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 studied the grounds of the Center as they pulled down the long driveway. The driveway was lined by manicured tress and scrubs, and had long rolling green grasses, and concrete walking paths that Dean noted were wide enough to accommodate two wheelchairs side by side if need be. “The grounds are nice,” Dean commented idly.

“They focus on the human side of care here,” April began. “They try to make it comfortable for the patients. There’s the Center.” Dean turned his eyes away from the passenger side window. He was surprised, it didn’t look like a hospital at all, and there wasn’t a sterile look to it. It was a long sprawling structure that had a large glass atrium at the center of the building, and looked inviting, well, as inviting as a care center could, Dean surmised. There was more landscaping and colorful plants that adorned the lobby area, and spanned the front of the center.

Twenty Minutes Later

Dean followed April through the center, “This is the therapy gymnasium,” she pointed to the empty room that spanned a large area. There were mats, and equipment. “It’s evening, so that’s why there isn’t any PT going on.”

“Yeah,” Dean commented as he looked over the equipment finding himself looking at every detail. Were the floors clean? The equipment new? He ran through mental questions in his head as he looked around to answer his mental questions. “What about hydrotherapy?”

“Through here,” April pointed and Dean followed. She pushed the door and it opened into a vast area that contained a large indoor swimming pool. “The separate hydrotherapy tubs are this way,” she commented. “This is for basic water therapy.” Dean walked with her and examined the hydrotherapy room with the hot jetted tubs that helped Sam’s muscle spasms at the hospital.

“So, Sam will still have this, right?”

“Yes, and regular pool therapy as well.”

“What will they do for him here?” Dean asked. “I mean, I know you said he needed speech therapy and other stuff.”

“He’ll get it all here Dean. I promise you this is the best place for Sam to achieve his full potential in his recovery. My aunt has made sure that the programs here focus on Core Therapies.”

“Core therapies? What are those?” Dean wanted to know everything.

“Well,” April began. “It’s a large set of rehab steps that each patient gets as they are ready for a step. The core therapies are: nursing, physical, speech, occupational, therapeutic recreation, neuropsychology, and social work.” She saw Dean’s eyebrow lift at the words social work. “Now, I don’t mean you’re going to have to deal with a social worker in your face,” she smiled. “It’s sort of an advocate for Sam and for your behalf should you need to apply for government funds after he is released from the center. They can find financial assistance to help should he need it.” Dean nodded.

“Sammy will get all of those therapies?”

“Yes, as he can handle them. Once he starts engaging his environment there are things his PT will be able to do to stimulate him further, and try to draw him further into his environment.”

“I know I all ready said thanks, April, but this is more than I could have hoped for.”

“Not a problem. Don’t you want to see his room?”

“What? Its’ ready?”

“Well, this place is usually full, but the patient that had Sam’s room was discharged yesterday, and I’m sure it’s ready. I think you’ll be pleased. They really try to make the rooms homey. My aunt hates decorating ala hospital décor.”

“How many patients does Sam have to share his room with?”

“None,” April answered bluntly. Dean looked at her with surprise.

“My aunt believes residents should have their own space, so everyone has their own private room, no sharing.”

“How many residents are here?”

“Well, there’s usually more traumatic brain injuries here than spinal trauma, but there are 110 patient rooms here. But, some patients are here for only a couple weeks depending on the rehab required, and some are long term residents that will have extensive rehab. I got lucky with Sam getting in because of the vacancy, and his case put him at the top of the list.”

“What if there hadn’t been space?”

“My aunt would have admitted him as soon as there was an opening. Worse case scenario I would have helped you find an interim facility that could have cared for him until a room opened. And, if they hadn’t provided regular PT, I would have gladly donated my time.”

“Thanks.”

“Stop thanking me. And, anyway we don’t have to think about that scenario it’s not happening. Sam has a place here, and as of Friday Ivy Ridge will be home sweet home until he’s ready to leave.”

“This is his room?” Dean looked around surprised. He was hoping that the rooms would be a change from the hospital and they were.

“You don’t like it?” April sounded concerned.

“Huh? Are you kidding its great,” Dean walked around. The room wasn’t huge, but it was still roomy, and it had a private full bathroom that was handicapped accessible. There was a bay window with a small sitting area. A TV mounted from the ceiling, and the bed although it had all the elements of a hospital bed the call buttons, and up and down motorized controls, and bed rails that could raise or lower, it looked like a real bed. There were soft pale green sheets on the bed, a pillow, and a soft colorful quilt expertly placed on top with a corner neatly folded down. It looked very inviting and safe. Dean glanced up to the ceiling, “a ceiling fan?”

April smiled. “Well, the A/C is more than enough, but they find that constant air flow is comforting and helps increase a patient’s comfort. The fans are cleaned of dust every couple days and actually cleaned with disinfectant, so you don’t have to worry about it as a health hazard. “So, you like it, huh?”

“It’s great April. I couldn’t have ever dreamed this place up for Sam’s recovery.”

“Good. I think Sam will make real progress here,” she assured. “My aunt usually stays late on Wednesday nights, and I told her we were coming, so I want you to meet her, and there is some paperwork to fill out.” Dean nodded. “And, as soon as the paperwork is filled out and signed, she will fax the transfer paperwork to Sam’s doctor and that will be that, he’ll come here on Friday.”

Meanwhile, Sam’s Hospital Room

John sat down at Sam’s bedside; his son’s eyes were closed in sleep. “Hey, Sammy,” John’s voice was soft. “I was hoping your brother would take a breather, so I could talk to you alone.” John looked down at his hands trying to find the right words. When he looked back up Sam’s eyes had opened and resumed their vacant, blank stare at nothing. John still had trouble dealing with that, but he just reminded himself that those were his baby son’s eyes, and the idea he was seeing them at all was a gift.

“Hey, buddy,” John practically cooed. He tried to put himself in Sam’s line of sight, to make him see him, but it was like his son saw through him. “Sammy, I wish I knew what to say. I didn’t want to put you in Meadowbrook, but it’s the best thing for you, or at least I thought. I just knew your brother and I couldn’t care for you like you needed. Please, don’t think I wanted to throw you away,” his voice pleaded on deaf ears. He was certain Sam wasn’t hearing him, but he had to hope there was some place that still survived inside his son’s head that could understand, even on the simplest level. “I shouldn’t have been surprised that you listed your brother on your paperwork. I mean, he’s been a part of your life every day practically for the last year.” He paused. “It’s not that I think your brother won’t find a place for you I think he will, it’s just … dammit, Sammy,” John’s voice was frustrated. “I know you wouldn’t want Dean to spend his life looking out for you every day. I love you, son,” he looked anywhere in the room, but at his son. “but, he just can’t let you go, and I guess I shouldn’t fault him for it, but I can’t help wishing he’d see what all the doctors are saying, and know it’s true. Sam I know you tried son to come back, I know you did. But, the doctor’s made me see that you’ve done all you’re going to do. I don’t want to let you go either, but I know it’s what you’d want for your brother and me.”

And, long minutes later, there was a noise at the entrance to Sam’s room that made John turn his head. “Sorry, I just needed to check his fluids, and turn him.” Sam’s evening nurse entered.

“It’s okay.” He watched her begin to turn Sam. “Need any help?” She paused looking at John.

“Sure.” And, she proceeded to talk him through the procedure of turning Sam onto his side, and placing the pillow between his legs, so that it would reduce pressure point irritations from his legs laying on one another. “You did just fine,” she encouraged. He offered her a mild smile and sat back down in his seat. Before she left she turned back around. “Mr. Winchester,” she began. John met her eyes. “We received his transfer paperwork a short while ago and Sam’s doctor is preparing the orders for Friday.”

“Transfer?” John hoped that Dean had come to his senses about Meadowbrook. “Where?”

“Actually,” her voice holding a hint of surprise. “Ivy Ridge Rehab Care Center, it’s one of the best in the country. The paperwork was personally submitted by the Director of the center Dr. Rose Myers, and she is a top neurologist, and has signed off on the paperwork as your son’s attending physician which means she’s accepted his case personally.”

“Rehab center, are you sure? I thought my son didn’t qualify.”

“Well, technically he doesn’t, but Dr. Myers runs the facility and she was given access to your son’s scans, records and PT care notes. And, she is known for being a bit more liberal in her evaluations of traumatic brain injury, so...”

“One of the best in the country, you say?”

“Yes. Well, if you have any questions you can speak with Sam’s doctor. I mean, I’ve been told about the switch in power of attorney, but you’re still allowed to be informed.”

“Thank you.” John turned his attention back to Sam that had closed his eyes once again, and smiled. “Well, Sammy it looks like your brother pulled a rabbit out of a hat on this one. He got you into a rehab. I just hope that when they decide they can’t help you progress any further that it doesn’t destroy your brother.”

“Get out,” Dean’s voice grounded out in a hushed venom. John spun around. His eldest child had been very quiet in his approach. “Don’t say things like to him.”

“I’m not leaving until I’m ready.”

“How long have you been sittin’ here fillin’ his head with this crap?” Dean maintained his hushed voice.

“You’re setting yourself up for a big fall Dean, and for your brother to fail. And, when all is said and done you’ll have no one else to blame, but yourself.”

“I’m not setting Sammy up to fail, no that’s what you were doing with that hole called Meadowbrook. Sam has a chance now, and I’m giving it to him. Just get out.”

“He’s not going to get better Dean, Christ why can’t you see that.” Dean would have exploded on his father, but he wouldn’t in front of his little brother.

“You keep your voice down,” he warned. John cast a look at his sleeping son, and lowered his voice for Sammy’s sake, not because Dean ordered him to. “And, where do you get off, anyway? You’re bailing out just like you always do. I’m not asking you to give up shit for Sammy. This is my life, and my brother, you want to write him off then fine … I said it before and I’ll say it again … we don’t need you. We do fine on our own.”

“You know in a month or two when they come to the same decision about Sam that the hospital did, what are you going to do then, huh? You’ll have to find another place for him when they make him leave.”

“You don’t have a clue about anything,” Dean warned. “They believe in Sam, even after you and all these damn quacks have written him off.”

“If and it’s a big if, but let’s say they do advance him just a fraction more, he’ll never have a meaningful recovery Dean, and you’re going to have to let him go.”

“Screw you, you lousy bastard,” he hissed under his breath. “You know even if the only advance Sam makes is to focus his eyes on something, anything or to be able to turn himself in his own bed then it’s better than what you wanted for him in that crap facility.”

“You’re wasting your life,” John yelled now. “He’s gone Dean!”

Dean eyes shifted back to Sam and could see that his brother had opened his eyes once again. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he comforted as he ran a hand through his brother’s bangs. “Dad, didn’t mean to raise his voice.”

“You see that’s what I’m talking about. You coddle and comfort him Dean, and he doesn’t even know your there. The doctors know he can hear, but they say he can’t even cognitively process the words, so essentially we’re just like white noise to him. You’re not comforting him because Sammy isn’t there to comfort.” John paused and then a sentence left his mouth that even he couldn’t believe he was saying, but deep down based on the medical staff prognosis for his baby son, he believed was true. “It would have been better if Sam had died. At least it would be over for him, for us.” He heard a deep guttural growl growing in intensity from Dean, and then the boy exploded.

He launched himself at his father and slammed him against the far wall in Sam’s room. “I’ll kill you,” he spat, as he proceeded to grab his father’s throat. John struggled with his son, and managed to break from Dean’s grip.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” John panted knowing his mistake. “It’s just…”

“Get out before I kill you Dad.” Dean’s eyes blazed with fury. “I never want to see you again. Am I clear?”

“Dean, Sam is my son and if I want to see him I will.” John kept his distance from Dean not wanting security to show up and haul either one of them out of the room and call the police.

“If you believe what you’ve been saying to me about Sam all ready being gone then walk away Dad, you’ve got nothing to visit because according to you Sammy is dead.”

“Dean…” John’s voice was soft. He watched his firstborn walk toward Sam.

“I’ll be back in a minute Sammy.” John watched Dean walk out to the nurse’s station. “I want to remove my father from Sam’s approved visitors.”

“But…” the nurse started to say.

“Look, I have power of attorney over my brother’s care and it’s my decision to allow visitors in his room, and I want him removed. I don’t care if you have to post security at my brother’s room.”

“He can’t do this can he?” John asked quickly.

“I’m sorry Mr. Winchester, but he can.”

“I’m his father. I have rights.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, if your son here is choosing to invoke visitation limitations he can.” She looked at Dean. “Are you choosing to limit information access, as well?” Dean contemplated that for a moment.

“No, I don’t care if he’s given status reports, but I want him away from my brother.” John decided he’d have to bite his tongue in this one and actually ask Dean to reconsider.

“Dean,” he purposely softened his voice. His son turned hard eyes to his father.

“What? I’ve said all I plan to … to you.”

“Can I have one minute in private with you,” he hesitated a moment. “Please,” he hated sounding like he was begging.

“Fine,” Dean glared at him. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said to the nurse. She nodded. Dean went to their familiar corner off the busy hallway, the place they had had their last confrontation when he had punched his Dad. “What is it? You have one minute.” He spat.

“I’m sorry for what I said, I was wrong. I’d rather have Sammy anyway he came rather than no Sam at all,” John offered. “And, it’s clear you and I both think differently about Sam’s condition. I can respect that,” he offered. “Look, he’s going to be headed to that rehab you found for him on Friday, and I’d like to have what time there is left to visit with him. Please, don’t take that away from me Dean.” He paused a moment. “Don’t take it away from Sammy. If he can hear and understand like you think he can then let me have these last couple days with him. It’s really just another day, I mean … todays over anyway. Let me … for Sammy…” Dean stood there processing what his father had said. He wasn’t stupid he knew his Dad was working an angle. He wanted to see Sam, and he was using Sam to get what he wanted.

“Look, just so we’re clear, I know I’m being played. But, because as much as you don’t deserve him, I think Sammy would want you here. But, I’m not kidding, you say one more negative thing in front of him, I will have your ass hauled out by security if you don’t leave when I tell you to. Understand?” John gave his son a curt nod. “And, I don’t want you coming to the rehab center to see him.”

“I won’t,” John’s answer was fast and blunt. And, Dean couldn’t mask his surprise. “I may call on occasion to see how your brother is doing, but I won’t visit. I can’t stand to see him put in a place like that, and fail.”

“But, you’d rather see him regress to a drawn up shell of himself locked in some fetal position like that Kyle kid they discharged the other day to an institution? Because he’d get worse, you know that right? No PT, no stimulus. Sam isn’t like that Kyle kid, and I won’t let him become like that, I can’t.”

“Dean, son … have you considered that this may be beyond your ability to help Sammy?”

“I’m not giving up on him. I won’t.” And, that was that. John Winchester heard the finality in his son’s voice. His oldest child wasn’t ever going to leave his little brother, his Sammy behind, not now, not ever. And, he blamed himself for instilling such protectiveness in Dean where Sam was concerned, but what was done was done.

“Fine,” John relented. “I’d like to see your brother before I leave for the evening.”

“All right,” Dean’s voice was frustrated.

“And, tomorrow, too?” John asked.

“Yeah, whatever, but remember what I said, no talking shit in front of Sammy.”

“I won’t. You’ll talk to the nurse’s desk?”

“Yeah.”

Thursday Evening, the night before Sam’s Transfer to Ivy Ridge

John sat by his son’s bed while Dean kept off to the side watching and listening to everything is father said and did to Sam. They hadn’t spoken much since the previous night’s argument and subsequent stalemate. Dean watched his father hold his brother’s hand and stroke his bangs repeatedly away from his forehead. “Sammy, tomorrow’s your big day,” John spoke softly, but Dean found himself leaning forward to hear every word to insure he said nothing negative. John made a point to ignore Dean’s obvious attempt to hear his words. “You finally get to leave the hospital. I hear your brother has found you a real nice place to stay. I looked it up on the Net, and it looks nice Sammy. You’ll like it there. Listen, Sammy,” John began as he looked at the door to make sure no one was coming in to check Sam’s vitals or fluid levels. “Your old Dad here has a hunt to go on. It’s nothing too out of the ordinary. It’s just clearing out a poltergeist in Massachusetts. I got a call from Leonard, you probably won’t remember him, you only met him once and I think you must have been fifteen or sixteen, but anyway…” He paused as he saw Sam open his eyes and resume their vacant stare that he still couldn’t get used to. “Well, he called and asked if I could help a family out, so I agreed. I’ll head out in the morning, but that works out since you’re going to your new digs tomorrow, right?” John reached up and cupped the side of his son’s face in his broad hand. “Sammy, you’re brother is gonna take real good care of you, okay? But, you know me, I gotta keep moving. I’ll be checking in, I promise, maybe not right away, but I will. I talked to your new doctor earlier, she sounds very nice. And, it sounds like she knows her stuff. You’ll be in good hands.”

“You called the rehab?” Dean’s voice held a hint of accusation.

“I just wanted to talk to the doctor that took your brother’s case. I looked her up, she’s good. And, I asked her if it would be okay that I called for updates now and again.”

“And, what did she say?”

“That you’d have to give her permission since your essentially Sam’s guardian now because of the power of attorney.” John studied his son’s intense look. “Dean, I just want to be able to get updates about Sammy that’s all I’m asking. And, it may be a while before I call, anyway.”

“Fine,” Dean groused. “I’ll make sure you’re on the approved list for information.” John stood up and leaned over Sam’s bed and smiled at his son.

“Well, Sammy, it’s late, and I guess your Dad here, should head off back to the hotel. I plan on leaving before sunrise. I’ll be in touch, I’m not sure when, but I will. Love you, Sammy,” he whispered and kissed his son on the top of the head, and gently rubbed his thumb across Sam’s forehead. “Dean?” John stood up and looked at his eldest child.

“Yeah?” Dean’s voice was impatient. John looked at Sam and motioned for Dean to step outside the room.

“You have my number. I promise I’ll answer if I hear it ringing, okay? And, if you get my voice mail, please leave a message. I will call back. It’s just, if anything should happen, I mean…”

“So, what you’re saying is … that if Sammy gets worse, dies or gets booted from the rehab you want a call? How about when he improves?” Dean wanted to hit his father.

“Dean,” John tried to quell his anger. “I just want you to know that if something were to happen, anything, I want to know.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Dean glared at him.

“And, if you need me,” John offered. Dean cut him off with a raised hand.

“I won’t,” he ground out. “I got all I need in the world, and he’s in that room.” John shook his head.

“Well, the offer still stands.”

“Whatever.”

“Take care of yourself Dean, and your brother.”

“I always have.” John nodded. It was the truth, after all.

“Goodbye Dean.”

“Dad,” there was no goodbye, just simply ‘dad’ and a quick nod. The older man could feel the rage coming off his son. He only hoped that he and Dean could find there way back to one another. And, he hoped that Dean would someday sooner than later admit that Sammy was gone, and return to the hunt at his father’s side. John turned and walked away.

Dean returned to his brother’s room. “Hey, Sammy. It’s just you and me little brother against the world now,” Dean quipped with a smile. He ran a hand through his brother’s chestnut mop of hair. “Just the way we like it, huh? You know I cleared my stuff out of dad’s hotel room yesterday, so I’m your roomie for the night. And tomorrow, we finally get to blow this Popsicle stand.” He paused for a moment. “Hey, you need turned don’t you kiddo? It’s almost about time.” Dean smiled and went about turning his brother and making him comfortable.

Tomorrow, couldn’t get here fast enough for Dean Winchester, he really felt true hope for Sammy when he thought about Ivy Ridge and what they can and will do for him. I’m getting you out of the dark Sammy, I promise, Dean thought to himself.

Three Weeks Later, Ivy Ridge Rehab Center

“Hi Dean,” Carrie the bubbly receptionist from the front lobby visitor’s check-in desk motioned to Dean as he walked into the center.

“Hi Carrie,” he could see she was holding a priority mail envelope.

“Something came to the center for you. It arrived earlier.”

“For me,” he eyed it suspiciously.

“Well, it’s in your name, but your brother’s name is on it too, I suspect to make sure it was accepted.”

“Thanks Carrie,” Dean replied as he took the hard envelope.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean stopped halfway to his brother’s room and stepped off to a small sitting area to open the envelope. It had no return address, but he recognized the handwriting, and knew it was from his father. He let out a loud sigh as he opened it. There was one part of him that wanted to throw it away without looking, but for John Winchester to spring for priority mail, maybe it was worth a look. He hadn’t heard from his father since they parted ways in the hospital. And, Sam had been in Ivy Ridge for three weeks all ready, and Dean was making long term plans to stay, so he knew the extended stay hotel wasn’t going to work much longer. He opened the envelope, and pulled out a short scribbled letter with another smaller brown envelope with a closed metal clasp securing whatever contents it held. He read the letter:

Dean,

I’m sorry with the way I left things, but done is done, I suspect. I know things are going to be difficult on your end with money and lodging. I know you’re going to probably have to get work, and anyway, I wanted to tell you I spoke with Larry at the garage before I left town, and told him you may or may not stop by, but anyway there is a job there for you should you need one. He said to come by if you want. Look, I called in some favors and some contacts, and anyway, I thought things would be easier for you if you didn’t have to hide under fake ID’s. You can be Dean Winchester again. I know you’ve been using your real name at the rehab, but I thought this may come in handy. I pulled some strings, and used up about a half dozen owed favors, but anyway, long story short, it wasn’t Dean Winchester that died in St. Louis suspected of murder, but his twin brother, Sean. I won’t go into the details because it’s not important, but you’re you again. Inside the envelope is the police paperwork, your birth certificate, a new copy of your social security card just in case you need it, and also Sammy’s birth certificate should you need it for anything. And, I had a friend that doctored and even filed a fake birth certificate for your “brother Sean”, so there shouldn’t be any questions. You’re free to be Dean Winchester again. And, I spoke with Bobby and he told me he was able to tow the Impala to you on a flat bed. He said it was fixed, and I’m glad you have one less thing to worry about. Tell Sammy I said Hi.

Take care.

Dad

Dean stared at the letter for a long moment and then opened up the other envelope, and all the paperwork his dad had listed was enclosed, and he was happy that in deed he was no longer a presumed dead fugitive. He could start using his real ID again when he needed to without worry of being hauled off to jail. And, also in with the papers was money held together with a paper clip and a post-it note that said, it isn’t as much as I would have liked, but I thought it could help. It was $400 in cash. Dean idly glanced at the fake birth certificate of his fake twin: Sean Michael Winchester born January 24, 1979 at 8:06 AM, Lawrence, Kansas. And, then he glanced at his own birth certificate: Dean Aaron Winchester born January 24, 1979 at 8:10 AM, Lawrence, Kansas. He shook his head with a mixture of wry humor and irritation, figures he’d make me younger, he grumbled in his own mind. However, it didn’t escape Dean’s attention that his fake brother’s first name was a combination of Sam’s and his own.

He put the money in his wallet, and folded up the papers back into the envelope and headed for Sam’s room. He glanced at his watch and knew that Sam’s personal PT would be in his room. He liked the older man. His name was Melvin Dupree; he was a tall African American man in his mid forties with a quick wit and gentle smile. He had been quick to introduce himself to Dean and Sam, and had quickly told Dean to call him Mel.

“Hey Mel,” Dean said with a smile as he entered the room.

“Hey yourself,” the man answered as he continued Sam’s PT. “We’re doing our morning yoga,” he quipped. Dean chuckled. “I’m just about done. I would have taken Sam to the gym for his leg exercises, but they are cleaning the floors right now.” Dean nodded. Mel placed Sam’s leg back down, and pulled the covers back over him, and proceeded to write his care notes at Sam’s bedside in his PT file. Dean put the envelope down on a small corner table near the bay window, and turned to look at Sam, but something caught his attention. He studied his little brother for a moment. Sam’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling fan as it spun its circular revolutions. And, Dean was certain that Sam was actually looking at it.

“Ah, Mel,” his voice sounding hesitant, as if speaking too loud or actually saying what he thought he was seeing would make it disappear.

“Yep,” he said looking up at Dean as he stopped writing.

“Do you see what I’m seeing?” And, Mel followed Dean’s eyes.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he replied. “Let me check something.” He proceeded to go turn off the switch to the fan, and when it wasn’t stopping fast enough for the older man he reached a hand up to still the rotating blades. And both Mel and Dean watched in rapped awe as Sam’s eyes drifted away from the fan to stare off at the distant wall. Mel walked back over to the switch and started the fan up again, and they watched Sam’s eyes engage the fan’s movement once again, and watch it spin.

“What’s that mean?” Dean’s voice hitched in excitement. “I mean, he’s seeing the fan, right? He’s watching it.” Mel smiled and nodded.

“He’s beginning to notice his environment. The motion is stimulating him visually. Hey, I have an idea,” Mel suggested. “Let me go grab something I’ll be right back.” Dean nodded and went to Sam’s bedside.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean’s voice was jovial. He tried to get Sam to look at him, to see him, but he only seemed to want to watch the fan rotate. “Hey,” Dean quipped as he ran a hand through his brother’s unruly bangs. “Man, now why weren’t you that easy to entertain as a kid?” He tried to make a joke. Part of him was ecstatic that his brother had made an obvious improvement that the hospital had claimed he wouldn’t, and then part of him was still sad by the simple fact his little brother was intrigued with a ceiling fan. “I’m proud of you Sammy,” Dean comforted as Sam continued to watch the fan.

“Okay,” Mel said as he walked back into the room with a small item that resembled a small desk fan, but wasn’t a fan when Dean took a closer look. “Let’s see what he thinks of this.”

“What is it?”

“A light pattern stimulator.”

“Huh?”

“Here, first let’s get him turned, okay,” Mel suggested. “It’s time anyway.” Once they had Sam comfortably on his side Mel brought the rolling bedside table over to the side Sam was looking at the wall. He turned on the small device and a light board came to life with colorful, alternating light patterns that created various different moving light patterns. Sam’s eyes drifted toward the moving lights and his eyes were captivated by the light, color, and movement. “This will activate more parts of his brain than the ceiling fan will. This is additional therapy of sorts, okay?”

“How long can he watch?”

“How about we let him do this for an hour, okay? But, he may tire of it before then and look away,” Mel suggested. “I can set a timer, and when it stops, it’ll be time to turn him again, and he’ll probably sleep. This may not seem like a lot Dean,” Mel began. “But this is a big step on Sam’s part.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “I knew he had it in him.”

Dean settled down in the chair next to Sam’s bed after Mel left. He would have water therapy a little later in the day. “Hey Sammy,” Dean began. “I might have to cut my visit a little short today because I have an appointment to look at a studio apartment about eight minutes from here, and then I’m driving into town to look into a job at an auto garage. I think we’re going to be here for a while, and I think your big brother here is actually going to have to earn an honest living and work.” Dean chuckled lightly. “I mean, really Sammy that alone is worth getting better for … seeing me do something close to a 9 to 5, or whatever I end up working. I think this Larry guy will be flexible since he knows our situation.” Dean paused a moment and then stood up. He gently ran a hand over his brother’s face, “it’s a good thing you take forever to grow a beard Sammy. I’ve only had to shave your peach fuzz once since you’ve been here.”

Dean stayed with Sam until it was time for his water therapy. He was scheduled for both pool and hydrotherapy today. And, Mel would come back for another hour of PT later in the day before they gave Sam a bath and washed his hair. Dean had told the staff he would shave his own brother’s face as needed, and they had obliged.

Meanwhile, Jefferson City Auto Repair

“Your Dad told me you may be stopping by,” Larry smiled and offered his hand. “He also told me you’re an excellent body repair man, and can rebuild a transmission as good as he can, that true?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered honestly. “My dad always made sure we knew our way around a car.”

“Call me Larry,” the man insisted. “Yeah, your dad told me he co-owned a shop when you and your brother were little.”

“Yes, until our mother died, and then he left the shop,” Dean didn’t offer any more information. Larry’s face was solemn.

“Yeah, your dad mentioned something about that … look I know your situation with your brother, younger right?”

“Yeah, I’m four years older.”

“I can pay you under the table or official if you like. That is if you want the job. I know you need some flexibility, so there’s no problem there.”

“Thanks I’d love a job. I looked at a studio apartment in Elston where my brother’s rehab is, and gave them a deposit on a furnished one, and a job is just what I need.” Dean was had been happy to find out that all utilities were included with the rent except phone, and he had his cell for that.

“Elston, huh? Nice little city,” Larry commented. “Quiet. So, your brother’s at that fancy rehab center, eh?”

“They’re one of the best.” Dean commented. “And the rent in Elston is pretty cheap.”

Larry nodded. “So, you want under the table or on the payroll Dean?”

“Put me on the payroll Larry. I figure the tax refund might come in handy at the beginning of next year.”

“Oh, before I forget, your dad was pretty sure you’d show up, so he wanted me to hold on to his last pay for you. He asked that I hold it back and said you’d probably need it.” Larry handed Dean an envelope. “He did a couple rebuilds, and some body work before he left the city.”

“Thanks.” Dean didn’t open the envelope. “What kind of schedule do you need me to work?”

“Can you do Monday through Thursday 8:00 to 4:00? I figure that will leave your evenings free to be with your brother, and you can have Friday through Sunday off to be with him or take care of other business.”

“That’d be great Larry, thanks. When do you want me to start?”

“Well, its’ Wednesday all ready, how about you start next Monday?”

“Sounds good.” Dean filled out some employee paperwork for Larry and gave him his address and cell number. Dean actually felt a bit of relief to be writing down an actual address for a change. He had a place to live and once Sammy was back with him, it would be a home. Of course, he knew he’d need a bigger place before Sam could ever come to live with him. He wrote down: 1020 Sparrow Drive, Apt. 10 B. Elston, Missouri.

Week Four, Ivy Ridge Rehab

Dean had fallen into a regular routine of work and visit Sam. It was Friday and he had the whole day to see Sam or do whatever he needed to do. The $1200 dollars that ended up being in that envelope Larry had given him paid up his rent for three months. His first week at the shop had been busy, but good.

“Sammy,” Dean began as he fixed Sam’s blanket and sheet. “Mel should be here in a while. Today, he’s taking you to the gym to work your muscles out on the mats.” Dean went about fixing corners and talking about whatever came to his mind. He hadn’t noticed two very curious eyes watching his every move. Dean glanced down at Sam for a second, and nearly gasped. Sam was looking at him, and his eyes moved as they tracked Dean’s movements. “Sammy?” Dean smiled at him. Sam continued to study him with wide and curious eyes. “Hey there, little brother.” Mel walked in and saw the obvious interaction.

“How long?” Mel’s deep voice came from beside Sam’s bed.

“Just now,” Dean answered excitedly. “Sammy, this is Mel.” Dean thought his chest would explode when Sam turned his head, albeit in a jerky, uncoordinated way, but he moved and looked at Mel. Sam made a small noise inside his throat, but he didn’t speak. Dean felt hot tears sting his eyes, but didn’t fall.

“Well, well, little man, look at you,” Mel replied with a smile. Dean was smiling so wide that his jaw hurt. Suddenly, Sam raised an uncoordinated hand toward his face and in a half hazard way rubbed an itch on his nose.

“He just … did you see?” Dean’s mind was processing so many thoughts at once he couldn’t form a complete thought.

“Yes,” Mel confirmed. “Had an itch, huh, buddy? And, because he made a vocal noise they can start him on speech therapy now, too.” Sam’s eyes were clear and focused on both men. They held the look of curiosity that Dean remembered from Sam’s early years when he would toddle around motel rooms exploring everything and it all had a sense of wonder to the kid. Dean smiled at a quick memory of how much Sam loved the feel and look of shag carpet when he was three.

Two Months Later

Sam had made major moves in the last month. His rehab with Mel was going much better. He would actually push back against Mel when he asked Sam to, and he could follow commands. Mel had explained that Sam was suffering from a form of paraparesis, and the word had seemed daunting to Dean until the man had explained it simply to him. It just meant that Sam was suffering from weakness in his lower limbs. However, after a month he was learning to stand again, and bear weight on his legs, but he hadn’t been able to walk yet, however, Mel had assured that he would once his brain and legs were on civil terms once again. The man’s humor was always a bright spot. Sam no longer required IV nutrition, and Dr. Myers had had the TPN IV removed. He couldn’t feed himself yet, but allowed himself to be fed. Dean’s mind recounted details of his brother’s rehab as he worked on a transmission of a Ford F-150. He glanced at his watch and knew that April would be doing Sam’s speech therapy right about now. He shook his head lightly as he considered how maybe under different circumstances he and April would all ready be an item or at the least casual lovers by now, but he had decided he needed to focus his priorities on his brother and working this job.

Although, April had persuaded him once or twice to grab a movie and some food to just decompress as she liked to put it, but somehow he always returned back to his apartment and felt guilty that his brother was where he was and missing out on life, or at least the life he had before everything went to shit six months ago when he collapsed. April had been understanding, and never pressed the issue of seeing each other, and she seemed to accept that despite the mutual attraction they both had; now, it was simply just bad timing on both their parts. Dean slid under the truck to finish the job.

Meanwhile, at Ivy Ridge

“Almost Sam,” April encouraged. “What is this?” She held up a picture card and this one was from the food deck. “Try again.”

“B..B,” Sam struggled with his letters. The sound stuttered in his mouth. His frustration was evident in his creased brow. “Nana.” April smiled.

“You’re almost there,” she urged. “Now, try it all together.” Sam looked at her determined and took a long steady breath.

“Banana,” it came out quietly and was tentative, but it was the word. “No more. Done.” Sam had acquired a good deal of his conversational speech, albeit broken at times, but it was when it came to certain vocabulary words that he had trouble. When he had first begun his speaking efforts he had a severe to profound paraphasic speech problem. April thought back to when she had to tell Dean that this problem of substituting wrong words in place of the intended word could be permanent the older brother had simply said Sammy is like a dictionary, or at least he was before, well, you know, and he will be again. Just be patient with him. She remembered Dean’s absolute faith in his younger brother, and it made her smile. It hadn’t been easy when Sam first started; he would look at a picture of a chair and say bed, or look at a tree and say something like free. But, one day it was clear the problem was abating, and he was simply left with reacquiring proficient speech.

“Sam can you read this sentence I wrote on this card? And answer it for me?”

She could see his mind working and she knew it may be too soon, but she had to try. She wanted to engage more of his cognitive brain. He frowned at the card. “No read. Don’t want.”

“Sam you remember our deal don’t you? No more broken sentences,” April prompted. “If you can’t read this then tell me you can’t or if you don’t want to try right now then tell me that.” He let out a loud sigh, and his hand fisted into the blanket of his bed.

“I no want read.” He struggled with those words. April knew that the grammatical errors would recede with more therapy, but she was happy that he had made an attempt at better expression.

“Sam?” April liked to quiz him on memories to see what he remembered and what he didn’t. The only thing Dean had wanted to know to be sure of is that his little brother did remember him, and April had assured him he did. Sam looked at her with expectant eyes. “Sam, do you have a family?” He nodded. “How many not counting you?”

He picked up a jerky hand as his motor skills still had trouble. He indicated the answer with two fingers. “Say how many.”

“T..T..Two,” he breathed out through a hesitant stutter.

“Good.”

“Ap…” Sam struggled with her name. He had never engaged in speaking first and it surprised her. She had talked to Dean the other day when he had expressed he was worried that Sam never really tried to speak to him, but gave short answers. And, one thing that bothered Dean more than anything, April knew, was that Sam had never said his name since coming out of the coma fully. And, she knew that the older brother was desperate to hear his little brother say his name, if just to confirm to him that his brother was truly here.

“Yes, Sam?” He shook his head slightly and she knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of him. “You sure? I’m listening.” He nodded. Mel walked into the room.

“Hey Sam! You talkin’ April’s ear off today?” He looked from Sam to April.

“Well, you know him,” she commented with a wry smile. “He’s the proverbial silent one.”

“Now, Sam, my man,” Mel chided in a good humored way. “I thought we talked about this buddy and I know the words aren’t sounding like you’re used to, but that will only improve if you talk and do your therapy.”

“I try,” Sam’s answers although short was understood.

“But?” Mel probed.

“Sound stupid. I not dumb.” Mel smiled.

“No one said you were dumb, kiddo. Look you can’t be so hard on yourself, okay? Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. You hearin’ me?” Sam nodded with hesitation. “I mean it Sam, give yourself some slack.”

“Words,” Sam began. “All wrong when speak. Know … not right.” The words rushed out of his mouth as Mel and April listened.

“Hey, hey,” April tried to calm him. “Sam just relax, okay? Listen to Mel. He’s right you know … no one thinks you’re dumb or sound stupid. And, if you just slow down your words will fall into place.” Sam shook his head in frustration. He could hear the words coming out of his mouth as he struggled to form them, and it bothered him that the way they sounded in his head never came out the same way. “Just slow down Sam.” The young man just stared at his two therapists.

“Look Sam,” Mel tried to calm the situation before Sam became too upset to do any PT. “April is all finished for the day, right?” He looked at April.

“Yes, we’re finished Sam. You can take a break. I’ll be back on Saturday.”

“Good, let’s get you out of bed,” Mel suggested, and get you to the gym. He helped Sam out of the bed and into a wheelchair. Sam was dressed in blue sweat pants and a gray t-shirt with a Led Zeppelin logo. “Zeppelin, eh? Aren’t you a little young to be a fan?” Sam just shrugged. “Cat got your tongue? I mean just ‘cause we’re not doing the speech therapy thing anymore today doesn’t mean you have to be mute.” Mel smiled. “Let me guess, these are some clothes that brother of yours brought over, huh?” Sam nodded.

“Bought for me at store … in town.”

“Well, well, the mime can speak after all. And, see how well that went kiddo.” Sam offered a small smile.

“What we do today?”

“Today we’re going to do your regular PT. And, I think today’s the day to try and take some steps as I help. And, you get some occupational therapy today. The sooner we get your finer motor skills fine tuned the faster you’ll be able to hold a fork or spoon to feed yourself. That’ll be nice, huh? And, you have pool therapy today at 2:00.”

“No like blocks,” Sam’s brow was creased.

“Blocks? You mean the peg and block board Darlene has you do during some of your occupational therapy?” Sam nodded. “Why?”

“Not a baby. Blocks for babies and kids.”

“Fair enough,” Mel relented. “But, they are helping you Sam more than you know. I get that you don’t like them, but they are helping. Trust me, all right? Haven’t I always been straight with you?”

“I … trust you. Still not like blocks.” Mel chuckled.

“You’re a stubborn one aren’t you? Look I’ll talk to Darlene and see if she can come up with something different, but if she says this is the best way for now, you stick with it, agreed?”

“Okay.” Sam answered simply.

“All right, let’s get a move on. The days a wasting.”

Meanwhile, Jefferson City Auto Repair

“Hey Dean?” Larry chimed in as he entered the back end of the garage.

“Yeah, under here,” Dean called out from below a truck. He rolled out and looked up at the man. “What’s up?”

“How close are you to finishing this clunker up?” Dean smiled.

“Another ten minutes ought to do it? Why Mr. Jasper riding your ass to get it back?”

“No, that old coot could care less. I was just thinking today’s your kid brother’s birthday, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean was wondering where this was going. Larry looked at his watch before speaking.

“I was just thinking that maybe you’d like to cut out of here an hour early, and do whatever you have planned. I mean, I just figured you probably had some kind of plans for him, right?” He smiled knowing all to well that Dean most likely did.

“Yeah, I did,” Dean spoke with a broad smile. “I won’t be putting you out?”

“Nah, finish up here, and all’s good. And, well, since it’s Thursday, I won’t see you till Monday, and I thought I’d save you a trip into the city and give you your paycheck a day early.” He handed it to Dean.

“Thanks Larry.”

“Not a problem. Hey, how old is your kid brother today, anyway?”

“Twenty-four,” Dean answered.

“Man, to be that young again,” Larry mused.

“Well, you’re not exactly collecting social security yet Larry,” Dean laughed.

Dean drove through Jefferson and stopped at Emily’s Bakery and Confections store. “May I help you?” A middle-aged woman asked from behind the counter.

“Yeah, could I get a couple cupcakes?” Dean asked.

“Sure, vanilla or chocolate icing?”

“Both chocolate, and do you sell birthday candles by any chance?”

“Sure, there in packs of 10 … they’re over there on the spinning rack. I’ll box the cupcakes up for you.”

“Thanks,” Dean answered, as he walked over to grab a pack of candles. Dean planned to stop at the bank and make a deposit and get some cash back from his pay check. It was still a strange thing to him that he actually had a bank account now, and received paychecks. He had suddenly found himself being very responsible, and the truth be known he was completely kept busy with work and Sam’s rehab that he never really thought about hunting that much. Sure there were some nights on the weekends when cable would play some cheesy horror movie, and it would stir that inner fire to hunt, but he had his priorities right now, and hunting wasn’t even a blip on the radar. He wanted to run home and shower before he saw Sam. He never went to see Sam still dirty and in his mechanic overall’s.

He was always eager to see Sammy at the end of a long day at the shop. He was still elated over the conversation he had had with Sam’s doctor, Dr. Myers, and she was thrilled with Sam’s progress, although she was always careful to tell him that she was optimistically guarded when it came to defining Sam’s potential progress. He had improved by leaps and bounds as far as Dean considered his brother’s recovery, and even though he knew Dr. Myers was a positive person, otherwise, he knows he may never have found a place to take Sam. He knows she believes in his little brother enough to give him the best foot forward.

Dean still went to bed troubled at night by the fact that Sam never calls him by name, and despite the doctor and therapists saying they were certain that Sam did in fact remember his brother; he himself sometimes wondered if Sam truly did know who he was. Sure Sam seemed to acknowledge the use of the word brother, and when questioned about family, he always answered in the affirmative. But, he just wished he could go home one night knowing for sure, but when he was with Sam and saw him trying so hard to reclaim what he had lost, he could only be proud of his little brother, and whether or not Sam would ever say his name didn’t matter so much.

Ivy Ridge, Early Evening

Dean breezed into Sam’s room with a quick knock to alert his brother to his arrival. The TV was on and Sam turned his head away from the program on.

“Hey, Sammy!” Dean said with a big smile. “You had a big day today with a lot of your therapies, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Did they go okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean replied casually. “That’s good.” Dean pulled a rolling bedside side table over to Sam, and put the box down. “I got you something Sammy.” Dean opened the box and displayed two chocolate covered cupcakes. He pulled out the one and put it on a paper towel. He proceeded to open the box of candles and put a single candle in the cupcake and light the candle. “Happy Birthday Sammy,” Dean said with a warm smile. “Shh,” Dean said with a mischievous grin watching the door. “Now, you make a quick wish Sammy before they catch us with a lit candle.” Sam awarded Dean with that lopsided grin that pulled at his heart strings. Damn, I love this kid, he thought to himself.

Sam blew out the candle and Dean couldn’t help, but note that his little brother seemed so happy over such a small gesture. Sometimes it struck him at how wide-eyed and new Sam seemed to take some things. “Here,” Dean took a plastic knife and proceeded to cut the cupcake into four equal sections to make it easier for Sam to handle with his fingers. He wasn’t able to handle silverware yet, and was fed at meal time, but he seemed to have a handle on finger foods. “Go ahead and use your hands Sammy, its’ okay,” Dean encouraged. Sam eyed him and looked pensive. “What’s wrong?”

“Buy two. Why no eat?” Dean grinned.

“Nothing gets by you does it Sherlock? I’m going to take that one back to the apartment for later.”

“Want some?” Sam motioned to his four pieces of cupcake.

“Nah, kiddo, that’s for you. I’m good.” Sam smiled and went to eat a piece, but a small muscle spasm in his wrist caused his hand to jerk at the last moment and he missed his mouth and hit his left cheek smearing the chocolate icing. Dean saw the instant anger bubble up in his brother. “Hey, hey,” he encouraged. “Not a problem.”

“Idiot … no feed self … I … I …” he stammered the words out in a frustrated rush. And, the only way he could think to discharge this rage came out in one small action; he threw the remnants of the squashed cupcake piece in his hand to the floor. “Shit,” he said very clearly.

“Sammy, it’s okay, man … accidents happen you know. Hey, when your muscles get more therapy those spasms will quiet down,” Dean encouraged. “Remember Mel said so. It’ll get better Sam. And, I don’t want to hear you calling yourself an idiot, okay? I’m not kidding.” Dean bent down to clean the crumbs off the floor with a wet paper towel, and tossed the trash in the nearest bin. “Now,” he said turning to his brother who sat dejectedly staring at his hands; his left cheek still bore the chocolate smear. “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up, so you can eat that cupcake.” Dean thought nothing of it as he wet a new paper towel and wiped the sticky sweetness off his brother’s face. Sam allowed him, but kept his eyes down. “It really is okay Sammy,” Dean assured. And, just as Dean started to turn to throw the paper towel away Sam spoke slowly and deliberately, and the words were undeniable.

“Thanks Dean.”

Dean never anticipated the key to the dam holding back months and months of emotions over his brother and what had happened would break under two simple words combined into a lethal punch, as Dean Winchester’s well guarded mask crumbled, and he cried.

Dean covered his face with a single hand as his shoulders shook. The words Thanks Dean still were echoing in his head. Quiet sobs escaped beneath his hand. Sam sat stunned, and then his face scrunched into one of concern. He couldn’t figure out what he had said or done to make his big brother cry. Dean never cried.

“S… S… Sorry,” Sam pushed out as quickly as he could. “Not know what did. Not mean … to hurt.” Sam’s distraught voice broke through Dean’s tears, and he looked up from his hand to meet his brother’s warm and fear filled eyes. Sam saw the large tears of his brother’s cascade down his cheeks, and he couldn’t look away from the glassy, bloodshot hazel eyes peeking out from behind his hand.

“No, no, Sammy,” Dean stepped forward offering a tentative smile in an attempt to reassure his brother. “Sammy, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Not true. You cry. I make sad.” Sam’s face was dissolving into desperation as he fought to arrange his words, and his brain rebelled against him. He wanted so desperately to express himself to his big brother, but the words he wanted to say would either get lost on the way from his mind to his mouth or come out as they almost always did, jumbled and incomplete. He fisted his hand and struck the mattress beneath him.

“No, Sammy. Stop, you might hurt yourself,” he urged as he stepped forward stopping his brother from repeatedly striking the mattress. “These are happy tears Sammy, not sad.” Sam looked hard at his brother, and his face softened into a small smile.

“Happy?” His voice sounded questioning. “Never cry.” Dean’s response was a wet kind of sounding laugh that was a mixture of tears and laughter.

“Yeah, well, must be a blue moon, huh?” Dean quipped. Sam gave him an odd look at the reply. “Never mind Sammy,” he replied. “You made me happy that’s all.”

“Dean?” The sound of that one word caused Dean’s throat to tighten. He bunched a fist at his side trying desperately to funnel his emotions to that one fist. His tears happy or not scared Sammy right now, and he’d try to hold back. He felt the moment rise up in him and recede back, and as the feeling unclenched itself from him his fist released.

“Yeah, Sammy?” He tried to make his voice light.

“Took step today.” Sam thought some news may take his brother’s mind off his tears.

“Huh? You mean Mel had you walk today,” Dean couldn’t help, but feel upset that he hadn’t been here to see. “Dammit, sorry I missed it Sammy.”

“Not miss.” Sam replied. “Just one step and fall.”

“Fall!”

“No, Mel not let fall.” Sam saw Dean’s face and shoulders relax as he learned his brother hadn’t fallen or been injured. Dean smiled at his little brother. “What?” Sam asked with curious eyes.

“Nothing,” Dean offered. “It’s just nice that you’re being a chatter bird tonight. You’ve been quiet most nights lately. It’s nice that’s all.”

“How work?”

“Hey, you don’t want to hear about that stuff,” Dean suggested. “I want to know about your day today. What about speech therapy and you had occupational therapy today too, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “Not want talk me. Talk you.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean raised his hands in surrender. “Nothing too big Sammy. The garage is pretty busy, so I keep myself entertained. Rebuilt a transmission today … nothing too fantastic, but the money’s good, and my boss Larry is a good guy.”

“Work by self?”

“You mean do I work alone?” Sam nodded. “Nah, there are three other guys there, too. Ah, Riley, Juan and Scott. They’re nice. I don’t hang out with them, well, maybe a beer once, but I got other things to do ya know? I get off a couple hours before they do anyway, so I don’t really get the chance.”

“You okay, Dean?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course, kiddo,” Dean assured. “You don’t have to worry about your big brother.”

“Still worry.” Sam relented. Dean smiled and reached up and ruffled his brother’s hair before he could stop himself.

“You need a haircut Samantha,” he quipped trying to cover the chick flick moment.

“Like hair. No cut.” Sam answered emphatically.

Two Hours Later

Dean sat watching Sam who had fallen asleep about twenty minutes ago. His attention was brought to the door as Kyle; Sam’s evening attendant came into the room. “Just wanted to check on him,” Kyle voice was hushed. Sam’s muscle coordination wasn’t enough to properly get himself turned at night, so he still needed help, but he was making efforts to do it on his own. “Has he been asleep long?”

“Nah, about twenty minutes. How’s his sleep when I leave? I mean nightmares or anything?”

“He’s been good. He moves in his sleep, but just doesn’t quite change positions like he should, so I’m still helping him with that. Sam’s doing well.” Dean nodded.

Dean’s Apartment

Dean pulled into his parking spot. It was a small complex owned by a mom and pop couple. He had counted the number of units when he moved in, and there were only 14 apartments an assortment of studio, one and two bedroom units. All units were on the ground level which the hunter in him preferred, and the tenet in him liked because no one lived on top of you and he didn’t have to listen to people walking on his ceiling. He had a reserved spot in from of his studio. He liked having his own place, but it wasn’t home, not yet, not without Sammy.

He walked into his studio and slid the bakery box into his fridge. He clicked on the TV and put the evening news on mostly for background noise, as he grabbed his black journal. He smiled at the notion that since Sam’s injury he hadn’t written any hunting entries in his journal, but the new entries were plentiful, but was about his life right now, and a lot was about Sammy. He would write when ever an improvement happened or sometimes just because. He grabbed an ink pen to write an entry, but the journal slipped from his hand as he opened it and it flipped to the carpet. He could see it landed on an entry and he decided to read it.

April 10, 2006

Sammy spoke today. He said, ‘no.’ I guess some people would say that isn’t much, but I’m not some people. He smiled at me today, too, and it was a real smile, not some reflex type thing. I can see him get frustrated at the speech therapy, and until today, he had only been making noises. It scares me that he knows something isn’t right with him, and I hate it that I can’t take this on for him. He’s awake and out of the coma, but I still feel like he’s lost in the dark, and dammit, I hate feeling helpless.

Dean continued to glance at the entry, and smiled at the memory of how excited he had been when Sam had said ‘no,’ in response to something, and he had really meant to say ‘no’ it was the first time Sam had expressed himself, and made himself understood. He turned a few pages, and randomly stopped on another entry.

April 20, 2006

Work is good. I guess I never knew what earning a real paycheck was like. Sammy still hasn’t called me by name. Dr. Myers tells me he will in time, but she can’t give me a reason why he hasn’t. Part of me is afraid that Sam doesn’t remember me and that he just knows my face because I’m always around. But, Mel tells me Sam knows I’m his brother, and knows what that means. I never knew how out whack my perspective was on life until Sammy got sick. I mean, when he was in the hospital all I could think about was ‘I can’t lose him’ and I’ve never been so afraid. And, before he collapsed, my main focus was hunting, always the hunt. Damn I was so stupid. I’m still pissed at Dad for giving up on Sam, but as much as I want to say I can’t see where he’s coming from, I guess I sort of do. He doesn’t want to see his child, our Sammy in a state any less than what he was. But, still I get angry when I think about him.

Sam’s birthday is coming up soon and I can’t explain how light that makes me feel. I know he’s not back to the Sam that was before he got sick, and part of me gets that he may never be totally back to what he was, but it doesn’t really sink in, you know? All I know is I have my brother back in my life, and when he looks at me truly seeing me, and smiles, nothing seems wrong anymore. And, I can see so much potential, and a little bit of Sammy’s light rubs off on me and my shadows don’t own me.

Dean shook his head with mild amusement at reading his words. He found some humor in the fact he’d suddenly turned literary, Sammy would be so proud, he mused in his own head. He started to turn the pages looking for a blank page to write on, but one entry caught his eye and he stopped. His fingers clenched around the journal as he remembered the frustration and anger he had felt when he wrote that entry.

April 29, 2006

Sam had to be sedated today because he was so upset. Fuck! This shit isn’t fair, and Sammy tries so hard, and everything is so difficult for him. He doesn’t deserve any of this crap. He was trying so hard to do his speech therapy today, and the words just wouldn’t come out of his mouth. I could see him getting upset with himself, and Jesus, I know it has to be driving him over the edge because he can’t express himself. And, I’m no damn help. I can’t make him better, I can’t make it so he can tell you how he feels or what he wants. I can’t help him, goddammit. And, today the poor kid couldn’t even think how to say the word apple. But, it wasn’t until April tried having him point out shapes on a poster board that things went to hell. She said Sam is still having’ cognitive association’ difficulties, as she says it. And, when she said point out the circle and he pointed to the square, god, I remember the moment she smiled and said, ‘almost Sam, let’s try another. Point to the triangle,’ man I remember his face.

He looked so lost and then I saw the fear in is eyes because it was sinking in with him that he had really chosen the wrong shape. He tried again, and I was just hoping for dumb luck just so the kid didn’t have to think he’d failed. But, when I saw his finger point to the rectangle, I literally felt my stomach tie into knots. Sam shoved the rolling bedside table away and began hitting the bed and pulling at the fitted bed sheet. It scared the shit out of me. I could see the fat tears falling from his eyes, and all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around my little brother and tell him it’ll be okay, but how can I when I don’t know if it will be. But, he won’t let anyone near him, and the next thing I know Dr. Myers is there and having Sam restrained as he fights against the attendants as much as he was able, and they’re holding him down while she sedates him afraid he’ll hurt himself. I was actually relieved when I saw Sammy’s head lull back onto the bed as his eyes closed into a drug induced unconsciousness. Jesus, what kind of brother am I when I can’t protect him from life and I’m actually relieved when he’s sedated into a stupor?

Sonofabitch!

Dean drew in a shaky breath as his body released the familiar feeling of rage that entry brought up. Although, Sam was having some of the same issues even now, he was getting better. Now, it seemed he could point to the right shapes, but had difficulty with the words. He smiled as he thought of his little brother, Sam had only ever reached that level of aggression once, and Dean knew he’d never be able to cope with what Sammy has over the last few months. Sam amazed him every day. His brother still got mad, and who could blame him, but he was coping. Dean turned to a blank page and started to write.

May 2, 2006

Well, Sammy you turned twenty-four today! And, it turns out I’m the one that received the birthday gift. My baby brother said my name tonight. It was clear, and he didn’t stumble over it. I can’t even put into words everything I feel. Damn, it hit me so hard I broke down in front of the kid, and I’m pretty sure that it scared him, but he bounced back though after I told him I was okay. I didn’t mean to do it, but it just happened, and you know the old saying, you can’t un-ring a bell.

He was talkative tonight, well, talkative for him at least. I know he understands that his words don’t come out like they should, but he’s trying so hard, and I can’t even begin to say how much I admire my little brother. Mel tried to get him walking today, but that didn’t go so well, but next time. I plan not to miss the next attempt. He let me help him tonight and didn’t push me away when he was mad with himself. Sam had a little eating snafu with his cupcake and it seems a major temper crisis was avoided after he had a damn muscle spasm and missed his mouth, but it ended with him saying ‘thanks Dean.’ And, I know he meant thanks for more than cleaning some icing off his cheek. That kid means the world to me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to give him whatever recovery he can accomplish.

Dean yawned as he closed his journal. It had been a long day. He looked at the clock, and laughed it was barely 10:30 in the evening. He had to see the humor in this moment, well, for the last couple months really. Before Sam’s head injury, he would have scoffed at going to bed any earlier than 1 or 2 AM, and that was after a few beers at a local bar, or maybe a quick lay with some girl, whose name he wouldn’t remember much past rolling out of bed to get dressed and return to whatever motel he and Sammy were staying at. Damn, how things change, he thought to himself. He took went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and decided on another quick shower to just relax him, and then he walked back out into the room. He shut the TV off, and proceeded to pull the cushions off the couch and fold out a full size bed. He walked over to his large walk in closet and grabbed his pillow. He actually had some fresh sheets on the bed, and he knew Sammy would be so proud over that fact.

He laid back into the pillow for a moment with a sigh, and then rose up to turn the light off beside the bed. The room was bathed in shadow and moonlight that peeked around the edges of his thick curtains. Dean Winchester felt something tonight he hadn’t felt in months, he felt joy. Sure he’d been happy even ecstatic at times over Sam’s milestones, but not until tonight and hearing his little brother say his name, not until that moment, he hadn’t known joy on its purest level. Tonight, he would finally sleep soundly.