Summary:  The Winchester family is faced with something it never saw coming not even in their worst fears, especially Dean's.
A/N:  Yet, another take on the events following “Devil’s Trap.” This will be AU because this story will not follow the likely outcome of the season opener.
Disclaimer:  The characters of Supernatural were created by Eric Kripke. The show is owned by the CW network. No profit is being made.

Dean moved restlessly in sleep. His mind too busy weaving dreams, the stuff of nightmares about Sam. His subconscious was putting forth an scenario it could create that mimicked Dean’s state of fear and loss.

“Hey, Dean!” Sam called out to him as he crossed the street holding two coffee cups. The car crossed the center line before Dean could even scream to Sam to watch out, and he watched as the moments that followed played out in slow motion. Sammy turning wide eyed at the car coming at him, the coffee cups slipping from his hands splashing brown liquid up into the air resembling a small park fountain spray. And, then the sickening thud as the car impacted against Sam sending him crashing up onto the hood and into the windshield leaving a bloody impact mark branching on into red spider web designs, as his momentum carried him over the roof, and off the back of the car. He landed with a cracking thud. And, all was silent.

“No!” Dean dropped to his brother’s side. Sammy landed on his back as a pool of thick crimson spread beneath his head. His eyes blinked slowly, and his eyes were unfocused.

“Dean?” the word bubbled out of his mouth in blood and saliva.

“Shh, Sammy,” Dean soothed. He ran a trembling hand along Sam’s cold cheek. “Just hang on, please.”

“Dean?” There was a distant sound to Sam’s voice as if he were speaking across a widening gap between himself and Dean.

“I’m here, Sammy. Stay with me.” Sam’s eyes focused for one glorious moment and Dean saw his little brother appear behind those glassy, eyes, and he smiled at Sam. “There you go,” he encouraged. “It’ll be okay, Sammy.” A barely perceivable smile teased at the edges of Sam’s mouth and his eyes slid closed, and it was over.

“No!” Dean jerked awake as the nightmare ended. His heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm to his racing heart that threatened to snap his sternum from the force of the pounding. Sue walked into the room with a determined stride.

“You okay?” She asked as she made eye contact with Dean while she looked at his monitor.

“Just a dream,” Dean offered. Sue gave a knowing smile as she checked his vitals, and excused herself to allow him to regroup.

It was late morning when Dean’s doctor had agreed to allow him to get in a wheelchair to visit Sam. While Sue had an orderly help her get Dean in a wheelchair he tried to resist grunting in pain. He was afraid Sue would throw a red flag and tell the doctor that he was in too much pain. The orderly left after Dean was safely seated. “You ready?” Sue lightly patted Dean’s shoulder as she held his IV stand and pushed the wheelchair in unison with rolling the IV’s.

Dean nodded not trusting his voice. “I should tell you what to expect Dean.”

“It’s Sam that’s all that matters.”

“I know you think that, but seeing him in this condition isn’t something you’re used to. There are a lot of machines and monitors. I’ll explain them all once we get to his room. You do know the only reason the doctor agreed to let you out of bed was because he was afraid you try to get out on your own.”

“And, he would have been right.” Sue shook her head.

“You’re not in great shape Dean.”

“My brother is worse.” Sue couldn’t debate that issue. “How is he this morning?”

“Same as last night. No real change in his vitals.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Depends on how you look at it I guess,” Sue offered plainly. “He’s no worse and no better. I take his vitals every hour or two and check his ICP monitor.”

“ICP?”

“Sorry, it’s short for intracranial pressure.”

“Oh, yeah, the doctor told me about that. He said it’s some catheter thing inside Sam’s brain measuring the pressure.”

“I see you were listening to him.”

“Mostly,” Dean offered. Sue stopped right before they reached a doorway.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice was tight as his throat constricted. She pushed him forward and into Sam’s room. Oh Sammy, went through his mind. Sam was surrounded by machines, IV’s and monitors. His brother looked so small and young beneath all of the equipment. He fixated on the tube jutting from his brother’s mouth that caused his chest to rise and fall mechanically as the ventilator whooshed in regularity.

Sue tried to gauge Dean’s emotional state. But, he’s a tough read this one, she thought quietly to herself. “Are you ready for me to explain the equipment, so you have a better grasp of what’s going on in here?” Dean nodded. She went through explaining the ventilator, his IV’s , the EEG monitor that displayed Sam’s brain activity, and Sue pointed out the thin catheter of the ICP monitor that came out of his brother’s skull. “And, this monitor shows the ICP of Sam’s brain.” Sue said as she patted Dean’s shoulder trying to reassure him that he wasn’t alone.

“That number is the pressure in his brain?” Dean questioned.

“Yes.”

“What’s normal?”

“The lower the better,” Sue tried to hedge her response, but Dean’s next words told her she wasn’t getting away with that answer.

“Sue, what’s normal?” She let out a sigh. She had been busted.

“1 to 15,” is normal.” She offered. Dean looked at Sam’s number and frowned.

“His number is 23, that’s not good, right?”

“No,” Sue responded bluntly knowing that Dean wouldn’t take sugar coating. “But,” she added quickly when she saw the stricken look cross Dean’s face. “It was 24 earlier, so it dropped a point, and that is good,” she offered.

“What are they doing for it?” Dean’s tone was all business while his eyes settled on his brother’s still features.

“They have him on some IV meds.”

“Which meds? Show me the IV’s.” Dean didn’t know what the drugs were, but he wanted to make damn sure they were doing everything they could for Sam. Sue smiled warmly and walked over to one of the many IV poles with bags and IV syringes programmed to inject at certain intervals.

“This one is 20 percent Mannitol and this one has Decadron in it,” Sue answered. “Both of these are for the brain swelling. They are to help reduce it or control it.”

“There’s a lot more IV bags beyond those two drugs,” Dean commented.

“Well, we have to keep him hydrated with fluids, and they have him on lactated ringers, and dextrose to keep his electrolytes stable. I suspect they will start him on a TPN in another day or two depending on his coma status.”

“TPN?”

“It’s a short abbreviation for a long term, but in a nutshell, it will be his food since he won’t be able to eat. It will supply him with the nutrients his body needs to survive, and the doctor may or may not prescribe lipids for Sam.” She saw the look Dean gave her, and smiled again. “Lipids are just another dietary need, but not all patients require it.” Dean nodded. Sue grabbed Sam’s chart from the table by his bed, and proceeded to jot down his vitals she was gathering from the various monitors. She activated the blood pressure cuff perpetually attached to Sam’s upper left arm, and wrote the numbers down. Dean saw her draw up a syringe and injected it into one of his brother’s IV’s after consulting his chart.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s voice was blunt.

“The doctor left standing orders for an epi injection if Sam’s blood pressure and heart rate were low. This will help to increase his cardiac output. And, this increased blood flow will help to circulate oxygen rich blood to Sam’s brain. That’s why it’s important to keep a close watch on blood pressure and heart rates of head injury patients like Sam, especially with the brain swelling.”

“What was his blood pressure and heart rate?”

“70/65”, she replied. “And, his heart rate was 58.”

“And, now?” Dean tried scanning the monitors to see some of the numbers that apparently his brother’s life was hanging on. Damn so many numbers Sammy. Dammit, you’re more than a number. Sue took another blood pressure and marked down the numbers.

“His pressure is now up to 100/68, and his heart rate is up to 71.” She pointed to the heart monitor. “Here is where you can see his heart rate, and this one is his body temp.” She pointed to one smaller monitor. “This one show’s his oxygen levels, and that’s what the clip on his right index finger is for. He’s on a ventilator so his oxygen levels are being maintained. We like numbers around 98 to 100. And, Sam is at 100. I need to do one more thing, okay?” Dean nodded. Sue opened the chart one last time, and proceeded to pick up a pen light and lifted each of Sam’s eyelids, and then glanced at a small reference chart attached to his file, and she jotted something down. And, then proceeded to rub Sam’s sternum vigorously with her knuckles to elicit a response to pain stimuli, but Sam remained still. “Sam? Can you hear me? Open your eyes? Can you squeeze my hand?” Dean watched her and Sam with intense eyes.

“What was all that for?”

“I have to record his pupil responses every hour or two and check his response to deep pain stimuli and verbal commands. And, based on what I see when I shine the light in his eyes I compare his pupils to the chart and assign Sam a GCS number, or what they call a Glasgow Coma Scale.”

“And, what number did he get?” Dean smiled fleetingly. “Sammy always did well on tests. He’s the smart one in the family. He went to Stanford, you know?” He looked fondly at his brother. “His number?” He repeated his earlier question.

“There’s been no change from his previous exam. I gave him a four on the scale.”

“You said low numbers were good,” Dean was hopeful. She gave him this knowing yet sympathetic smile, and he knew this time was different.

“No, not on this scale, Dean,” she said softly.

“Then what does the number mean? What is this damn scale anyway?”

“It measures level of brain injury,” she responded. “Typically a GCS of 13-15 is a mild brain injury, 9-12 moderate, and anything under 8 is usually considered severe brain injury.” Dean looked defeated. “I’m sorry sweetie, I know this has to be rough.”

Dean only nodded because he couldn’t find any words. Sue could tell that he had just about reached his quota of medical information overload. “Look, how about I give you some time alone, but not more than ten minutes, okay. You need to be back in bed. If you need anything before I come back here’s the call button.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Sue offered a warm smile in an effort to provide some kind of comfort.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean cleared his throat after his brother’s name came out sounding choked. “Well, kiddo, you just had to up stage your big brother, huh? Had to prove you could be sicker. Not fair,” Dean attempted humor. “Sam,” Dean’s voice was serious. “I said some things yesterday that I shouldn’t have. I don’t even know why I said them,” he scrubbed a hand over his tired face. “I didn’t mean any of it.” Dean studied his brother silent features as his hearing was bombarded with the whooshing of the ventilator, and the beeping of the heart monitor. “If you’d just wake your lazy ass up I could apologize. Now, that has to have got you interested Sammy. You know that an apology from Dean Winchester is a rare event. Come on,” he urged. “Open your eyes Sammy.” He stared at his brother’s face, but nothing happened.

“Okay, I get it,” Dean replied with a small smile. “You’re going to force one of your chick flick moments on me, huh? Cause you think I can’t hack it, eh? That I can’t do chick flick.” Dean reached up with both hands taking his little brother’s cool, lax hand and enveloped between both of his warm hands. “See what you’ve reduced me to,” Dean commented as he gave Sam’s hand a light squeeze. “How about this,” Dean suggested. “Just squeeze my hand, okay? Or twitch a finger? Sammy?” Dean could feel the desperation growing inside his chest and weighing down his very soul. He stared at Sam’s face and felt panic knowing his little brother was lost in the dark, and had gone somewhere he couldn’t follow. “Please, Sammy,” his voice broke despite his best efforts to contain his emotions.

Dean glanced at the monitors playing the number game again. He looked at the ICP monitor and it was back up to 24. Dean growled. “Dammit Sammy, you gotta fight this, you hear me? Fuck,” he hissed in anger. “All this damn medicine is good for nothing,” he spat. He glanced at the other monitors. Sam’s heart rate was 65. He wondered what his blood pressure was, but Sue wasn’t here to activate the cuff. Dean made a mental note to watch her the next time, so he could cheat and keep track when he wanted to know a current reading. He glanced again at the ICP monitor and saw 25. He felt a sense of urgency growing in his gut. He looked at Sam’s heart rate again and saw 62. It was almost a reflex reaction as he picked up the call button even before his mind processed the desire to pick it up. He began frantically pushing it. Sue came running in from the nurse’s station.

“Dean! What’s wrong?”

“His numbers,” Dean barked. He urgently pointed to the ICP and heart monitors. He watched Sue consult Sam’s chart, and proceeded to increase drip rates on the mannitol. He remembered that was Sam’s brain swelling. He watched her activate the blood pressure cuff and memorized what she did. The numbers came up on a digital display, 70/64. “That’s too low, right? You said they should be higher to get the blood to his brain.” He felt his world was exploding. He felt like his brother was being pulled away from by some invisible force he couldn’t fight or put himself between it and Sammy.

“I’m increasing his drip rates the doctor wrote down should his numbers climb, and I’m giving him a dose of epi to increase his heart rate and blood pressure. Dean,” she tried to reassure. “Sam’s numbers will go up and down, and until he stabilizes we’ll have to keep addressing the up’s and down’s of his vitals, okay? It’ll be all right. See,” she pointed to the heart monitor, and Dean saw that his heart rate was up to 84, “that’s actually very good.” She tried to give Dean something positive to hold onto the young man looked positively desperate and lost. “And, his new blood pressure is 105/70, that’s excellent.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she smiled, and glanced at the ICP monitor. “Well, would you look at that,” she pointed to the dreaded monitor that Dean hated the most. His eyes darted toward it expectedly. And they both saw the number 20.

“That’s down 5 points,” Dean said with a confident smile. “That’s good isn’t it?”

“Very good,” she assured. “Dean, I should get you back to your room.” She could see he was on the ragged edge, and needed to rest before he collapsed.

“It’s too soon,” he complained.

“Five more minutes, okay? And, then you go back with me … we have a deal?” Dean couldn’t help, but smile.

“Yeah.”

“All right then.”

Meanwhile, John Winchester’s Hospital Room

John stirred and groaned into awareness. Everything was fuzzy around the edges. He remembered waking briefly in the ER. He knew there had been a car accident. My Boys? Shot through his mind. And, then he remembered his brief meeting with Sam. Oh, Jesus, what did I say to him? His mind screamed. The damn medication had made him say things. He had hurt Sammy. He closed his eyes as he remembered Sam’s face when he had seen his youngest son standing at the foot of his bed, “I don’t want to see you, Sam. You could have ended it. I thought we saw eye to eye on this issue.”

“But, Dad,” Sam had pleaded. “I told you we still have the gun and the bullet. We’ll just start over.” His voice sounded so lost. “Dad, I just couldn’t do what you wanted.”

“And, look where it got us,” his words were slurred and disjointed, but his point was getting across. “I don’t want to see you now. I can’t look at you.” John turned his eyes from his baby son, but not before he saw the hurt, the pain his words and actions had caused. He also remembered seeing the bruises on his young son’s face, and the tall-tale stitches indicating that Sam had been injured in the wreck. And, he had ranted at his son, you’re a stupid bastard, John Winchester, he thought to himself.

“Sonofabitch” he complained to the empty room. “You damn fool,” he chastised himself. You’ll talk to him and make it right. Make him understand that you didn’t mean the harsh words, not really. He pressed his call button. His nurse, Alexa, walked in the door.

“Hey, good to see you’ve decided to join the living,” she said smiling. John offered her a slight bemused smile.

“My boys? Where are my boys?”

Meanwhile, Sam’s ICU Room

“Sammy? They’re going to take me away in a few minutes,” Dean spoke softly while stroking the back of Sam’s hand. “I’d stay, but they won’t let me. Damn hospital rules. But, I’m only two doors down, okay,” he spoke evenly. “So, if you decide to end your coma boy routine and wake up, just ask for me, all right? I’ll be here, I promise.” He looked at his brother hopefully waiting for some sign that Sam was coming back to him, but all was stillness. Dean looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was coming, and they weren’t, so he struggled to his feet as he hung onto his IV pole for a little leverage as he pulled himself up. He leaned over Sam, and spoke into his ear. “Listen, little brother, I don’t know where you are, but you’re not alone, okay? Even if you can’t see me, I’m there, all right,” he encouraged. “I know you’re in the dark Sammy, but if you can hear me follow my voice.” He closed his eyes as his emotions threatened once again, as they rose up like a cresting wave, only to recede as he pushed them back down quelling them.

“You’re not alone Sammy. Please…” his voice broke off.

“Dean!” Sue spoke authoritatively from her viewpoint from the opening to Sam’s room. “You should not be up,” she reprimanded. Her voice dropped low, as she pointed to the wheel chair. “Sit, your ass back down on that chair mister.” Dean stared at her wide-eyed both at her words, and that this small stature, petite woman suddenly looked like a formidable opponent. Dean Winchester sat back down. He looked up at her from his newly seated vantage point.

“I just had something to say to him,” he spoke quietly. “I…” Sue’s eyes softened as she looked at Dean and heard the anguish buried beneath his words.

“I know,” she cupped a hand reassuringly over one of his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “My temper is a slow burn, but when ignited I go off like an M-80 firecracker, I apologize. It’s just I don’t want you doing yourself more harm,” she spoke softly. Dean nodded. “And, anyway, what good would you be to this brother of yours if you’re not running on all eight cylinders, huh?” Dean smiled.

“Eight, huh?”

“Sure, you don’t strike me as the 6-cylinder type of guy.” Dean quirked an eye at her. “I have brothers,” she filled in. Dean gave a knowing nod.

“When can I see Sam again?”

“How about we let you rest up a bit. See if we can get some breakfast in you, and I’ll see about letting you have some time this afternoon. Deal?”

“Yeah, okay.”

There conversation was ended as Alexa called over to Sue from the nurse’s station. “One minute Dean.”

“Okay.” She could take all the time she wanted. It gave him more time to sit at his brother’s side.

“Sue,” Alexa began as she nodded her head in Dean’s direction. “His Father’s awake and wants to see his boys. I haven’t told him about the youngest one condition.”

“Oh, okay. Let me tell Dean. I really wanted to get him back in bed, but seeing his Father and talking to him may help.”

And, she couldn’t have been more wrong.

Sue stepped back inside Sam’s ICU room. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” he answered absently not taking his eyes off his brother’s face.

“You’re father,” she began. Dean jerked his head up his eyes wide. “No…No,” she assured quickly. “He’s fine. He’s awake and has asked to see ‘his boys’.” Dean noticeably relaxed.

“Does he know about…” his voice trailed off as his eyes settled once again on his brother.

“No, but he’s fully awake now, albeit a little groggy from the drugs, but coherent.”

“I want to see him.”

“I thought you’d say that, but I’m keeping my eye on you, and I’m not letting you visit very long. You need your rest, as well.”

“Yeah-yeah,” Dean said with a sly smile.

“Don’t yeah-yeah, me mister.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s more like it.” She laughed lightly. “It’s a good thing you’re only a couple rooms up or down from your dad and brother … easy commute,” she offered with a smile trying to assuage Dean’s heavy thoughts. Sue rolled Dean into John’s room. The elder Winchester opened his eyes as he heard someone enter his room. His eyes fell on Dean sitting in a wheel chair. His firstborn looked tired, and pale. He saw the IV pole and the signs of gauze under his gown.

“Son? Are you okay?” His voice was thick with concern.

“I’m okay, Dad.” John looked at Sue when Dean’s answer was obviously a lie.

“He had surgery to correct a punctured lung, and a nicked artery. He also had to receive two blood transfusions, and should be in bed, but a short visit should be okay.” She conceded quickly. “I’ll leave you two men alone for a bit,” she patted Dean on the shoulder before leaving.

“Dean? Son, are you really up to talking I don’t want to take any chances with your health.” He studied his son for a long moment. “So, where is that brother of yours keeping himself? He has to be driving you nuts with his hovering by now, huh?” He said with a smile. Dean raised stricken eyes to his father at the mention of Sammy, but then he remembered what Sam had said before he collapsed that their father hadn’t wanted to see him, even blamed him. He hadn’t been able to believe that and wanted to give his Dad the benefit of the doubt. “Dean? What is it?”

“Dad,” he began. “I have one thing I want to ask you and I want the truth.” Dean was suddenly all business as he buried thoughts of Sam a couple doors down being kept alive by machines.

“What is it?” John could see the urgency in his son’s face.

“Did you turn Sammy away? Tell him you didn’t want to see him? Blame him for not,” he lowered his voice. “For not killing you?” Dean saw the briefest of looks cross his father’s face, and he knew the truth even before John Winchester answered the question. “You bastard!” Dean shouted before he could stop himself. Suddenly the nurse’s station outside his father’s room grew very quiet.

“Watch your tone,” John hissed. “And, lower your voice.”

“Screw you,” Dean ground out with a lowered voice. “He came to you for acceptance Dad, and you turned him away. How could you?”

“I was wrong, Dean.” John paused. “I’d like to blame it on the meds, but I won’t. I was angry, but the words all came out wrong.”

“How could you blame him for not doing what you wanted, what you asked him to do?”

“Dean.”

“No! How could you ask him to?” he lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “To kill you? Huh? Do you know what that would have done to him Dad? Do you! It would have destroyed him. You only think about yourself and what you want,” Dean barked. “This damn revenge is all you care about.”

“That’s not true,” John tried to calm the situation.

“Yes, it is,” Dean leveled a hard glare at his father.

“I’ve made mistakes with you boys … I know I have. But, I want to try to…”

“Fuck you,” Dean snapped. “Now, suddenly you’re going to try to be father of the year,” the sarcasm in Dean’s voice was thick. “Sam and I do just fine on our own. We always have!” John felt like he had been slapped across the face when Dean spoke those words. It was the truth though, he had drug his boys all over when they were little while he hunted and continued his search for the demon that killed Mary, and had left them alone for days in motel rooms while he hunted. He had been a miserable father when it was all boiled down. His priorities had been screwed up, of course he had tried to justify his actions by saying he was keeping his boys alive, and making them prepared, but he had robbed them of their childhoods.

“You’re right,” John offered suddenly to his obviously enraged son. “But, I can try to make things right.”

“You can’t, Dad. You know I said things to Sammy, too. I was an ass, I admit that. But, somehow what you did is so much worse,” he started. “You’re his father, the parent and, what you demanded not asked of him in that cabin was unforgivable.”

“I’ll set things right with him Dean. It’ll be okay,” John offered.

“You can’t.” Dean said dropping his eyes as his enraged façade began to fall away as his emotions rose up again.

“Yes, I can,” John began. “Get Sammy in here. I’ll talk to him. I’ll make things right.”

“You can’t!” Dean shouted once again not caring that others might hear.

“Why? Where’s Sam? Just have him come in here. Dean?” John looked at Dean and saw the raw emotion in his face. “Where is your brother,” his voice dropped to a lower octave laced with a sudden fear.

“He collapsed,” Dean began with a broken voice. “His brain…” he couldn’t finish.

“Dean? What’s wrong with your brother?” Dean couldn’t find the words. “Jesus, say something. What’s wrong with Sammy?” Something in Dean snapped. He reached over and shoved the small plastic water container on John’s bed table toward his father dousing him with water.

“He might die! That’s what the fuck is wrong with him,” Dean screamed. “He’s on just about every machine they have in this god forsaken hospital.” Sue came running in at the prolonged yelling and the sound of the plastic pitcher hitting the floor and skittering across the white tiles. “You bastard… don’t you dare act like you care now,” Dean spat.

“Dean, please, you need to calm down,” Sue urged as she tried to wheel him away from his father’s bedside.

“You stay away from him, do you hear me. We don’t need you!” Dean continued to shout as Sue forcibly wheeled Dean out of the room and didn’t stop until she had reached Dean’s room.

John Winchester sat in stunned silence for a long moment, and then pressed his call button. Alexa, his nurse walked in. “Is everything okay?” She had heard the yelling, but didn’t want to pry.

“I want to speak with my son’s doctor. Sam Winchester’s doctor.”

“I’ll have him paged.” John nodded.

Dean’s ICU Room

“What were you thinking Dean?” Sue chastised as she helped him back into his bed. “Let me answer that for you…” she stopped Dean before he could say anything. “You didn’t think. Do you know you could have pulled your sutures carrying on like that, do you!”

“Stop talking to me like I’m some little kid,” Dean barked. He bristled at Sue’s words. “You don’t even know anything about my family. So, don’t tell me how to act. That bastard is lucky that I couldn’t stand up long enough to take a swing at him.” Dean turned his face away from Sue in anger. She walked purposely over to the door and closed it. She turned back toward Dean. She walked up to his bed and slapped a piece of the mattress jarring Dean.

“Now, you listen here!” Her eyes were blazing. “I’m not going to tolerate you flapping your mouth at me because you’re acting like some indignant child. I know you have a lot on your plate, I do. I know you’re so tied up in knots over your little brother that you can hardly concentrate on anything else. And, you’re right, I don’t have a clue about your family, but what I do know is that man, your father obviously cares for you and Sam. I can see it in his eyes, and maybe you have every reason to be angry, but to disrupt an entire unit that might I add has some very sick patients in it, including yourself and your family. You’re in no shape to spouting of at your father even if he deserves whatever you think he deserves. The whole unit could hear you,” her words were flooding out of her like a waterfall. This young man was driving her to distraction. She found herself caring too much for him and his younger sibling. And, she tried so hard to never take her work home with her at night, but these boys and their situation had given her some sleepless night, as of late. “What if your brother heard you yelling at your father?”

Dean’s eyes darted to Sue’s and she saw devastation in them. “Is he okay? I didn’t make him worse?” She saw a shudder work its way through Dean, and she pulled a blanket up over his legs.

“Dean, shh…” her voice was suddenly soft and comforting. “Calm down. I did a vitals check while you were with your father. He’s fine. It’s just that I believe coma patients are able to hear a lot of what is going on around them, and recognize the voices of people they know. And, I don’t think that if he did catch wind of some of your yelling that he would find much comfort in it.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice shook. “I’d never do anything to hurt Sam, never.”

“I know. I’m sorry, it’s just you scared me by getting so worked up. I’d hate to see you take a step back in your recovery. You need to think about yourself, too, you know? Because if the doctor doesn’t think you’re up for visiting Sam he’ll cut you off.”

“I know. I got it.”

John Winchester’s ICU Room, Two Hours Later

John sat in stunned silence after listening to his youngest son’s condition. Dr. Kendrick had been blunt, and said that Sam chances of a meaningful recovery were unlikely. It had bothered John more than he admitted that the doctor had basically given up on Sammy. The man could have said slim chance but instead had used unlikely which felt as though he had all ready signed off on Sam. He couldn’t believe that there was no hope, not yet, at least. He’d get second and third opinions if he had, too. He pressed his call button.

“Hi, Mr. Winchester, what can I get you?” Alexa asked with a smile.

“I want to see my son.” Alexa nodded and went about getting John a wheelchair. And twenty minutes later they were on their way. John was glad that his room was a couple up on the other side of Sam’s room, and meant he wouldn’t have to be wheeled by Dean’s room that was two down from Sam’s on the other side.

John sat solemnly at his son’s bedside holding his cool, limp hand. Alexa had pointed out most of what Sue had pointed out and explained to Dean. John felt overwhelmed that he’d basically been given something akin to an orientation on medical equipment and IV drugs. He stared at his young son’s features, and felt lost. “Sammy?” His voice was gentle. “It’s Dad. I’m here, kiddo.” He reached up and stroked Sam’s face avoiding the tube jutting from his child’s mouth. He tried desperately to avoid watching the mechanical rise and fall of his son’s chest. He found himself staring at the protruding ICP catheter coming from Sam’s head. He glanced at the number on the gauge and settled his eyes back on his youngest child’s face. “I said some things the other day Sam that I shouldn’t have,” he spoke quietly. “I didn’t mean any of it. But, I’ll make you a deal … if you wake up and prove these damn doctors wrong I’ll let you rip me a new one like your brother did.” A ghost of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as the thought of Sammy ranting at him entered his mind. The kid did have a fire in his belly, and a temper like his old man’s when he got fired up.

“You gotta come through this Sammy,” John urged. “Open your eyes.” All was stillness, and Sam didn’t move. John sat at Sam’s side in silence as he continued to methodically stroke the back of his son’s hand with a thumb.

“Mr. Winchester,” Alexa’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked at her. “I should get you back to your room.” He reluctantly released Sam’s hand.

“All right, but I want to see him again later.”

“We’ll work something out,” she assured.

Later that Evening

Sue and Alexa had tried to choreograph the visiting in Sam’s room, both women afraid of another confrontation. But, when Alexa was called to cover a new admit John’s care was turned over to Michelle who just started her shift, and she wasn’t up to speed on the visiting arrangements for Sam’s room. However, she knew that his son’s were ICU patients. So, when John asked to see his son she haply agreed. Dean looked up as his father was rolled into the room. He bristled at the sight of him. Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s hand, as if staking his claim. John noticed. “Thanks Michelle,” John replied.

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back in a bit to take you back. Oh, hello,” she said to Dean noticing him as she turned around.

“Hi,” he offered as he ignored his father on the other side of Sammy’s bed.

“You must be his brother,” she commented as she looked at Sam. Dean nodded. “Okay, then. I guess I better go check on a couple patients. I’ll be back, Mr. Winchester.” John acknowledged her with a nod and slight smile. The room fell into silence except for the sound of the equipment filling the room.

“Dean?” John spoke softly.

“Not here Dad,” Dean made sure his voice was quiet. “It’s not good for him to hear us fight.” Dean stroked the side of Sam’s arm softly. He didn’t care about keeping up pretenses in front of his father. Sue had said that contact was good for Sam when she had left Dean here for his second visit. Contact and talking were good, so that’s what he’d do.

“I don’t want to fight with you, son” John offered lightly. “I know you’re angry with me, and I accept that, but we should try to make this work for Sammy’s sake.” His voice was a mere whisper. Dean met his father’s eyes and gave him a curt nod. It seemed an unspoken truce had been agreed to between father and son for the time being. “Hi Sammy, it’s Dad again,” John reached up and grasped Sam’s fingers loosely being mindful of the IV in the back of his hand. “I spoke with his doctor today.”

“And?” Dean kept his eyes on his little brother’s face.

“I want a second or third opinion,” he replied without saying anything negative in front of Sam. Dean looked at his father now knowing he had been given the same line he had from the doctor that Sam wasn’t going to come back from this, not even if he woke up. And, he had decided that no matter what he was sticking to his belief in his brother that Sam wasn’t lost, and there was hope. He would never give up on his little brother, never.

“Well, at least we agree about something.” His voice keeping a steady tone. “Sue said talking and physical contact was good for Sammy.” John smiled at his firstborn.

“At least that’s something we can do,” he replied keeping his tone light. “Sam will have his own personal tag team.” Dean offered his father a pensive smile. Well, that’s better than nothing, I guess, John thought to himself. John stroked Sam’s fingers, “Sammy?” he began. “Did I ever tell you when you were three what you did to your brother while he was sleeping?” John smiled at the memory. Dean did, too. The two Winchester men had found their lighthouse in the stormy ocean of their relationship, and it was Sam. But, as with all approaching weather systems, there is always a calm before the storm, and for the Winchesters their storm hadn’t truly hit yet, but it would.

Almost Three Months Later

Dean walked through the halls of the hospital toward the neurology unit. He carried a cup of coffee. He hadn’t wanted to leave Sammy, always afraid that he’d have a moment of true awareness and he wouldn’t be there, but he needed a drink and to stretch his legs. His little brother had surprised the ICU doctors when he began to emerge from the deeper coma after two weeks. The ICP monitor was removed and Sam was taken off the ventilator. Dean remembered how excited he was when he turned around one day from reading a car magazine while his father was in yet another conference with Sam’s doctors to see Sam’s eyes open. Dean and his father had both been released from the hospital the week Sam opened his eyes. Sam’s eyes weren’t focused on any one thing and when Dean had spoken to him it was as if Sam didn’t see or hear him. But, somehow Dean saw past the blankness and was just happy to see his little brother’s eyes open once again.

The doctors had said Sam was still in a form of a coma, but that the deeper coma was lessening. The doctors had said Sam was having no meaningful interaction with his environment, but was now exhibiting sleep and wake cycles. They had scribbled in his chart coma vigil under his status area. Dean had taken to reading Sam’s chart they left at the bedside because he had grown tired of the doctor conferences and their lack of faith in Sam to come through this, although the chart wasn’t anymore comforting, at least he didn’t have to listen to them talk. But, John had never stopped going to the conferences, and was speaking to the doctors frequently. He had indeed requested second and third opinions concerning his youngest child’s condition. Dean thought back to the day the evaluations were over and John had gone to talk to the two doctors, Dean refused to leave Sam’s side. “Anything I want to hear?” Dean asked as his father had entered the room. John shook his head.

“What do they know, right?” Dean had been comforted by the fact his father seemed to be a believer like he was that Sam would be okay, eventually. That Sammy was still in there somewhere groping around in the dark trying to find his way home.

The doctors had transferred Sam from the ICU at the end of three weeks, and put him in a room in the neurology unit. He shared a room with another patient, but Dean tried to ignore that bed as much as possible. The other bed was across the room in the corner. The young man had been in a motorcycle accident and hadn’t been wearing a helmet. He had heard the story, he was only eighteen, and the motorcycle was a graduation present from his father, but the kid had taken it out without his helmet. And, now the family was making preparations to have him cared for outside the hospital, and Dean knew the kid would have no life. He could look at the kid and see there was no spirit left inside to ever animate that shell of a body again. Dean vowed that would never be Sam’s fate.

John had found an extended stay suites hotel in the city not more than five minutes from the hospital, and had rented a room there for the two of them after their release. Dean had been adamant that someone was always with Sam, but he had to admit the logic of having a home base beyond the hospital. The place had two rooms, one with the beds and bathroom. The other room had a couch, a recliner, desk, TV and small kitchenette. There was also a small stackable washer and dryer in a closet. Dean preferred taking the day shift with Sam since he was able to see him with his eyes open more times than not. John would sit in the early evening with Sam while Dean went to the hotel. But, sometimes John had urged Dean to sleep at the hotel and not the hospital, however, more times than not is oldest child slept in a sleeping chair beside his brother, ever vigilant.

John had taken a job at a local garage where the owner had agreed to pay him under the table for his work. He was sympathetic to John’s situation with a son in the hospital and not being local. John only worked at the shop four days a week, but somehow the he had figured out a way to make it all work. He was always there when the doctors did their rounds and would conference with them once a week about Sam and he would sit and talk to his son.

At the beginning of Sam’s second month while Dean sat reading to him from a book he had found in his little brother’s things. Sam would stare off into nothing, but Dean had just kept reading. A sound of someone walking in had drawn his attention. And, he remembered the day even now. It was a Monday afternoon, the beginning of March, the 2nd, and the sun was coming in through the window. It was the day April Ian walked into his life. A five-foot five petite little pistol of a woman that took Dean’s breath away. She was twenty-six, big blue eyes, and shoulder length strawberry blonde hair. When she introduced herself, Dean remembered how he had been staring at her mouth. Her lips formed this perfect heart-shaped pout between her words. He would have sworn the universe was gravitating toward that perfect mouth.

“I’m April. I’ll be Sam’s PT.”

“Uh, Dean,” he stammered with his name extending a hand to meet her out reached one.

“PT? She smiled, and his world exploded.

“Sorry, short for physical therapist.”

“Really?” the look of obvious confusion filled his face. “But…”

“Well, until he has more purposeful movements,” April began. “I’m going to be working his legs, and arm muscles. And, keep his joints moving. I don’t want him to start drawing in his limbs.” She glanced over at the other bed, and Dean had followed her gaze. His eyes fell on the bed he avoided. The young man’s arms were drawn up tightly across his chest with his hands in tight inward turned fists across his stomach. April saw the look of distress on Dean’s face. “Hey, Sam isn’t in his condition, okay?” she assured. “And, I’m here to make sure his muscles keep getting worked.” Dean nodded. “Hey, I mean it, okay? Sam is all ready better off than Kyle is,” she comforted. Dean smiled, and did find comfort in her words.

“The doctors, have they spoken to you about his progress?”

“Progress?” Dean looked at her with curious eyes. “Ah, I don’t really listen to them anymore. I leave that to my dad. I got tired of hearing that they think Sam has no chance. I don’t think they’ve ever used the word progress,” his voice bitter. “They just scribble with their little damn pens in his chart under status.”

“Well, I’ve evaluated him and his chart, and I think there is a lot that can be done to help Sam in his recovery.” Relief had flooded through Dean that day. “And, I’ve seen my share of cases that have had some good results. And, one or two have been nothing short of miracles. But you have to be proactive, you know?” Dean nodded. He’d do anything for Sammy. It was hard to believe that March was almost over now.

Dean came out of his memories, as his father walked in. He glanced at his watch and knew that April would be here in thirty minutes for Sam’s PT session. “Hey, Dad?”

“Hi, how ya doin’?”

“Okay,” Dean stood and approached Sam’s bed; it was time to turn him. Dean remembered that after watching Sue turn Sam while in the ICU every hour or two that when he had been released he wanted to learn what to do. He wanted to do as much for his brother as he could, and if that meant turning him, so he wouldn’t get bed sores because he couldn’t turn himself he would.

“Need help?” John took a step forward.

“No I got it.” John watched his firstborn pull back the sheets on Sam’s bed. “Hey, Sammy, buddy. I gotta turn you okay,” Dean said gently. Sam was on his side facing the door of his room. John hated the empty stare in Sam’s eyes that blinked sluggishly when reflex demanded. He watched Dean pull the pillow out from between Sam’s long legs, and gently roll his brother onto his back. “There you go Sammy,” his voice gentle. “How about you try a different view for a while from your back? Hey, April will be here soon for your PT. Aren’t you a lucky dog,” he quipped. “She’s smokin’ hot.” He sat the pillow aside. John watched Dean gently arrange Sam’s arms and legs into a comfortable position. And, suddenly he felt like an intruder. Dean took a hold of Sam’s head and turned it slightly toward the window. “See the blue sky today, Sammy?” John felt a part of his soul rip as he watched his son care for his other child.

“Dean?” John began tentatively.

“Yeah?” Dean could tell there was something important his father wanted to discuss.

“I spoke with the doctors this morning.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Well, they say Sammy is ready to be released from hospital care. He’s been here almost three months now. Well, at the end of the week it’ll be three months. They spoke to me about two facilities outside the city that can care for Sammy. They’re both state run facilities that can accommodate a patient with no insurance. We can’t keep up with the credit cards Dean. I’ve been able to cover so far with some other cards, but…”

“Care for? You mean rehab facilities, right?” And, that’s when Dean saw a look pass over his father’s face that he couldn’t let himself believe he was seeing, but his father’s next words only confirmed his fears, John now believed the doctors prognosis for Sam.

“No, Dean.” John’s voice was soft. “Long-term care facilities.”

“Long-term care,” Dean hissed. He cast his eyes toward Sam staring blankly toward the window. His head in the same position Dean had put it. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay Sammy? I just gotta talk to Dad in the hall.” His voice was upbeat as he spoke to his little brother. “Outside,” he said to his father. The timbre of his voice indicating he meant business. Dean walked with purpose and stopped a few feet away from Sam’s room in a quiet corner cut off from hall traffic. “What the hell do you mean long-term care, Dad?”

“Dean, son…”

“Don’t,” Dean barked. “You believe these quacks don’t you?”

“Dean, I have seen the scans. I have seen his progress. We can’t care for him Dean. A state facility can.”

“Care for,” Dean hissed. “They’ll treat him like a plant, Dad. They’ll feed and water him, and that’s it. He needs a rehab facility. He needs stimulus.”

“Dean, Sam isn’t going to get better. Rehab won’t do anything for him. We can visit him whenever we want,” John’s face looked stricken.

“Fuck you then,” Dean spat. “You’re done,” he barked. “You stay away from him.”

“What? He’s my child Dean,” John warned. “I’m his father, and I’m making the decisions for his care now.”

“The hell you are,” Dean walked up to his father and stood mere inches from his face.

“I’ve all ready started the paperwork for his transfer at the end of the week.” John should have seen it coming, but he didn’t. He felt the impact of Dean’s fist against his jaw and he stumbled back, the punch was vicious. He tasted the familiar copper taste of blood in his mouth. Dean was on him in an instant, his hands grabbing his father’s flannel shirt roughly. He pinned his father against the wall.

“I’m not going to let you send Sammy to a hell hole to rot,” he barked. “You just don’t want to deal with his recovery. I’ll be damned if I let you throw him away!” John attempted to jerk away from his son, but Dean simply increased his hold, pulled back on his father’s shirt quickly and slammed the man back into place. John saw into Dean’s eyes and hesitated. He saw a feral rage in them, but he also saw the eyes of the deadly hunter he had raised. He stilled under his son’s grasp.

“Sammy’s gone, Dean.” John spoke evenly. “We can’t care for him. And, I’m not going to let you waste your life taking care of your brother.” He immediately knew the word waste had come out sounding wrong. He felt Dean shift suddenly and then his son’s forearm pushed against his throat effectively shutting off his air. Now, he fought back. He countered under his son’s grip, and shoved Dean into the wall away from him.

“Taking care of Sammy isn’t a waste of my life!” Dean countered with ferocity.

“That’s not what I meant, son. He isn’t going to get better Dean. The doctor’s say he’s reached a plateau in his status. They said they don’t expect him to ever interact with his world or people. He’ll never really know us again, Dean.” John watched his son stare at him. His eyes wide and he saw the pain his words were causing him. Dean had always been a realist, but when Sam had been hurt he saw another Dean emerge, an optimist, a believer in possibilities. And, now he was forcing his son into a stark blinding light he’d been refusing to look into. “We can’t fix him Dean. But, we can see that he’s cared for.”

“We can’t fix him?” Dean’s voce was incredulous. “He’s not a broken kitchen appliance,” Dean hissed. “I know he needs a lot of care, Dad. I’m not fooling myself. But, I’m not going to stand by and let you pack him off to be housed in some institute to lay in a bed the rest of his life. And, don’t fool yourself, with the words long-term care; you want to send Sammy to an institution.”

“Sam wouldn’t want you to give up your life to sit by him. You can visit.”

“How are these words even coming out of your mouth?” Dean barked. “You’re his father, and you’ve given up on him. You’re throwing him out like garbage.”

“Dean, I’m not,” John countered. “I checked the places out. And, the Meadowbrook Care Center will be able to provide for Sammy. And, the state can make accommodations for not having insurance. I’ve seen the place. Sam will be okay there. Stop kidding yourself about his potential Dean. We’ve lost him.”

“You’re completely fucked in the head, you know that right?” Dean replied dead panned. “Meadowbrook? Who’s kidding themselves now? You act like you’re sending him off to Club Med or something.” Dean glared at his father. “Do they even provide therapy? Physical, speech, occupational? April said it’s important Sam have that stuff at minimum, but there’s a lot more. I mean, will they work with him, keep his muscles moving? What about hydrotherapy, he likes it,” he paused. “I know he does. He doesn’t have to speak for me to understand that. It helps make him more comfortable and calms his muscle spasms … they go away after it.”

“Dean,” John hated seeing his son like this, but he had to make him accept the way things were. “April, is very good at what she does, but she isn’t one of Sam’s doctors. It’s her job to make family’s feel good. And, to be positive about Sam’s therapy. It’s her job.”

“That’s bullshit! She’s been straight with me, and she says Sam has a chance at something. I don’t know what that something will turn out to be, but I want to give him that chance. I can’t believe you’re not willing too.”

“Dean, I haven’t given up on your brother. I’m just accepting his limitations now, and he has come back as far as he’s going to. Meadowbrook will take care of his needs.”

“He’s not going there,” Dean’s tone turned deadly.

“It’s not your decision to make Dean. What? You have the money to spend on a rehab facility? They won’t take him anyway, Dean. The doctors have declared him profoundly brain damaged with persistent unawareness and there isn’t a rehab that will take him. And, I can’t blame them. He isn’t going to get better Dean. There isn’t a curve of improvement here, and the sooner you accept that Sammy is gone the better off you’ll be.”

“Well, then I guess all of you dumb asses in this place should take a better look at Sammy’s chart. I saw the initial paperwork he filled out in the ER before he signed the AMA papers. He had to designate a person in charge of his medical care should he become incapacitated in the event of a complication. It might have been just routine paperwork, but it still sticks,” Dean shouted. “He put my name down Dad. I’ll find a rehab to take him. Sam’s my responsibility. And, you can take your Meadowbrook plans and shove them up your ass!” He yelled, and began to walk away. John followed, and spotted one of Sam’s doctors.

“Doctor,” John spoke with impatience.

“Mr. Winchester? Is there a problem?” Dean stood glaring at both men, as he felt a smug grin of satisfaction creeping across his mouth. “I have the paperwork almost complete for the transfer to Meadowbrook on Friday.”

“My son said his names on my son’s paperwork for all of his medial decisions, is that true?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I just assumed you’re his father, and never even looked.” He pulled up Sam’s file in the computer, and a scan of the original forms he had signed. “Well, it say’s here: Name of party given permission to make medical and care decisions in the event of complications or incapacitation: Dean Winchester. Relation to patient: Brother.” And, you clearly saw Sam’s signature sighed and dated at the bottom of the form.

Sam had used Dean’s real last name for the paperwork, and Dean doubted his brother was really even thinking straight when he had filled out those papers, but he seriously doubted some small hospital would ever know that Dean Winchester died in St. Louis. It wasn’t like he was the only Dean Winchester in the world.

“So, what does that mean?” John barked. “Is he right? He can control my son’s care?

“Yes,” the doctor said bluntly.

“I want to petition for a change,” John raised his voice. “I’m his father.”

“Well, there is no need to make a change. This shouldn’t be a problem. I can just transfer the Meadowbrook paperwork to your son’s name and get his signature for the paperwork.”

“Like Hell Kevorkian,” Dean grumbled. “My brother isn’t be shipped off to some hole in the wall place to be forgotten. He’s going to a rehab facility.”

“Ah, I just assumed you were both at a consensus for Sam’s care.”

“Not even close,” Dean hissed as his eyes shifted between the doctor and his father.

“Well, I can’t tell you where to send your brother, but I can tell you his chart isn’t going to change, and based on his status confirmed by this hospital he will not be accepted into rehab facility. He won’t meet their acceptance criteria. You’re brother has no chance of meaningful recovery.” Dean glanced at his watch and saw he’d been away from Sam for almost forty minutes.

“I’ve wasted enough of my time and my brother’s with you quacks. I’m going to see my brother.”

“Sir,” the doctor called out. “We’ll need a decision concerning his care by the end of the week. We are ready to release him. He no longer requires the care of a hospital.”

“Yeah-yeah,” Dean stormed off.

“Can I contest the paperwork?” John asked.

“You could try court, but he was lucid and in grasp of his own actions when he filled out the forms.” John looked defeated. He felt like Dean was going to spend the rest of his life taking are of his brother who wouldn’t even know he was there. John nodded. “Mr. Winchester, I know this isn’t what you want to hear from me now, but the staff will have to consult your son from now on and any care while Sam is with us.”

“I know.” He walked off needing some air.

Dean approached Sam’s room and heard April’s sweet voice. “So, Sam? Where is that brother of yours? Hmm? He’s usually on guard duty. Hey, look at your flexibility today, good for you,” her voice bubbly as she grasped his right leg under his knee and at his ankle stretching it out and bending it back flexing his knee.

“Hi April,” Dean spoke with a broad smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You okay?” She had been studying his face and mannerisms for a month now while treating Sam.

“They want to ship Sam off?”

“Yeah, but that’s good news,” she replied. “He’ll be out of the hospital.”

“Yeah, well, my Dad and those quacks were making plans to send him to some place called Meadowbrook.”

“Meadowbrook! No, no, Sam can’t go there,” her voice lost its bubbly quality and was deadly serious.

“I know. I told them he wasn’t being shipped off to an institution. I don’t care if they won’t make us pay. But, these damn doctors put crap in his file, and said no rehab will take Sammy. I’m on his paperwork to make his decisions, and I’m not sticking him in some hell hole that will feed, water, and turn him, ya know?”

“Dean,” April could see the stress lines pulling at Dean’s face. She hated seeing that look. She had grown quite attached to that face, and hated seeing it upset. She saw Sam more times during a week than other PT patients for more reasons than patient care, but there was something about Samuel Winchester and that brother of his that she felt compelled to be around. And, Dean made her stomach flip flop when he was around. “When I finish with Sam’s therapy, I’m going to look into something’s for you and Sam, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Dean answered.

“I know I don’t, but I may have an idea, okay?”

“Thanks April,” he reached out and gave her elbow a soft squeeze, and she thought her skin would ignite under his touch. She simply smiled.

Three Hours Later

John walked back into Sam’s room and met Dean’s hard stare. “I’m not going to contest the papers,” he said simply as he sat down. “It’d be pointless to go through court to do this. Dean, he’s my son,” he stated simply. “I want you to sign over his care to me.”

“No way,” Dean answered flatly keeping his voice low. Sam had closed his eyes an hour ago, and was sleeping.

“I’m not asking you Dean. I’m ordering you.”

“I said no.” Dean shifted in his seat. “You don’t get to call the shots anymore Dad. This is my life, and if it means visiting Sammy everyday the rest of my life, I will. He’s getting into a rehab. Some place will take him.”

“No they won’t.”

“I know you think I’m off in La-La Land or something, but I’m not. I know Sam could stay like this forever, I know that, okay? But, I don’t believe that he will. I know he can be helped. I told you before that Sam has a chance at something, and I’m giving him that chance.”

“What about your life Dean? You can honestly say you’re ready for this routine to be the rest of your life?”

“I know I can’t stay with him 24/7, I know I’ll have to get a place and work. But, yeah, I’m willing to make a life wherever I have to if that means I know Sam is getting the best chance he can get. It’s not my problem you’re not willing to do the same. And, just because you’re not doesn’t make me wrong.”

“What about the hunt? The people you could save? The demon?”

“Screw it all, Dad. It doesn’t matter. Sam matters.”

“I can’t support this Dean. You’re throwing your life away.”

“I’m not asking for your support Dad. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you think,” he hissed quietly. “And, if I am throwing my life away, and I don’t feel I am, but if I am, guess what? It’s my life!”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re acting like this?” John stood up to leave, but stopped short. He walked over to Sam’s bedside and kissed his son on the forehead gently as he ran his hand through Sam’s long bangs. “Sleep well Sammy.” He stood back from Sam and leveled a look on Dean. “I’ll try talking to you when your head is clearer.”

“My head is clear, Dad. Crystal clear.” He watched John Winchester turn on his heel and leave the room.

Twenty minutes after his father had left Dean heard footsteps enter. “What you came back for more,” his voice harsh. He looked up and saw April entering. “Sorry, I thought you were my Dad.”

“It’s okay. No harm, no foul,” she attempted to add some levity to the obviously tense air in the room. “Sorry, it took me so long to get back to you, but I had to leave the hospital for a meeting about Sam.”

“About Sam?”

“Remember I said I might have an idea?”

“Yeah,” Dean was taken off guard slightly still. “Did your idea pan out? I mean, if it didn’t, I really appreciate…” She put her hand up and smiled.

“I took my file on Sam to Ivy Ridge,” when she saw that Dean hadn’t heard the name before. “I’m not surprised it was on the list of places Sam could go to. It’s a rehab center about 15 miles outside the city. It’s one of the best in the country actually, for brain and spinal trauma cases. I’ll be honest my aunt is the Director of the center. She’s a neurologist that specializes in traumatic brain injury, but before she was a doctor she was a physical therapist like me, and she has more open views on neurological recovery. I mean don’t get me wrong, she knows when there is no hope for recovery, and she doesn’t pull punches or give false hope.” April paused a second and could see Dean was listening intently to her every word.

“Dean, my aunt has seen his records, and copies of his scans. And, my care notes for his therapy. She believes that the center could help Sam progress further than his current state. And, I told her about the financial burden and lack of health insurance. I hope you don’t mind.” Dean shook his head assuring her understood why she had to place all cards on the table. “Anyway, she wants to help Sam, and because the institute is one of the best there is funding available for patients with extreme financial need.”

“What are you saying?” Dean couldn’t believe what he thought he was hearing. “Sam was accepted… even with his diagnosis? And, the center is taking him on without payment?”

“Yes and yes, remember I told you my aunt sees potential where most doctors wouldn’t. And, the sad thing is, if Sam were to get shipped off to a place like Meadowbrook, unfortunately he would probably meet the doctors expectations because he would be getting no therapy at all, and would regress. Sam has potential Dean, and I want to see him get the chance.” Before April knew what was happening Dean had grabbed her and pulled her against his chest hugging her.

“I can’t thank you enough. April…” She returned the heart felt hug gladly.

“It’s okay, Dean.” She assured. “My aunt is making arrangements for Sam’s arrival on Friday. And, I can tell you all about the center when you want to hear it. I do PT there also on the weekends for a couple hours, but also in speech, as opposed to here at the hospital I only do PT.”

“So, you’ll still be working with Sam?”

“In some capacity, I will. He’ll have his own personal PT assigned to him at the center. And, he’ll have day, evening, and night caregivers assigned to him. It will be the same caregivers on any given shift. My aunt likes to instill a continuity of care. They have a massive staff there, so that no one gets burned out. Each caregiver is assigned three patients per shift. And, because not all patients require the same level of care it always seems to work out. I arranged for a tour, if you’d like to see it before Friday.”

“Yeah, when?”

“We could today,” she suggested. “I know you hate leaving him, but maybe it’ll be good for you, you know? After all, Ivy Ridge is a residential center, and although, they won’t kick you out,” she smiled. “They encourage family to allow the patients some space, so to speak.”

“Yeah, I know you’re right. All right,” he looked at his watch. “Let me talk to Karen his nurse for the evening shift. I want to make sure she has my cell number should they have to reach me.”

“Okay. I’ll stay with Sam. We can take my car,” she suggested.

“Thanks for everything April.” She smiled and Dean’s felt warmth settle into his chest. It was warmth that stemmed not only from her, but that he saw possibility for Sammy. He walked out of the room.

“Well, Sam,” April spoke happily. “We’re going to get you out of this hospital Friday, okay?” She patted his leg. He remained asleep. “I think you’ll really like the center. And, I haven’t seen that brother of yours look that happy since I met him. Boy, I wish I could get the goods from you on him. I bet he’s a real lady killer, huh? He did me in the first moment we met,” she giggled quietly, and gave Sam a soft squeeze on his right foot.

Dean walked back in, “I told her I was going out for and that I’d be back later. So, if they need me for anything she’ll call. Cell reception is okay out there isn’t it?”

“Yep, no problems,” April assured.

Dean walked over to Sam before leaving and gently pushed back his unruly bangs. “Hey kiddo, I’m going to go check out your new digs, okay? I’ll be back tonight, I promise. It’s gonna be okay, Sammy,” Dean spoke gently. “Okay, let’s go.”

Dean walked with April to the employee parking lot where her car was parked. He briefly thought of his current relationship status with is dad, and had to admit it was a tumultuous storm letting loose. Hurricane Winchester was blowing in, and Dean knew it. But, he decided wasn’t going to think about his father right now. No, right now he was blocking John Winchester out of his mind. He was sure they’d talk again, but there wasn’t much more to say. If John couldn’t believe that Sammy had potential, no matter what that may mean when all was said and done, then Dean had no use for him, father or not. And, for the first time in almost three months he finally felt some of the weight in his chest lift, he had always believed in Sam, but now he had hope, real hope.