I met them once.”

“No way,” Dean winced as the man took hold of his jaw and turned his head so he could look at the cut above his eye.

“Hey, a black man can appreciate their sound. I’m a blues fan myself, and it ain’t too far off.” The cut on the kid’s head was deep and there was a knot the size of a golf ball just to the right of it.

“You play anything?” Dean tried to tug his head away from the man’s grip as he prodded at the edges of the wound. He felt Sam take hold of his hand, and was too grateful to rib his kid brother about it.

“Always…wanted…to play the guitar.”

Bennett finally released the kid. “I play base. I’ll show you my sweet girl when you’re feeling better.”

“Cool.”

Sam watched as the man slowly studied his brother and talked to him as if they were here for a simple routine check up. He wasn’t sure, but in every ER scene he’d watched in movies and on TV people worked faster and with more quick efficiency. Didn’t the man know bad when he saw it. He sighed and Dean turned to look at him, as if he could read his thoughts.

“Patience…Grasshopper.”

A smile tugged at Sam’s mouth and he squeezed his brother’s hand, slightly worried with the fact that Dean hadn’t actually said anything about him holding onto his hand.

He pushed away the thoughts of how bad off Dean must have been and watched as Bennett picked up an instrument and used it to probe the largest of the cuts on his brother‘s chest. Dean cried out and tried to turn away from the torture, rolling towards Sam.

“Stop it!” Sam yelled, and would probably have shoved the man had he not had to hold onto Dean to keep him from falling off the table. Okay, he’d had enough John’s idea of an appropriate doctor.

“John,” Bennett merely glanced at the oldest Winchester who moved roughly past Sam, pushing him out of the way. He nodded to the doctor and pinned a struggling Dean to the table.

Sam started to move back to his brother, but his father stopped him with a glare. “Stay there, Sam!” John hated to see either of his sons in pain, but if Bennett was going to save Dean’s life it was a necessary evil.

Bennett moved onto the next wound and Dean’s pain-filled screams had hot tears rolling down Sam’s face. Sam didn’t even bother to try and hide them. He didn’t give a shit what his father would think. God, this shouldn’t be happening. Normal families didn’t do things like this.

“I don’t think we have any bleeders.” Bennett announced as if that were some justification for the suffering he’d just inflicted on his patient. “But I’m going to have to go in to repair some of the damage. I’ll need your help.”

Bennett didn’t like asking his friend to do something as painful as assisting surgery on his own son, but there was no one else except for the other kid. And somehow he just didn’t feel safe wielding a scalpel around the teen who looked very capable of killing him only moments ago.

Thankfully, the examination seemed to be over and Sam watched as his dad released Dean. His father’s hands were shaking.

For a moment he felt bad for the man, even wanted to say something to comfort him, but then Dean said his name, and all thoughts of his father’s pain fled.

“I’m still here.” He stepped up to the table again.

His brother was pale and sweating, despite the fact he was still trembling from the cold. “Are… you…sure this guy is a doctor?”

Bennett raised a brow at John who only shrugged, as if he had no control over the situation.

“He’s a vet, actually.” Sam glanced up at the man, and then back to his brother.

“Dad brought me to Dr. Doolittle?” It was obvious to Sam that his brother was trying to block out the pain in his typical fashion. He wouldn’t deny him that.

“Yep, he’s still not convinced that Amos wasn’t a werewolf.” Sam leaned in closer, raking a hand through his brother’s sweat-soaked hair. “He’s expecting you to turn any minute.”

Dean grinned. “I bet the ladies might dig that.”

Before Sam could reply, Bennett had picked up a needle and was attempting to insert an IV in Dean’s hand. “Is he allergic to anything?”

Bennett was waiting for John to answer but it was Sam who did. “Penicillin.”

The doctor glanced at the kid, and continued his work. It struck him as odd that both of John’s sons seemed use to this type of situation. John, who had seen much worse things in combat, should have been detached. But his boys appeared way too seasoned. And what the hell was this talk of werewolves?

Dean only flinched at the procedure, keeping his eyes on his kid brother. “Remember…that…time...I ..blew up like a balloon and looked like I had a hundred bee stings, Sammy?”

Sam nodded. He remembered things differently. “I remember Dad forgot to tell the nurse you were allergic and you nearly died.”

Bennett finished the IV and attached it to the saline drip. He didn’t miss the pained look on John’s face. “Anything else I should know?” He had a feeling that his friend had not had an easy time of it with these two.

“The guy drugged him, but I don’t know with what.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” John stepped closer to the bed, looking at Dean.

“He did,” Sam replied heatedly. He told me.

“To you.”

“How long were you unconscious?” Bennett pushed the sniping aside and focused on his patient.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and frowned. God, couldn’t Sam and their dad drop it just for a little while. His head felt like it was going to explode. “’bout…an hour. Maybe…longer,” he panted.

Bennett slid his hands down Dean’s right side and felt along the rib cage. Dean jerked in pain. “Is the pain in your side sharp, crushing, or dull?”

“Is…that…a trick question?”

“Dean.” John’s voice held a warning.

“He said it felt like someone was sitting on his chest.” John glared at Sam, who seemed unfazed.

Bennett nodded. “What about this wound to your head?” He took out his penlight and flashed it in the kid’s eyes. Pupils were dilated, but equal.

“I…don’t remember.” All he knew was that it hurt like hell.

“You got a headache?”

“Yes.” Sam answered, and John had taken all he could. “He kept saying his head was hurting him when we were in the truck.”

John knew it was childish and irrational but he almost felt jealous of his own son.

“I think you should wait outside, Sam.”

Dean felt a quick surge of panic rush through him at his father’s words and he couldn’t help himself as he tightened his hold on his brother.

Sam felt his brother’s hold on him tighten ever so slightly and he just looked at their father. There was no way he was leaving.

“I said out!”

“Why?” Sam looked up incredulously at his father, not understanding what he’d done to piss the man off now, and why he was upsetting Dean.

“Just do what I tell you, Samuel.”

“No.” Dean’s voice was strained and weak and it brought all eyes to him. “Stay…Sam.” Dean hated to admit it, but he was pretty damn scared and the idea of not being able to see his brother in case the worst happened had him finding it harder and harder to breathe.

“Take it easy, son.” Bennett pulled out his stethoscope and placed it against Dean’s chest. “Just try and breathe nice and slow, shallow breaths.”

The doctor glanced up at John. “We need to do this. I don’t want to risk a lung collapsing. I’m not prepared for that here.”

“Is he going to be alright?” Sam didn’t like the look on the vets face. It was the first time the dark man had even hinted at looking concerned.

“What blood type is he?” This time Bennett asked Sam the question, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by John.

“B-negative.”

“Damn,” Bennett cursed. The kid would have to have a rare one. B-negatives could only take the same or O-negative, none of which he had.

“He’s the same as mine, and my mom‘s.” Sam held the man’s gaze. “I want to help.”

John raked his hands through his hair. He hadn‘t even remembered the fact that the boys were both a rare type. God, what was wrong with him.

“I’ll need you to give a few pints.”

“Anything.” Sam meant it. At that moment, he’d have given a kidney, a lung, anything to make Dean better.

“John, you and I need to scrub up.” Bennett looked at Sam. “You keep an eye on him.”

John looked at his sons and hesitated for a moment, but then followed the vet into another small room off to the back of the exam room.

“How you doing?” Sam leaned closer to Dean once the others were gone.

“You…know…that big Russian guy on the Rocky movie we watched last week?”

Sam nodded. “I feel like I just went a few rounds too many with him.”

“Nah, you could have taken him.” In fact, Dean had bragged that he could have kicked the man’s ass when they’d watched the show, and his little brother had believed him.

Dean rolled his eyes. “When are you going to realize I’m full of it, Sammy?” Sometimes Sam’s faith in him was down right scary.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Dean.”

Dean turned his head a little too quickly to look at the other teen and his harsh intake of breath had that look reappearing on his brother’s face again. Damn his body. “This isn’t your fault, Sam.”

“If I hadn’t been so focused on proving Dad wrong, I might have seen it earlier.” After all, he’d read the article about Jenny on their first day into town.

Dean sighed. They’d already been down this road in the truck. “Sam.”

When his brother didn’t say anything, but only continued to stare at him like he could vanish at any moment. He forced a smile onto his face. “I thought we already agreed that this was all Dad’s fault?”

Sam couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Dean always knew just what to say to keep the monsters at bay. “Right, I forgot.” He leaned over the bed his forehead resting against his brother’s and closed his eyes. “I love you, man.”

Dean swallowed hard, trying to keep the pain and his emotions in check. “Ditto, little brother. Ditto.”