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.

Thirty Minutes Later, CICU Waiting Room

John felt numb as he waited silently next to his oldest son. Dean sat next to his father feeling the man’s tension. He stared at the floor looking up at the sound of every footstep outside the waiting room. “Dad?” Dean’s voice was tentative as he tested the waters with his father. John turned his head and looked at his son with expectant eyes.

“Yeah?” Dean opened his mouth to speak, but somehow the perfect words he thought he had to say had disappeared in between thought and speaking. Dean looked down and shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said quietly. John clasped a hand over his son’s knee and squeezed.

“What is it son?” Dean only looked at his father and shook his head again. John smiled warmly. “I know you’re scared,” John replied. “I am too.” Dean looked at his father with alarm and John shook his head. “Not, so fast kiddo,” John chided. “I’m not giving up on Sammy. All I said was that I’m scared, and it’s the truth. It’s okay to be afraid for your brother, but we both gotta be strong for him now.”

“I know. We will.” Dean looked away for a moment and then back to his father. “I didn’t mean to make you think …”

“It’s okay. Even if you had I wouldn’t blame you.” John conceded.

“John?” The doctor stood in front of the two men who had been so engrossed in their own moment that they hadn’t seen him come in. The doctor regarded Dean with a polite nod and Dean did the same.

“What happened?” John’s voice was serious. “That code blue was for my son wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” the doctor answered bluntly. “His blood pressure completely bottomed out, and his heart went into an arrhythmia that we were able to correct with a drug called bretylium tosylate it’s a latter group antiarrhythmic drug, but allows me more flexibility than frequent use of lidocaine which has toxicity concerns when used a lot.”

John wasn’t concerned with drug names and the whys and how’s all he wanted to know was that Sam was okay, and alive. “You said, able to correct, so he’s fine? His heart didn’t stop again?”

“No, it was a close call and we had respiratory paged to verify settings for the constant flow ventilator that we are using in conjunction with the Thumper.”

“Can we go sit with him now? I want to see my son.” John was standing at his full height looking haggard and stressed, and the doctor knew this man was just about at his parental limit in being kept away from his child.

“Yes, please,” the doctor answered. “I just wanted to tell you where we’re at right now and that we’re being aggressive in his treatment.” The doctor looked pointedly at Dean remembering that the young man had bolted from the ER. “The Thumper is in use,” he said looking at Dean. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Dean nodded. “I’m fine.”

“All right,” the doctor replied. “I’ll be in his room shortly to turn the Thumper off and check his heart rate.” Both men nodded.

Two Hours Later, Sam’s Room

Dean was alone with Sam standing at his bedside. It was a little after midnight and John had gone down to the cafeteria to get some coffee for himself and Dean. Now, the eldest Winchester child stood looking down at his little brother. There had been some good news in the last couple hours and the Thumper had been taken off Sam at 10 PM. When the doctor had returned to Sam’s room as promised earlier to check his heart rate and without assistance the young man’s heart had continued to maintain a rate of 67 and Sam was still fighting.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean whispered quietly, so only his brother could hear. Also, it was late and it just seemed appropriate to whisper. Dean ran a hand over his brother’s head pushing his bangs back. “I wanted to say I’m sorry, Sam … for runnin’ out on you earlier. It won’t happen again.” Dean listened to the slow steady beeps of his brother’s heart monitor. The ventilator continued its work of breathing for his brother. “Sammy, listen to your big brother okay,” he smiled. “Well, you were never too great about taking orders, but this one you have to listen to okay?” He stared at his brother’s pale and silent face. He glanced at his sibling’s chest and flinched at the sight. Sam’s chest was bruised from the repeated use of the Thumper, manual CPR and the multiple defibrillations he had endured over the last few hours since collapsing. The bruising looked stark and violent against the pale appearance of his brother’s skin.

“Oh Sammy, man,” Dean sighed. “Look at you.” His eyes drifted to his brother’s face. “You gotta keep fighting Sammy,” Dean spoke softly. “That’s an order.” Dean looked up at the heart monitor and watched as Sam’s heart rate went from 66 to 75. He stared at the number for the longest time and then smiled when it was clear his little brother’s heart was maintaining that rate. He turned and looked at Sam with a smile and tears welling in his eyes, “That’s my boy.”

A couple minutes later a noise at the doorway broke Dean’s attention from his brother to see his father standing there with two coffee cups. John saw his son’s tears, “Dean, what is it? What’s wrong?” John felt panic rise up suddenly. Dean smiled.

“Dad, look,” Dean pointed to the heart monitor. John’s eyes scanned frantically trying to see some problem, but his son’s obvious smile seemed a contradiction. And, then it sunk in and John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“For how long?” He put the coffees down and went to the other side of Sam’s bed.

“A couple minutes now,” Dean answered with a grin from ear to ear. “Dad, feel him,” Dean instructed as he touched his brother’s cheek staying mindful of the ventilator. “His face feels warmer, doesn’t it? Look his lips aren’t that gray-blue anymore. They’re a little pink.” John did notice the visual improvement albeit slight. But, at this point in these long hours he’d take any improvement he could get. He reached out and touched Sam’s face with the back of his hand. He felt the little bit of warmth that had started to return to his baby son.

“Hey, Sammy,” John cooed softly. “That’s it son. Come back to us. Keep fighting Sammy. Dean and I are right here with you.” Dean smiled and he saw his father’s eyes fill with tears.

Later the Next Morning: CICU Waiting Room

Both John and Dean looked exhausted, but they were still feeling elated from the night’s events. Sam had maintained his heart rate all through the night and John and Dean were feeling confident. John was hesitant to let himself believe that Sam had turned a corner, but at any rate, he was clinging to hope as he waited to hear from Sam’s doctor. Dr. Borsody had been called around 4:00 AM and given a report on Sam’s condition and that he still hadn’t required the Thumper since 10:00 PM the previous night and was maintaining a heart rate in the 70’s. “John? Dean?” The doctor entered the waiting room.

“Well?” Dean asked quickly before his father could even get his mouth open. The doctor allowed a small smile to pull at the edges of his mouth when he met the expectant eyes of Sam’s big brother and father.

“Well,” he began. “I think the high dose antibiotic IV therapy we started on him while still in the ER and have continued using is finally making some headway. Sam is one tough cookie,” the doctor replied. Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, he is,” Dean smiled and filled with pride for his little brother who even unconscious was taking this latest setback by the horns and was fighting.

“How is he though? His heart?” John pressed.

“He’s maintaining his heart rate as I explained and that’s a positive sign. We are helping though with a slew of cardiac meds, but his heart is profusing his body without mechanical help, and that’s a big step. Now, as his blood pressure stabilizes I’m forced to start a mild sedation to keep him unconscious. I know you’re probably both anxious to see him open his eyes, but right now that wouldn’t be advantageous for Sam’s well-being. Now, we haven’t even reached the 24 hour mark with Sam’s treatment yet, so you need to prepare for possible set backs,” the doctor offered a comforting smile quickly. “Not that I’m saying there will be, but it’s likely.

“What about his kidneys?” John craved more news.

“Well, I’m happy to say that his catheter output has increased, and although his output isn’t as high as it could or should be … we are definitely making some headway in helping his kidneys rebound.”

“But, you said earlier he was in the first stages of heart failure and multiple organ failure,” John replied. “My son is making improvements, but what does that mean? Are his improvements across the board?”

“John, I understand your concern … I’m a father too,” Dr. Borsody comforted. “As Sam’s heart maintains a good rate and profusion it is helping his overall condition. I did some preliminary blood work earlier, and right now all factors are pointing in good directions. His heart currently is out heart failure and as his organs are being profused they are bouncing back, too. I won’t sugar coat his condition John … he is still very critical, but I am optimistically guarded over his continued improvements. Your son’s case has been atypical to what I’ve seen in the past and one of the most severe cases of endocarditis that didn’t include heart valve involvement that I’ve treated in my fifteen year career.”

“Can we see him?”

“Yes, both of you feel free to sit with him. I’m scheduling an echocardiogram for him later this morning, but until then by all means sit with him.”

Dean and John both walked into Sam’s room and both their eyes went to his heart monitor willing it to have a good number. They both smiled when they saw 78 as the current reading. “Hey Sammy,” Dean spoke to his brother as he rested a hand on his head. “The doc says you’re one tough cookie little brother,” Dean leaned in closer to Sam’s ear, “but, I all ready knew that.” John smiled. He dared to allow himself to feel real hope for the first time since first seeing Sam in the ER.

“Sammy,” John spoke softly as he stroked his son’s upturned arm avoiding the IV lines. “Hold strong, son,” John whispered. “Rest and let the medicine do what it needs to do. You keep fighting Sammy. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” John reached up and stroked Sam’s forehead with a thumb, and he smiled. Dean noticed.

“What?” He asked with a curious smile.

“It’s nothing,” John began. “It’s just when he was a baby and would wake up restless at night I would stroke his forehead with my thumb and he’d quiet down and watch me with his big eyes and then drift off to sleep. I hadn’t thought of that in years,” John commented with a warm smile as the memory filled him up. Dean grinned.

“Was I that easy as a baby to calm down?” John snorted quietly.

“Hell no,” he answered bluntly with a broad smile. “Son, you would have nothing to do with me trying to comfort you. You only wanted your mom for about the first three months, and then I guess you decided you were stuck with me and decided to cut me some slack. Man, I remember when your mom had a bad cold, and was laid up for a few days … it was a couple days past your four month birthday. She wasn’t nursing you then because she was sick, so I had to go the formula route with you. You didn’t like formula that much and you especially didn’t like getting it from me.” John looked at Dean and saw how intently his son was listening and continued.

“Well, I got the formula made and kept you downstairs with me because you were carrying on something fierce and I wanted your mother to get some sleep. I remember I finally looked you in the face and said, ‘Dean you gotta cut your old dad a break here. You’re stuck with me for the long haul,’ and then you just stopped crying and stared at me like you were measuring me up,” John paused as the memory returned.

“And, then what?” Dean asked with expectant eyes. John smiled and a light chuckle escaped his lips.

“And, then you spit up all over me,” he said with a smile. Dean grinned. “But, you took your bottle and then let me burp you, change your diaper, and never cried once. Finally, I took you back upstairs and sat in the rocking chair with you until you fell asleep, and from that day on … I felt like you had finally accepted me as your father.” John laughed. “I know it must sound crazy, but that’s how I felt.”

“Dad?” Dean spoke quietly.

“Yes, son?”

“Thanks for that.” John reached up and cupped the side of his firstborn’s face. Dean found himself leaning into the touch.

“I know I’ve been a hard ass on both you boys since…” he paused. “Since your mom passed, and I wasn’t the father you boys deserved. Sometimes I think back to the man I was when your mother was still alive, and the father I had been, and I find myself wishing to undo the years and give you and Sammy the lives you should have had even if we didn’t have your mom. I’m sorry Dean.”

“Dad, you did the best you could. I know losing mom was hard on you more than I could understand.” John shook his head.

“No, Dean,” John began. “You know how I felt.” And John inclined his head toward his youngest child and Dean looked at his little brother. “You love your brother so much. You always have even from the moment you first saw him. Hell, I think you loved him even before he was born,” John replied. “Do you remember how you used to talk to your mom’s stomach? Man, you’d have whole conversations with Sammy before he was even born.” Dean looked at his father and nodded with a Dean Winchester smile.

“I remember,” he said quietly as his eyes surveyed his unconscious brother.

“I’m glad you remember that,” John conceded. “And, always know that you do understand the feelings of loss Dean, so never think you don’t understand because you do.” John reiterated.

Five Days Later

John and Dean had decided until Sam’s condition was upgraded from the CICU to the CCU neither of them would decide who was going to return to work on a limited basis dependent on Sam’s recovery, but they knew at least one of them needed to return. They were able to go back and forth at home for a couple hours in the morning and evening during rounds and shift changes when visitors weren’t allowed in patient rooms. Dean sat reading through Sam’s chart that was kept at bedside. He looked at the pages and pages of medications he was either on or had been on since coming to the ER almost six days ago. The list read like some foreign food shopping list: Vancomycin, epinephrine, atropine, calcium chloride, sodium bicarbonate, dobutamine, dopamine, lidocaine, bretylium tosylate, lasix, nipride. The list seemed to go on and on and some meds were marked current while others said suspended or discontinued. He looked at the various IV fluid bags around his brother, as well, and saw words like: D5W, Lactated Ringers he shook his head at the sheer volume of medicine and fluids and every one of them he was silently thankful for because they were saving Sam’s life. And, he also noted that he was receiving IV injections of his seizure medications, too, and was thankful that they were following his dosage schedule for those meds.

Sam’s heart rate had been between 75 and 84 most of the time with only small variations now and again. Sam hadn’t needed any supplemental compression in almost six days. Dr. Borsody had pulled Sam off his sedative early in the morning and Dean and John had both been waiting for him to open his eyes. “Interesting reading material,” John commented as he walked into the room indicating the chart.

“Nah, it’s all Greek to me, but I like to look anyway.”

“Yeah,” John replied. “Here … it’s juice.” He handed Dean a styrofoam cup.

“What? No coffee?”

“I want you drinking something healthy. Look I got one too,” he conceded. “Anyway, coffee on an empty stomach doesn’t sound appealing. Has he moved?”

“No, not yet.” Dean grinned. “I think he knows we’re waiting on him, and he’s just making us sweat it out.” John chuckled lightly.

“I think you may be right son. It would fit… after all, like I said your brother was a good baby and very easy to comfort, but as he got older, well … I shouldn’t have to say this, but I don’t think you’d disagree, but our Sammy, he’s what you’d call contrary by nature.” Dean smiled and laughed. Both men looked at Sam for a long moment and resumed their conversation.

Sam’s arms were no longer outstretched like they had been, and were at his sides now, and his gown which had spent most of its time peeled down to expose his chest had been returned and covered the slowly yellowing bruises that had begun to fade. And, a thin sheet and woven cream colored blanket covered him. There was a rustling noise that caused Dean and John to stop talking and they were instantly at Sam’s side. “I think he moved his leg.” And, then as if on cue the blanket moved slightly as Sam shifted toward consciousness.

“Sammy?” John spoke softly and he stroked his bangs. “Sammy, can you hear me? Open your eyes son.”

It seemed like an eternity, but it was only a couple minutes and John and Dean were rewarded with Sam’s dark eyes. They went from his father’s face to his brothers. They looked tired, and confused. He suddenly started gagging against the intrusion he felt in his throat. Dean held his arms down as his brother’s heart monitor beeped rapidly. “Sammy, hey, hey, little brother, it’s okay. Calm down. It’s your breathing tube Sam. Stop fighting it. Shh …. It’s okay.” Dean attempted to assure. Sam turned panicked eyes from his brother to his father and John smiled warmly.

“Listen to Dean Sam,” John confirmed. “You’re okay, stop fighting the tube and relax.” John and Dean both reached for one of Sam’s hands, and were rewarded with a weak squeeze and he calmed down and stopped rebelling against the tube.

Three Weeks Later, CCU

Dean and John had debated about who would return to work for half days while the other stayed with Sam at the hospital and finally John had decided he would return to work for a modified schedule. Sam had made marked improvements and had been upgraded a few days ago to CCU and the Winchesters were ecstatic. Sam had been taken off the ventilator two days after waking, and his heart infection continued to show improvements with the IV therapy. He had been taken off all of his cardiac supportive drugs except two, and they were tapering those off a little each day since his transfer to CCU.

“Doc, when can we take Sam home?” Dean asked out in the hallway near the CCU nurses station.

“Well, he’s been in the hospital almost three weeks. He’s stable, but as we discussed his IV therapy should be for a total of 4 to 6 weeks. Now, ideally, I’d like to keep him here through week four, but I’d be willing to send him home on a home IV therapy program where a visiting home IV infusion nurse will come in and provide the antibiotic treatment for his final two weeks of therapy. He’s on an every 12 hours dosage schedule, so a nurse would visit twice a day … once in the morning and once at night. I’m sure your insurance will cover the home infusion, after all, it’s cheaper than additional hospital stay time.”

“He wouldn’t have to keep getting stuck with an IV needle would he?” Dean didn’t want to see his brother go through anymore discomfort if he could avoid it.

“No,” Dr. Borsody replied. “He’d be sent home with an IV port. He may have to endure one new IV stick, so that we can give him a fresh port and change veins. The antibiotic he’s on can be rough on the veins and they have tendency to collapse. So, we’ll start a new line on him before he leaves the hospital.”

“Okay, so you just want him to stay through next week, and if I can get the insurance to say ‘yes’ than he can go home with his medicine?”

“Yes, and he’ll be off his cardiac meds before he’s discharged home, as well.”

“So, who do I speak to about this insurance stuff?” Dean rubbed a hand across his face. The doctor smiled sympathetically.

“I can’t stand the bloodsuckers either,” he commented with a wry grin. Dean smiled in return. “Your brother is assigned a patient liaison while here in the hospital and you’ll need to speak with that person. They are basically from the financial office and can handle all billing and insurance questions or requests.” He pulled Sam’s chart off the chart rounder behind the nurse’s desk. “Let me see who he assigned to,” the doctor replied as he looked the first page of admission information for Sam. “Here it is,” he grabbed a piece of paper and wrote the information down for Dean. “His liaison is Laura Bertram, and her extension is # 1120, but her office is on the first floor in Patient Financial Services. You take the elevator to the lobby and make a left and that office is just past the employee benefits office. You’ll see a big blue and white banner with an arrow. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

Dean stopped in to see Sam, but when he saw that he was asleep not an unusual activity for his little brother since all of this happened. He left word with his brother’s nurse Leanne that he had to go down to financial services, so if his brother asked he’d be back soon.

Patient Financial Services Department

God, I hate bean counters, Dean grumbled in his head. He rubbed his temple with a free hand. He looked at the clock on the woman’s desk and he rolled his eyes. He had been in here crapping around for over an hour. This woman was giving him a headache.

“Look I still don’t get how I could owe anything after the co-pay?” Dean complained. “My brother is insured on my policy and he has complete coverage. It’s like $500,000 coverage per person per year.”

“Yes, but there are contingencies in your policy that are in the small print, and your brother has required some additional medical care this year all ready, and based on the small print of your policy and the previous care this year. The available per year max out for your brother right now is $100,000.”

“Okay, if he’s got a $100,000 left on my policy for hospital coverage then what’s the problem?” The woman’s mouth turned up into this sarcastic smile that Dean just wanted to put duct tape over.

“Sir, your brother’s current hospital charges are over $175,000.” Dean’s eyes went wide as he coughed against the sudden dryness of his throat.

“You’re kidding right?” Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So, you’re saying 75 grand isn’t paid for?”

“That’s correct, and based on your brother’s physician care plan he intends to keep him through week four and wants to discharge him on home IV infusion therapy for another two weeks.” Her fingers started tapping away on her calculator, and then she looked up at Dean. “Now, this is simply a ball park quote because I can’t factor in any additional meds or procedures that may come up in the next week. And the home infusion nurse rates vary, but you’re most likely looking at a minimum total bill left to be paid over at least $110,000. It’ll probably be closer to $150,000.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Dean couldn’t wrap his mind around the numbers this woman was giving out.”

“Mr. Winchester, your brother spent three weeks in the CICU … his room alone was just under $2,000/day, and the equipment that he required: the ventilator, the numerous meds and IV fluids, the PMCPRD…” Dean cut her off.

“PMC… what?”

“Oh, that is how my office abbreviates the device,” she commented dryly. The total item description is Portable Mechanical CPR System: Thumper Model 1007 was used and allocated to your brother’s room for his sole use.”

“Yeah, so he wouldn’t die. And, you’re charging him to be kept breathing? He needed the ventilator to breathe.” Dean was angry.

“Sir, medical machines cost money to maintain. And, of course, a patient will incur the cost of using a medical device. Even now his doctor still has him on a heart and oxygen … these things cost money. Your brother’s life has been benefited by the use of these machines. Now, I could provide you a detailed bill summary of every charge.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Dean grumbled.

“We should probably go about setting up a payment plan unless you plan on paying for the bill in full at discharge.”

“Do I look like the Federal Mint?” Dean hissed.

“I’m only doing my job,” Ms. Bertram replied curtly. “If you want to go the payment plan route the hospital requires a minimum of a 5 percent good will down payment.” Dean shook his head.

“This is ridiculous,” he complained.

“Well, we aren’t a charity hospital. Perhaps, if your brother requires anymore medical assistance you might consider taking him to county. If you can’t pay they find ways to write it off.” Dean’s eyes were blazing.

“I don’t think it’s your place to tell me where to take my brother for medical help.”

“It’s merely a suggestion.” Then Dean had a light bulb moment.

“I need to make a call. I’m going to have you talk to someone after I speak.”

“Uh…” Dean put his hand up to shut the woman up. She bristled in her seat. He opened his cell phone and dialed.

Meanwhile, Sam’s CCU Room

John sat watching Sam sleep. He had arrived at his son’s room shortly after getting off work. He had run home to shower and change and had come straight to the hospital. Sam’s nurse had told John that Dean was downstairs with Financial Services and would be back when he finished. He had also run into Sam’s doctor and been filled in on Sam and the proposed discharge after next week. Sam moved in his bed and John leaned forward anticipating his son’s waking. Sam’s eyes opened slowly and he saw his father.

“Hey, Ddd…dad,” he said with a small smile.

“Hey, kiddo. How ya feelin’?”

“Tired,” his voice was quiet.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a long rough three weeks son. Your doctor said you may be tired for a while. He said you’ll probably feel back to your old self in another month or two.”

“Where’s Dean?”

“He just had to run an errand downstairs he’ll be back when he can.” Sam yawned and his eyes blinked slowly. John smiled. He reached up and gently grasped Sam’s hand. “Why don’t you rest a little more Sammy,” he suggested. Sam offered a weak squeeze.

“’Kay,” Sam sighed quietly and was quickly back to sleep.

John Winchester sat and watched his baby son sleep, and listening to him breathe pulled his mind back to many a night when he and Mary had first brought Sammy home he would wake up at night just to go in and watch and listen to him breathe. He had done it with Dean, too. It seemed whenever either of his son’s had been too quiet at night in their cribs he felt compelled to check to see if they were all right, and was always comforted by the sound of their gentle breathing. A glimmer of a smile crossed his mouth as he remembered that both of his son’s as little babies… As different as his son’s were from the other in personality they had both shared one common thing as babies … they would both purse their little mouths and suckle empty air while they slept, and even now it was such a warm and endearing memory to him.

Patient Financial Services Department

Dean held his cell phone as the line rang for a second time and then a voice answered. “Lena Salvino.”

“Lena, its Dean.”

“Dean! Oh, how is Sam doing? I’ve been getting updates from Dr. Myers. She’s been keeping tabs.”

“He’s doing a lot better. He’s not a hundred percent yet,” he paused. “Won’t be for a little while yet.” Dean let out a sigh over the phone. A Lena picked up on it.

“Dean? What is it? Has something happened?”

“My insurance isn’t covering all of Sam’s expenses since he’s been to the hospital all ready this year. Um, his doctor wants to keep him for one more week, but he’s willing to let Sam come home if I can arrange home IV therapy for another two weeks. Lena, they’re saying his remaining bill is all ready $75,000 and that’s just as of today.” Lena could hear the frustration in Dean’s voice and the exhaustion.

“Are they giving you trouble?” Lena sounded ready to do battle. Dean smiled at the woman’s reaction. He had liked the woman from the first moment they had been introduced when Sam had been admitted to Ivy Ridge from the hospital. She was his assigned social worker. She was a feisty woman in her mid 40’s and she had been a great help to Dean when he was trying to sort things out for Sam when he still wasn’t speaking and was unresponsive. She had arranged for some state money for Sam, and Dean had put that money away always in preparation for Sam’s home coming when he was released.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dean hedged. A secretary came to Laura Bertram’s office door indicating she was needed at the front desk for something. She stood and excused herself while Dean continued on the phone. “Lena,” Dean hesitated. “Look, I can’t cover the bill. I mean, I can make payments, but they want 5 percent down and depending on the bill total I know I’m looking at a minimum of $5,000 …”

“Dean,” Lena interrupted. “Don’t worry okay. Look, Sam has coverage by the state. I know you don’t like the ‘special needs’ label the state has given him, but it’s only a label,” she paused. “It doesn’t define Sam as person, at least not to me.”

“I know,” Dean lamented. “But…”

“Don’t Dean, I remember how long I had to go round and round with you to just take the monthly stipend check the state provides for Sam. Now, let me institute his medical coverage.”

“But, he’s covered on my policy.”

“Dean, Sam is classified as a ‘special needs’ dependant adult under your supervision. He has state coverage. Look, let me talk to that pencil pusher. I will fax the hospital finance department the paperwork for the state coverage. The remaining bill will be taken care of, and I will make arrangements for the home infusion therapy to be covered, as well.”

“But, what about max outs?” Dean complained. “I have plenty of coverage, but this woman kept saying my coverage for Sam was maxed out.”

“Sam’s medical history with the state dictates that he may require frequent hospital visits or stays during his lifetime based on the previous head injury and seizure disorder requiring medication. His condition is considered chronic; there aren’t max outs for his care.” She heard Dean sigh into the phone. “Dean, I know you don’t like this or hearing what the state has to say about Sam on paper, but be glad for it. Now, you can focus on your brother and get Sam home in another week.”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful,” Dean offered. “It’s just … I wish Sam didn’t need any of this stuff, and I hate the way they make him sound on paper.”

“I know you do, but things are the way they are, and at least this has a solution. And, Dean, I know you and your father are probably both missing work or something … I want you to know that Sam is entitled to home health care should you need someone to stay with him while he is still on bed rest, and you need to go back to work. A registered home care RN would be there for him during the day while you and your father are at work.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Lena assured. Dean felt a sense of relief at the thought a trained medical professional could actually look after Sam while he was home healing. He knew that although the IV therapy was for only a couple weeks once he was home the doctor had explained that Sam would need at least two months to be completely back on his feet. The doctor had all ready been clear that Sam could have his speech and occupational therapy continued after his IV therapy was completed, but Sam wasn’t cleared for PT or to return to the library for at least two months.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Dean replied.

“Good,” she answered. “Now, put that busy body of a number puncher on the phone.”

“Hold on.”

Dean walked outside the office door and made eye contact with Sam’s patient liaison and motioned her back. “Here, she would like to speak to you.”

Now, Dean hadn’t heard what Lena was saying, but he heard Ms. Bertram’s stammered responses that had been flowing since she introduced herself to Lena.

“Well, yes, I…” she stammered. “I was just…”

Dean tried to hide a smirk behind a hand he put over his mouth. The fax machine hummed to life in her office as a few pages of documents came over. Dean watched Ms. Bertram look at them while she still clutched his cell phone. “Yes, everything is in order, but he should have just told me that his brother…” her words were cut off as apparently Lena continued to talk over her. “Yes, I have your contact information on the cover page … yes, yes, fine. I apol…” she frowned as she was cut off again. Dean was fighting a laugh. He could literally see the woman squirming as she was reprimanded like a small child. The conversation ended abruptly. “Here,” Ms. Bertram grumbled. “She wants to speak to you.” Dean took his cell phone back.

“Lena?”

“It’s taken care of Dean. And, if she or anyone else in that financial office gives you any problems call me, all right?”

“Thanks Lena.”

“No problem,” she assured. “Just get Sam better and home. The home infusion will be paid for and I’ll leave the arrangements up to you and Sam’s doctor, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Ten Minutes Later, CCU

Dean turned down the hallway leading to the CICU/CCU Unit. He was still frustrated over that bean counter woman Laura Bertram. She had tried to chide him like a child after he hung up with Lena. His mind went back to that moment.

“You should have said your brother was special needs,” she complained. “The hospital could be fined for this mix-up.”

“I shouldn’t have to say anything,” Dean barked. “Did you even care to read his file? Look,” Dean had pointed at his brother’s paperwork. “See, that diagnosis from one of your quacks,” Dean tapped the paper with anger. “Says, right there, by your own Chief of Neurology: profound brain injury. Persistant unresponsiveness. No chance for meaningful recovery. Recommendation: long-term care facility.” Dean took a breath. “Of course, your quacks didn’t have it right. My brother didn’t turn out like that,” he felt he had to assert. “Like I said, quacks.”

“Quacks, sir,” Ms. Bertram bristled. “It appears they were completely right. Your brother is clearly impaired if he is eligible for state assistance.”

“You don’t know my brother, so don’t presume to talk about him,” Dean warned. “You understand me?”

Dean’s mind locked down not wanting to waste one more moment on that banshee of a woman downstairs. He walked through the automatic doors, and felt happy to be able to walk straight into the CCU unit rather than take that small left turn that led into the CICU side of the large cardiac unit. He walked into his brother’s room and quickly spotted his father sitting bedside reading the USA Today while Sam slept. John looked up when he heard movement. “Hi son,” he smiled. “Leanne told me you had to speak with Financial Services, everything okay?”

“It is now,” Dean replied. “I had to call Lena and she had to get things situated.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, stupid asses down there said Sammy’s coverage for this year has maxed out, and I had a balance to pay…” John interrupted him.

“We, Dean,” John replied. “We have a balance to pay.” He reiterated with a warm look. Dean nodded as he understood what his father was saying without saying the actual sentiment, we’re a family, and we’ll handle this as a family. “So, what did Lena do?” Dean pulled a seat over and sat down roughly.

“She went ahead and put Sam’s through on state coverage. Well, I guess he always had it, but I never used it because I had him on my insurance. But, you know since the state considers him…” Dean’s words drifted off as he cast a loving glance at his sleeping little brother.

“I know,” was John’s simple reply.

“Well, anyway,” Dean continued. “Sammy has coverage now, and there are no max outs because they consider him chronic,” Dean sighed heavily. “I hate the way that sounds … like he’s some kind of…” Dean didn’t finish his sentence. John reached over and dropped a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed trying to convey his unspoken understanding and support. Dean understood and smiled.

“Anything else?” John asked.

“Lena says Sam’s entitled to home health care while he recuperates,” Dean began. “She said if you and I gotta both return to work on a regular basis the state will supply Sam with a home care RN that can look after him until the doctor clears him for a complete return to activities.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not gonna lie,” Dean hesitated. “Part of me doesn’t want to have anybody taking care of Sammy, but me or you when he goes home, but then there’s the other part that knows I need to get back to work.” He smiled. “After all, money doesn’t grow on tress does it?” John chuckled quietly making sure not to wake Sam.

“Where did my son go?” John asked. “The one that thought a 9 to 5 life was worthy of putting a bullet in your head. I believe there was a time you considered it a fate worse than death.” John mused.

“I grew up,” Dean answered solemnly and found himself looking at Sam’s peaceful face as he slept. John followed his firstborns gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he offered quietly not knowing what else to say. Dean looked at him.

“Dad, I don’t have any regrets. I’d do anything for Sammy,” he offered bluntly. “And, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you either,” he replied with a half grin. John understood the implication of the sentence. Dean would do just about anything for him as long as it didn’t contradict or try to override Dean’s big brother internal code or alarm system. John nodded with an understanding smile.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. “Dad?” Dean hedged.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want you going back full-time, okay? I want you to keep your current schedule. You know your heart…” John shook his head in an amused manner.

“My ticker is fine son. I’m doing my cardiac rehab, and I’m taking my meds and eating right. I’m not going to screw this up.”

“I know,” Dean conceded. “But, I still want you to not work full-time. We’re not poor Dad we’re doing okay.”

“I know, but I don’t want to see you working all the time either. You need a life Dean. How about dating or something? You’re not a eunuch,” John offered with a wry smile. Dean laughed quietly.

“My work schedule isn’t that bad Dad. I haven’t taken on anymore hours than we I started. I get a three day weekend. I’m doing okay.” John leveled a look on him. “Okay, maybe I could go out now and again,” he agreed.

“Then why don’t you? What about that April girl? You still talk?”

“Dad, I’m not lookin’ for some lifetime commitment. I mean…” he mused. “And, I don’t want to use April dad. She’s been too good to this me and Sammy. If it wasn’t for her Dr. Myers would never have known about Sammy’s case. Look, I’m good, okay, and anyway, I mean…”

“Son, I know where this is headed,” John replied. “You’re thinking that Sammy’s always going to need you, need us, but I’ve been thinking he may want to get out on his own.” Dean turned shocked eyes to his dad.

“What are you talking about? Sammy can’t live on his own.” He kept his voice low, but the incredulous sounding reaction couldn’t be missed.

“It’s just,” John began. “I was talking to Dena a couple months ago since Sammy started taking the bus, and managing some of his life decisions.” Dean interrupted his father.

“Dena? His occupational therapist… what did she say?

“She said that was the whole point of occupational therapy was to give Sam back his life,” John paused and looked at Sam. “Or as much of it back as they can help him get. She said there are options out there for Sam that could eventually let him live on his own.” Dean shook his head vehemently.

“No, no way,” he replied. “Dad, with his seizure disorder it’s not safe,” Dean suspected his father was no longer convinced that Sammy couldn’t eventually get a life of his own, one that meant he could live alone if he wanted, so his mind raced to find something else to deter his father’s support of Sam out there alone. “He can’t live on his own Dad. He’d be a sitting duck. Come on, I mean …” he looked around and lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “The demon, have you forgotten?”

“No, son, I haven’t,” John face was hard. “It’s never out of my mind…never.” Dean softened his eyes as a silent apology to his father for implying even slightly that John had forgotten about the evil that wanted Sam, as some sort of prize for himself, and the remaining Winchesters dead and out of the way as obstacles for his plans for Sammy. John understood the look in his son’s eyes, and his face quickly softened. “Son, it will still be a while before Sammy’s ready to be on his own,” John held up a hand to stop Dean from interrupting him. “Just hear me out… when I say on his own I don’t mean out there completely alone in the world Dean. It’s just if Dena is right and there are options available that may allow Sam to have his own place one day how can we take that away from him if it’s something he wants?” Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. There was a long silence between the two men until there youngest family member broke it.

“Dean?” his voice was sleep inflected.

“Hey, Sleeping beauty it’s nice of you to wake up,” Dean kidded with a warm smile.

“Dad sss…said you hhh…had to go ddd…downstairs,” he paused. “Every…thing okay?”

“Yep, everything’s perfect. I got some good news,” he sat on the edge of his brother’s bed and patted a covered leg. “Can you guess?”

“I’m ggg…going hhh…home to…mor…row,” he said hopeful. Dean laughed.

“Ah, not so fast there sparky,” Dean smiled. “The doc’s gonna keep you for one more week, but then he said he can send you home on IV therapy for your last two weeks of antibiotics. Sound good?” Sam smiled. His young features were tired and drawn as Dean looked at him. His little brother had been to hell and back these past three weeks, and it showed, but Sam was rallying a little more each day. And, Dean felt something he couldn’t even describe when a genuine Sam Winchester lopsided-dimpled smile broke across his face. Dean smiled in return. “I take that look as a ‘yes,’ huh?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “I jjj…just wish it was sss…sooner.”

“Hey, hey, Sammy,” John chimed in as he stood up to approach his baby boy. “Let’s not put the cart before the horse, okay. You’ll go home when the doctor says you can and not before.” John reached out and ruffled his son’s long hair. “This is a certifiable mop, Samuel,” John chastised, but with no anger. “You should get it cut or at the very least trimmed.” Dean shook his head with amusement.

“You’re preaching to deaf ears dad,” Dean commented with a chuckle. “I’ve been trying to get him to do something with that brown mop for a while.”

“I lll…like my hhh…hair ttt…this way,” Sam replied as he ran a hand through his hair. “No cut…ting.” John rolled his eyes at his youngest child.

“Losin’ battle dad,” Dean supplied.

“Yeah, I guess I better pick my battles wisely,” he conceded. Sam laughed out loud at his family. And, the sound of Sam’s healthy laughter filled up the cold hollowness that had settled inside John and Dean’s souls three weeks ago when Sam was fighting for every heartbeat, and now they both felt a grace and warmth cascade into them, and they both knew as they exchanged silent looks between themselves that this grace and warmth they felt had a name … Sammy.

Early Evening, Sam’s Room

Sam’s dinner tray arrived, and John and Dean had brought up their dinner from the cafeteria and they ate with Sam. As the sun set behind the trees outside Sam’s window John and Dean were both loathe to leave Sam, but he had insisted they sleep in their own beds and to go home, and had been insisting this one point since he was moved to CCU. Sam was sound asleep and each Winchester took a moment to say their goodnights to the youngest Winchester, and they slipped out quietly.

Two Weeks Later, Early April 2008

Sam had been home for a couple days now, and Dean had begrudgingly gone back to work. One of his co-workers had to leave town for a family emergency and Larry was short, and business was heavy. He hated leaving Sam, but the home care nurse that Lena had arranged was nice and she started her day early at 7 AM, so that she could be at the house when the IV infusion nurse arrived. Sam’s IV therapy happened twice a day in twelve hour increments. It took two hours for the antibiotics to infuse, and the IV nurse usually showed up at 7:30 AM and then a different one showed up at 10:30 PM for Sam’s evening dose. Sam didn’t have to be awakened for the infusion to begin … thanks to the IV port. The infusion nurse simply had to plug the IV into the port and wait for the therapy to finish. Dean yawned into his hand in the kitchen as John entered the kitchen. “Pam here yet?” John asked his oldest son.

“Nah, not yet,” Dean replied. “She told me yesterday she was gonna be about ten minutes late this morning.” Dean had been relieved when Sam didn’t really complain about needing a nurse during the day. And, Pam had a way about her that didn’t make Sam feel like he was being babysat because he understood he had almost died from this infection and that he needed help and that his family needed to return to work.

“You look tired,” John commented. “I’ll stay up tonight Dean and wait for Joe to finish the evening infusion with Sam.” When Joe had first shown up and introduced himself John had been the one to answer the door and took in the sight of this burley man in khaki’s and a dark blue shirt with an embroidered emblem that said: Jefferson City Medical Home Infusion and the his name had been embroidered as well: Joe Callahan, R.N., IV infusion specialist. Joe explained that evening home infusion was primarily handled by the male technicians unless a female employee needed the late shift. John understood, after all, some patients receiving care paid for by the state didn’t live in the best areas and wouldn’t be safe for a female at night.

“Nah, Dad, its okay. You have to be at work earlier than me and he finishes at 12:30 AM with him and is gone pretty quick. I got it.” John shook his head.

“Look, Dean. I’m only working three days a week, and I’m off tomorrow, so I’ll stay up tonight, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean relented. “At least Sammy sleeps through both visits most of the time. I still haven’t got used to the fact he sleeps in now.”

“Well, the doctor said he’d be weak and tired for a while and that sleep was the best thing for him.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. There was a light knocking at the front door and Dean walked out of the kitchen to answer it. It was Sam’s home care nurse. “Morning Pam,” Dean offered a tired smile.

“Good Morning Dean,” she surveyed the young man. “Late night again, huh?”

“Yeah, well, only for another week and then Sam’s IV therapy will be done.” He offered. “Would you like some coffee or something? I just made a fresh pot.”

“No, I’m good thanks. Sam still sleeping?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ll wait for Corinne to get here. If you have to head out I’ve got it,” she offered. Dean looked at his watch. He sighed. Although, he didn’t normally get to work until 8 or so, today he said he’d get any early start on some backlogged cars for Larry. Dean felt a sense of obligation to the man because he had been so completely understanding to his family situation and never complained once when Dean would have to take off for family reasons. Larry was a good guy and Dean didn’t want to leave him in the lurch.

“Thanks Pam. You got all my numbers and my dad’s if you need us,” he still couldn’t stop himself. Pam had been coming for a couple days now, and there was a general routine all ready developing. She smiled.

“The numbers are in my paperwork, plus on the fridge,” she replied with an all knowing smile. Dean felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his cheeks.

“Sorry, it’s just…” she raised a hand to stop him.

“You don’t have to explain. After everything, I’m sure you and your family have been through with this infection you’re still a little gun shy to leave him since he got discharged a couple days ago. It’s okay. I understand.” Dean nodded. John walked into the room with his truck keys.

“Well, I hate to cut and run,” he said. “Hi Pam.”

“Hi John,” she replied. The Winchester men from the start had insisted she use their first names and to dispense with formalities. Sam liked Pam and that was enough for John and Dean. John slid down the hallway for one quick peek at Sam and then he was out the door and as he backed out of the driveway he saw Corinne pull up to start Sam’s infusion. He offered a polite way and left.

One Month Later, May 2, 2008

“You takin’ Sammy to his speech and occupational therapy today?” Dean asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah, and then I thought I’d take him out to lunch and maybe take in a movie. I figure a little father son day on his birthday wouldn’t be too much for him.”

“Yeah, he’ll like that. And, Dad,” Dean began. “Don’t forget to make sure that Dr. Borsody talked to Dr, Myers to tell her Sam still hasn’t been cleared for returning to PT.”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.” John and Dean had both taken Sam to another follow-up appointment and Dr. Borsody said Sam would need a little extra time to recoup. So, they had maintained with the day nurse, Pam, but today was Thursday and that meant John was off, so they didn’t use Pam on days one of them could be with Sam. “You getting’ off early today?”

“Yeah, of course, I told Larry two weeks ago that it was Sammy’s twenty-fifth birthday. Dad, I’m not sure he’s going to be up for a family dinner out,” Dean hedged. John nodded. It was truth. Sam was still recovering and he headed to bed earlier than the rest of his family.

“Yeah, I was thinking of having Chinese delivered from the China Palace, sound good?”

“Oh yeah, and get some of that fried Rangoon,” Dean was all ready salivating.

“You want your usual?” Dean nodded as he took a drink of coffee.

“General Tso’s, right?”

“Yep. Well, I better go. Oh, hey, I stopped by the pharmacy yesterday on the way home from work and picked up a refill of Sammy’s seizure meds,” Dean pointed to the cabinet nearest the fridge. “I put the prescription bags in there. I think he had a couple days worth still in the bathroom medicine cabinet, but I’m not sure. I just didn’t get a chance to put them in the bathroom for Sam.”

“Got it,” John answered with a smile.

“Guess, I better go” Dean replied looking at his watch. “Business has been booming since Larry took an account to service a local rental car company’s vehicles when they are returned from customers.”

“So, you have a heavy docket today son?”

“Yeah, one transmission rebuild I’ve been working on, a brake job, and Larry gave me four rental cars that all need an oil change, and chassis lubes. And, one of them needs new break pads. And, then I have at least two oil leak repairs on two customer’s cars.” Dean sighed. “The list goes on and on, but hey, the money’s good,” Dean commented with a wry smile.

“Just don’t work yourself into the ground son. Life’s too short.”

“I know. It’s not so bad, Dad. Like I keep saying I get a three day weekend, so I get some R&R. I’m good.”

Later that Afternoon

John picked Sam up from Ivy Ridge and as his son climbed in the car he surveyed his son. “You okay, Sammy?”

“Yeah, jjj…just hate not hhh…having PT.”

“I know you feel like you’re falling behind in your therapy Sammy, but you were really sick and you need to let your body heal first. At least you’re back to speech and OT.” John offered with a warm and reassuring smile. “Hey kiddo, I was thinkin’ you and your old dad could grab some lunch and a movie for your birthday.” Sam smiled at the incredibly normal sounding activity.

“Okay,” he answered with a lopsided smile.

“You feel up to it?” John asked looking Sam in the eyes. “I don’t want you pushing yourself if you’re tired. You’ve had a full day.”

“It’s only nnn…noon dad,” Sam commented. “Sss…short day with no PT.”

“Well, any ideas on what movie you want to see?” John asked. “I figure we’ll eat afterward.” John headed back toward Jefferson City and to the Riverside Galleria Mall and Entertainment Complex.

“We’ll ppp…pick the mmm…movie when we get there.” Sam answered.

“Fair enough,” John replied.

John sat watching the movie flicker across the screen. The action movie had been running a little over an hour, and he and Sam practically had the theater all to themselves in the early afternoon on a Thursday. John always in hunter mode whether he looked like it or not had all ready counted six people sitting either together or alone in various spots in the theater. He knew where they were and if they got up during the movie. He sat on the aisle with Sam on the inside seat. John glanced over at his young son. Sam had nodded off about twenty minutes ago, and slept soundly leaned back in the large rocking theater seat. John smiled and let his son continue to slumber. There was a particularly loud gun fire and explosion scene and John cast a worried glance over to Sam not wanting him to startle awake, but all his son did was move slightly and turned inward toward his father.

An Hour Later

“Hey kiddo,” John spoke softly as he placed a warm hand on Sam’s cheek. “Sammy, it’s time to wake up.” Sam scrunched his face and opened his eyes. He sat up and looked around the theater. The end credits were still rolling and loud music blared from the Dolby sound surround system. He suddenly looked crestfallen as he realized what he had done.

“I fff…fell asleep,” he complained. “Dad, you sss…should hhh…have woke me up.” John smiled.

“You obviously needed the sleep Sammy, so I let you sleep. Anyway, you didn’t miss anything. Guy blows up things, guy rescues girl, guy shoots guns, guy walks into the sunset … you’ve seen once action movie you’ve basically seen them all.” Sam rolled his eyes completely irritated with himself. “Well, sport, I think we’re gonna pass on lunch out. I’m going to take you home. I’ll make you a grilled cheese and some tomato soup, how’s that sound? And tonight we’re ordering Chinese, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam relented. John offered his son a hand up, and Sam took it. “Happy Birthday Sammy,” John replied lightly as he pulled Sam up to his feet from his seated position.

“Thh…thanks dad.”

“Twenty-five Sammy, you’re a regular senior citizen, huh?” Sam gave his father a light swat across the stomach with his arm. “Oof,” he grunted with the barely detectable impact. Sam smiled.

The Winchester House, Late Afternoon

Dean pulled into the garage and walked into the kitchen with a cake box and a bag from Barnes and Nobles. He looked around the kitchen eyeing the doorway from the family room. John walked into the kitchen. “Where’s Sammy?” Dean whispered. “I don’t want him to see the cake.”

“He’s in his room. How’d it turn out?” John asked as he tried to look at the cake through the cellophane window on the top. John chuckled when he saw it. “Did they think you were nuts at the bakery?” Dean laughed.

“Hey,” Dean admonished. “I had to go to three bakeries before I found one that had a Ghostbusters template available to do a cake. It’s not like I was gonna tell them to do little pink roses on it.” Dean slid the cake box onto the counter. “He asleep?”

“Yeah, for about an hour now,” John answered.

“Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine.”

“How was the movie and lunch? Did he have fun?”

“Well, he seemed to be enjoying himself the first forty minutes of the movie and then he slept through the rest of it. I’m thinking his speech and OT may be too much for him right now. I think he may need to take a break or cut back on some library days or rehab. He was wiped out. We didn’t even go to lunch out. I just brought him home made him a sandwich and some soup, and he zonked out.”

“Well, we’ll let him sleep and wake him up in a bit. We can order the Chinese around six and he’ll probably last until 9 or 10 before he’s down for the count. Man, I’ll be glad when he’s back to a hundred percent,” Dean paused with a slightly haunted look. “Well, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” John answered gruffly. “Me too, kiddo.”

“I need a shower. I feel like I have the dirt of every car in the state of Missouri on me,” Dean mused. “If he wakes up hide the cake. I want it to be a surprise.” John chuckled.

“Yes, sir,” John mused. Dean looked at his father and gave him an impish grin. John watched Dean make his way to the bathroom to clean up. His oldest son had been excited that this was the first birthday they had celebrated as a complete family in years, and the Winchester’s when they did celebrate had usually considered a cup cake or a warm meal good enough. But, this year they were a family again, and this birthday Sam almost hadn’t lived to see. A shiver worked its way through John at the thought. When he let his mind think back to a mere couple months ago his body felt cold at the thought that if Sam had succumbed to the infection and they had lost him his mind revolted at the mental picture of his son in a coffin and watching the lid close, and subsequently watch his baby boy lowered into the cold, dark earth, his precious light lost to him and Dean forever. John shook his head and took a breath; Sammy was safe, home, and healing.

Two Months Later, July 2008

The Winchester house had fallen back into its regular routine. Sam had been able to return to the library. And, he had gone back to his full rehab schedule. He knew his rehab had fallen behind during his recovery time, but he was working hard to catch up to where the center had set tentative goals for him to reach. Sam finished at the library, but it was pouring rain and he had walked to work from the house, and now he was trying to wait out the downpour. He had been let off work an hour earlier than usual, and sat in the breezeway of the entrance to the library and leafed through pamphlets that adorned the wall to kill time while he waited for the rain to stop. He spotted a pile of thick mini looking newspapers and picked up one: Jefferson Community College: Fall Semester 2008 Schedule of Classes …register early. He found himself mulling through the classes and then an idea sparked that maybe he could take a class or two. He noticed the rain had let up, and he folded the paper under his arm and headed toward home.

He pulled the mail out of the mailbox by the front door and slid the key into the lock. Sam lowered his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it on the floor to look at the mail. He leafed through the mail and noticed a large white envelope with Dean’s name on it, but he noticed his name was right under his brother’s:

Dean Winchester

Samuel Winchester

2440 Willow Bend Ave.

Jefferson City, MO

He glanced at the return address and frowned: State of Missouri Department of Special Services: Jefferson City Division. “Sss…special sss…ser…vices,” Sam struggled with the ‘S’s’ as usual. He put the other mail down and opened the envelope. There was an insurance coverage card in Sam’s name for the state of Missouri clipped to some official looking papers and a letter. He stared at the papers, but it was the letter he read and felt hot tears sting his eyes:

July 9, 2008

Dear Mr. Dean Winchester:

RE: Dependant adult: Samuel Winchester

Please, find enclosed the medical coverage card to be used for future hospital and/or medical care services rendered to Samuel Winchester. Also, enclosed are coverage papers for your files, and should there ever be any questions, please don’t hesitate to call. The state has reviewed your brother’s special needs status along with the recommendations of his rehab social worker Lena Salvino, LSW. And, it has been determined that Samuel Winchester qualifies for full state coverage under the special needs act for physically and mentally disabled adult persons. And, enclosed, please find a final bill disposition from Capitol Region Medical Center for your brother’s care during the time period of March 2008 to his discharge on April 5, 2008. The remaining balance was paid in full, and should you receive any further bills from said hospital for Samuel Winchester, please report them to the department of Special Services. Furthermore, the home health care nurse and infusion therapy were allotted by this department and services rendered have been paid.

Should you need any local assistance or have questions, please contact your local representative assigned to your brother’s case: Celia Mackey, LSW. (417) 555-2187, EXT. # 461.

Yours truly,

Celia Mackey, LSW

State of Missouri’s Department of Special Services

Jefferson City Division

Hot tears cascaded down Sam’s cheeks. He understood the words in the letter, but the wording was confusing to him for the most part. But, he understood what the letter was saying, and the letter shook in his hands. Samuel Winchester qualifies for full state coverage under the special needs act for physically and mentally disabled adult persons, the sentence shined like a beacon to Sam, and finally the crushing reality engulfed him completely. He had felt different and knew quite well that people saw him differently, but now it was harsh, and accosted him violently. He dropped the letter on the small table by the front door where they always put the mail. He walked away blindly his vision occluded by tears. He felt a sob growing inside his chest and struggled to reach the safe cocoon of his room before he let it out.

Sam crawled into his bed lying down on his side drawing his knees up to his chest and began rocking himself. The sobbing came in hiccupping gasps as his body shook with the emotional onslaught. His grief for everything he had lost was all consuming, and then he felt the familiar tingle start at his finger tips, and some part of his brain registering the progression up his arm was privately wishing it would crescendo and take him into oblivion where he could slip into an eternal darkness. The Jacksonian seizure spread beyond his arm to his left side of his body it lasted only minutes and was over. Sam cried the entire time, and when the shaking slowed and finally stopped he punched his pillow in rage that the one time he wanted darkness to claim him it had stayed away. He pulled his knees back up and continued to cry in wrenching sobs.

John pulled his truck into the driveway and got out. He opted to go through the front door today. Work hadn’t been too bad, and he was looking forward to his day off tomorrow. He looked in the mailbox and smiled knowing Sammy had all ready taken it inside when he came home from the library. John walked in and kicked something by the door. He looked down and saw that Sam had left his backpack by the door and a discarded newspaper looking paper lay to the side. He picked it up and looked at it. Jefferson Community College he said the words in his head. He noticed the mail on the table where he stood and a letter left lying open with a small card attached. He noticed quickly that it was the state insurance card for Sam. He took only a moment to look at the letter skimming for key points, and then that’s when he heard the muffled cry’s coming down the hallway. He strode quickly to Sam’s room. The door was left askew, so he walked in. Sam’s back was to the door and he was lying in a tight ball with his face turned into his pillow.

“Sammy?” John’s voice was soft as he spoke trying not to startle his son. He walked over and sat down on the bed. Sam continued to cry and John watched his young shoulders hitch up and down as the tears continued to come. John simply reached out a hand and placed it on his son’s back and rubbed comforting circles. He was quiet for a long moment, and finally spoke. “Sammy? Son, please, let me see your face.” Sam shook his head in his pillow and refused to look at his father. “Sam that letter,” John began tentatively.

“Nnn…no,” Sam stuttered and hiccupped as the tears refused to stop. “No talk.”

“Sammy that letters is just a bunch of words son. It’s not who you are … not to me … and not to your brother.”

“Thh…they sss…say I’m a tard,” Sam took his face out of the pillow, but still wouldn’t turn to face his father. John continued to rub comforting circles on his son’s back.

“Sam,” John’s voice warned. “You are not retarded, do you here me? And, they didn’t say that.”

“Call me sss…spec…ial nnn…needs. They say men…tally dis…abled.”

“They’re just words Sammy. I told you it’s not who you are … not to me or your brother.” Sam turned and looked at his father. John’s heart broke at the agonized look in his son’s dark eyes. His face was flushed from the sobbing and tracks of dried tears crisscrossed with fresh ones. John reached down and cupped the sides of his baby boy’s face with both hands and pushed the tears away on each cheek with broad thumbs. “Shh, Sammy…” he soothed. Sam’s bottom lip quivered.

“Ddd…don’t want ttt…to be dumb,” he managed before his face crumbled again. He didn’t care that he was crying in front of his father. This pain was too much to push down and hide.

“Sammy, listen to me,” John asserted gently. “You’re not dumb. Never dumb. You’re brilliant, do you hear me. You’re a smart boy, and you always have been.” Sam shook his head and tried to turn away, but John held his shoulders preventing the action.

“Nnn…not any…more. Dumb now.” Sam reached up and covered his face with a single hand as his tears cascaded silently down his cheeks. John ached to take his son’s pain away. He felt at a loss until something in him took over and he became the father Sam needed right in this moment. He pulled Sam up against himself and held him against his chest. One hand holding his child’s head firmly and protectively while the other hand pressed into Sam’s back and rubbed in small circles.

“Shh… Sammy, I got ya son, I got ya. It’s okay. Shh…” John’s voice was soft as he tried to break through his child’s pain and tears to make him realize he wasn’t in this alone. He felt Sam reach up and cling to him, and he pulled him that much tighter into his protective and comforting embrace. “I got you,” he assured.

Two Hours Later

Dean parked the car and walked into the kitchen. His Dad’s truck was in the driveway, and he expected his father to be in the kitchen ordering pizza. It was pizza night on Wednesday and they always ordered delivery from the local Ma and Pop restaurant, The Italian Kitchen, but the house was quiet. Too quiet. He dropped his car keys in a tiny bowl by the kitchen door they threw their keys into for easy location. “Dad?” Dean questioned as he walked into the dim family room. The blinds were closed, but the late afternoon sun sifted into the room leaving streaks of light and shadow across the carpet.

“I’m here.” John answered from his place on the couch. Dean turned and looked at his father. John sat on the couch as if he were in some waiting room waiting for bad news.

“Dad?” Dean couldn’t gauge his father’s demeanor and just studied him.

“We need to talk,” John replied. “Sit down Dean,” his father’s request was soft, not demanding, but almost imploring.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Dean took an urgent step forward.

“I’m fine.” John replied warmly. “Please, just sit.” Dean complied and as he did so he looked around the room casually. He saw Sam’s discarded backpack on the floor by the front door, and wondered where his brother was.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked casually. John looked at his oldest child and cleared his voice.

“In his room,” John answered.

“So, what is it? I mean, you act like something’s up,” Dean inquired. “What do you want to talk about?” Dean noticed a white envelope and paperwork on the coffee table in front of him, but didn’t really look at it because he was more interested in hearing what his father had to say. It seemed important. “Dad?” Dean spoke again when his father neglected to fill the silence with his own voice. “What do you want to talk about?”

John’s voice was soft and gruff, “Sammy.” Dean’s eyes darted toward the quiet hallway and his little brother’s partially closed door. Dean’s eyes filled with panic as a cold fear and dread dug deeply into his chest.

“What! What is it? What’s wrong?” He started to stand to go check on his brother, but his father leaning forward and putting a single hand in his knee stopped him. His mind was all ready creating horrible nightmare scenarios. His head filled with one lucid fear: Please, god, no. Sammy had a seizure didn’t he? I wasn’t here. He was alone. I failed him. He’s dead. Sammy’s gone… gone, gone, gone…. “Please,” His voice choked as he looked at his father. “He’s not…” he tried to speak, but the words cut off inside his throat.

John was wide-eyed as he realized with dreadful clarity that Dean was thinking they had lost Sam to some unfair twist of fate. “No, no,” he assured quickly. “Dean, Sammy is alive. I promise.” The fact his father had simply replied that his brother was alive and hadn’t used words like fine and okay terrified Dean even more.

“What aren’t you telling me?” John inclined his hand toward the letter and papers on the coffee table. Dean looked at them and picked up the paper clipped items. He saw the insurance card attached in Sam’s name, and still it wasn’t clicking, but something was tickling at the edge of his comprehension.

“He saw his name on the envelope under yours and he opened it,” John replied as he watched Dean skim the letter the same as he had done two hours ago. Dean put the papers back down on the coffee table and leaned forward putting his face into his hands.

“Shit,” he hissed through his hands. “All of it … he read all of it?”

“Yes,” John answered quietly. Dean leaned back into the couch.

“How is he?”

“Not good,” John answered bluntly. “He was pretty upset,” he hesitated a moment. “He is pretty upset,” John corrected himself.

“I should talk to him,” Dean leaned forward again.

“He’s sleeping,” John replied. “Cried himself to sleep. He’s going to be out for a while. He’s emotionally drained.”

“Dad,” Dean began. “I never wanted him to know … not like this. Dammit!”

“Look son, he’ll bounce back. It may take a while, but when he understands what the state and a few bureaucrats in an office have labeled him … is just that a label he’ll be okay. I told him it doesn’t define him to us. Sam’s strong and he’ll come through the other side of this.”

“Dad, thinking you’re different and reading it in black and white are two different things. You know, Sammy, he’s College Boy, and now he’s seen his life and his potential distilled down to a letter that says: Samuel Winchester qualifies for full state coverage under the special needs act for physically and mentally disabled adult persons. Dad, he just sees that they think he’s disabled in more than one way, and now his hope is gone.”

“Dean,” John began softly.

“No Dad,” Dean asserted. “Sam always had hope whether he was saying it or not. I know he had hope and that was what drove him. The hope to regain his life back … all of it, and now he knows that medicine and government say he’s disabled and they see him that way. And, I’ll be damned if I let him see himself that way. It’s not gonna happen, I won’t let it. He needs to believe he can get back more than he already has. He needs his hope.”

“Dean all we can do is support him and be there for him. We make sure he doesn’t give up on rehab or himself.” John paused for a moment. Dean leaned back into the couch again with a frustrated sigh. “You know,” John started. “I noticed by his book bag he picked up a class schedule for the local community college.” Dean looked at him.

“He did,” Dean’s voice sounded hopeful.

“Yeah, of course after today we may have to prod him, but I think it might be good if he wants to go.”

“I can bring it up,” Dean suggested. John shook his head.

“We should let your brother bring it up when he’s ready. Follow his lead.” Dean shook his head.

“No, Dad,” Dean began. “Look don’t take this the wrong way, but I know Sammy better than you and he’s not gonna bounce back like a rubber band on this one. He blames himself for so much crap … he’s going to find something to blame himself for now. Like he’s some kind of burden or something. I need to talk to him. I’m not letting him lose faith in himself.” John looked at his son oddly. “What?”

“Nothing,” John said with a mild smile. “Since when do you talk about faith I didn’t think it was your thing.”

“Yeah, well, things change. And, Sammy needs to believe in things. He needs to believe in himself and I’m going to make sure he keeps believing in himself. He told me once, that sometimes you gotta have a little faith, and he was right.” John nodded.

One Month Later, Late August 2008

Sam was assigned an academic counselor at Jefferson Community College and he enrolled for two classes starting in the Fall quarter to get his feet wet. Lena his social worker from Ivy Ridge had set his appointment up at the college and Sam had insisted he go alone when Dean and John had both offered to take him for the weekend registration days at the college. The past month had been very difficult for Sam. He had slipped into a state of melancholy and Dean and John had both been very proactive in handling it. They had spoken to his therapists at Ivy Ridge, Dr. Myers, and Lena. Sam felt compelled to escape the labels he’d been given. But, the real world seemed bound and determined to permanently affix them to him. Even now, he sat in the Office of Students with Disabilities with his assigned academic counselor.

He had found one aspect of his label he would use to his advantage, and if there was one thing he had learned from childhood was how to make the system work for you. The state provided educational funding for him, and he was happy that his family wouldn’t have to pay for any classes he wanted to take.

“Sam, I think you may want to start with a lower division political analysis class than “Twenty-first Century Polycentric Norms in Today’s society and Government,” Mona, his counselor replied. “Maybe, Intro to Political analysis,” she hedged.

“I hhh…have ttt…transfer cre…dits from Stan…fff…ford. It counts, rrr…right?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Bbb…but what?” Sam’s voice was level, but slightly accusing.

“Professor Dasser is very hard. The course load in that class is particularly heavy Sam. There is an presentation and a final paper.”

“I rrr…read the class des…crip…tion,” Sam replied. “I knn…know what is ex…pec…ted. I went ttt…to Stan…fff…ford.”

“Yes,” Mona relented, “but that was before your accident correct? I just don’t want you to over extend yourself Sam. I believe you can complete your work … I just don’t want you getting discouraged and withdrawing from your classes. It’s common and I see it all the time.”

“I www…want thh…that class,” Sam asserted. Mona smiled.

“I’ll have to get Professor Dasser to sign off since it’s an upper level and you’re coming in with transfer credit. Why don’t you go out to the lobby and take a seat and I’ll try to get a hold of him and I’ll call you back in okay?” Sam nodded. Mona watched Sam leave. She really liked him and truly felt he was biting off more than he could chew, and didn’t want him devastated when at mid-term or before he found himself drowning and facing certain failure and imminent withdraw from the class or perhaps the college all together. She had seen it too many times. But, at least Sam was starting off slow as opposed to other disabled students she hadn’t been able to talk out of a full course load right off the bat. She had been provided a copy of his file and was made aware of his ongoing rehab from his social worker, and she read in his file of the devastating brain trauma he’d received as a direct complication of a head injury received in a car accident with his family over a year ago.

“Hello, Professor Dassler. This is Mona Radney.” The professor recognized the woman.

“Hi Mona, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I have a student who wants to sign up for your Advanced Political Analysis. He has the approved transfer credits.”

“This is one of your students Mona?” The professor was well aware that all of her students had some type of disability.

“Yes, he’s a wonderful young man. His transcripts are from Stanford. He suffered an accident a year ago, but has been working very hard at getting his life back, and he wants to try a couple classes, and possibly get back into academia.”

“Stanford? I trust this accident occurred prior to his admittance to that university.”

“Yes,” Mona replied. “He was there on a full ride scholarship. I tried to dissuade him from taking the advanced class, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He wants to take it.”

“What is his disability?”

“He suffered a traumatic brain injury. He has a speech deficit and some cognitive delays. He’s a bright boy. I can see it in his eyes, but…”

“But, you think he’s going to sink and drown in my class, right?”

“I just don’t want him to fail right out of the starting gate.”

“Let’s see what he’s capable off. I’m sure that kid has had enough short ends of the stick to last him a lifetime and I’m not going to be the one to shoot him down. If he thinks he can handle it then I’ll grant him entrance into the class.”

Later that Afternoon

Sam had to do two bus transfers to get home, but he made it. He had gone over the schedules with Dena his OT at Ivy Ridge and Dean and John had gone over it with him to. He felt happy that he’d been admitted into the advanced class he wanted. Classes started in three weeks, and he was excited. The library was willing to work around his schooling, and he was glad for that because he enjoyed his occupational placement there. He knew at the beginning of the new year though that Lena would have a new placement for him. She had told him it was good to broaden your horizons and try new places.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean replied from the couch with a beer. “How was your school thing?”

“Good I got the ccc…classes I wan…ted.” Dean smiled and flipped the TV off.

“Dad ran up to the Rusty Bucket Sub House and we’re having some subs for lunch. He’s getting your usual.” Dean turned his nose up. “That frou-frou stuff you like … with the bean sprouts.”

“It’s good.” Sam replied.

“Yeah, what ever you say kiddo,” Dean quipped. “So, did they give you any trouble signing up for the classes you wanted?”

“I thh…think my coun…selor thh…thinks I might have ttt…trouble with one.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean replied standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “Well, that counselor doesn’t know shit. Guy or girl?” Sam looked at his brother oddly. “Your counselor … guy or girl?”

“Www…woman,” Sam answered. “Www…why?”

“Oh, come on Sammy,” Dean mused as they both entered the kitchen. “You just have to use those puppy eyes of yours and she’ll do whatever you want.” Sam swatted his brother in the shoulder and sat down at the kitchen table. “What? It’s true,” Dean countered. “But, really, Sammy … I’m happy to see you trying school again. I know it’s not Stanford, but…”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam replied. “I jjj…just www…want to ttt…try.”

“Hey, Sammy I don’t want you being hard on yourself all right? I know you … you’re a geek boy when it comes to school stuff, and if something doesn’t come easy or whatever I don’t want you getting discouraged, okay?” Sam nodded slightly. “Yeah, no nodding little brother. I want to hear you say, ‘okay.’”

“Okay.”

“And, you know you can use tutors if you have to Sam. I don’t want you stressing out on stuff.”

“It’s ttt…two ccc…classes Dean.” Sam complained. “It’s nnn…not even fff…for a degree. I jjj..just want ttt…to ttt…try.” Sam was so frustrated about his speech. He worked on it all the time and even did flashcards at home to practice pronunciations, but some words still hopped and skipped off his tongue, and it seemed no matter what he did they stutter and fragmentation still remained.

“So, what classes are you taking?” Sam pulled his registration paper out of his backpack and handed it to his brother. “Okay, are you serious Sammy? What the hell is Political Science 490: Twenty-first Century Polycentric Norms in Today’s society and Government? That’s a class?” Dean shot a look at his brother. Sam nodded. Dean looked at the other class and smiled. “Psy: 320 Myth and Urban Legends: A study in Human Nature, I think you could teach this class Sammy. Hell, you probably no more than the professor.” Sam and Dean shared a smile. “So, Sam, that other class, the Polycentric whatever, you sure you want to take that? Sounds like a ball buster.”

Sam shook his head. “I www…want to,” he asserted. Dean raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, just askin’. Man, I’m hungry. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into that Philly steak and cheese Sub. Mmm… with extra onions.” Sam turned his nose up. “Hey, don’t knock it Organic Boy.” Dean laughed. “Dad, wanted a Philly, but you know the old diet for his ticker says no can do, man, so he was a little pissed. I think he’s getting a turkey club or something.”

“It’s ggg…good thh…that dad is kkk…keep…ing with thh..the heart rehab diet.”

“Yeah. I just like to give him a hard time. To tell you the truth Sammy I’m surprised he hasn’t told those nutritionists he has to see once a month to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Sam laughed.

“Ggg…give hhh…him time,” Sam countered. Both brothers heard the rumble of their father’s truck as it pulled into the driveway.

Jefferson Community College, October 15, 2008

Sam walked across the quad of the college having just finished his one hour tutor session for his political class he was taking from Professor Dassler. It was hard and he had to read the material multiple times to understand it, and he had begrudgingly acknowledged early on that he would need a tutor that could help him break down pieces of the textbook, so he could understand the material. He hated that certain things just didn’t make sense when he knew that at one time before his head injury they had made perfect sense, and at times the theories he had read about seemed almost juvenile, but now some of them came across so difficult to him that he likened them translating an ancient language. He had almost dropped the class, but his big brother and his father gave him a confidence booster, and said they knew he could do it. And, when they had said, as long as you do your best and try, then no one can ask anymore he decided to stick with it. He was on the way to the library on campus to make some copies he needed when his cell phone rang.

It was always one of two people that called either his brother or his father, and usually he didn’t even bother with glancing at the caller ID, but today he did look and when he saw the illuminated screen of his phone Sam stopped dead in his tracks staring at the display, as his mouth went dry:

Incoming call:

Sarah Blake

315-555-2380

“Come on Sammy answer your damn phone,” Dean hissed as he paced in the kitchen.

“Dean relax,” John urged his son. “He just a little late.”

“A little dad? Try two hours. You’re not worried?”

“I didn’t say that, but …”

“But? But what? Look he’s not picking up. I keep getting his damn voice mail.”

“He said he was going to the library after class and his tutor session,” John offered.

“Yeah, to make copies. That doesn’t take two hours, and it for damn sure doesn’t explain why he isn’t picking up his phone.”

“Dean,” John’s voice was soft.

“No,” Dean interrupted. “I’m going to campus to look for him.” His father looked at him. “What? You got a better idea?”

“No,” John replied. “Fine, go look for him. I’ll stay here in case he calls.” Dean nodded as he grabbed his keys and headed to his car.

Jefferson Community College Quad

Dean entered the library and went to the desk. There was a young student worker on duty. “Can I help you?” she smiled at Dean. He didn’t have time for a flirty girl.

“Yeah, I hope so,” he began. “Um, I’m lookin’ for my brother. He might have been in here earlier … tall, shaggy brown hair, tan jacket and a backpack.” Dean looked at her with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, I think earlier, I was checking some books out for a person, but yeah I think I might have seen someone like that.”

“Great, did you happen to see him leave?” She thought for a moment.

“No, I usually look up because the security turn style leaving always beeps as a student passes through it to exit. Ugh, I think he went that way toward the private study rooms, but I don’t remember seeing him again. But, I’m not even sure it was your brother.”

“No, thanks really,” Dean offered her a quick smile. “Thanks. The study rooms are they that way?” He pointed in their general direction.

“Yeah, just go back and to the right. The rooms have private cubicles and are sound proof. It’s mostly quiet on Wednesday evenings, so they should be pretty empty.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Good luck.” Dean nodded and went in search of Sam. His big brother radar had been on high alert ever since his brother was late. He knew Sammy would have caught the 6:00 PM bus to meet his transfer bus, and when Sam hadn’t arrived home he had immediately called his little brother’s cell phone and when he didn’t answer that’s when the concern had edged into panic. Dean walked with purpose toward the study area. He walked past a few glass cubicles and finally noticed the chestnut mop of hair he knew so well peeking up from behind a privacy partition in the very last study cubicle. Sam’s head was bowed in his hands. Dean opened the door and Sam’s head remained down.

“Sammy?” he asked quietly.

“Sss…sorry, I ddd…didn’t call,” he stammered still keeping his head down. Dean heard the wet sound behind his brother’s words and knew his brother had been crying at some point.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean’s said as he walked over to his brother and kneeled down beside him. “You’re not an easy fellow to track down kiddo,” he offered lightly trying to make his brother look up at him. “I had to play Perry Mason with the library chick up front. I tried to call,” he offered.

“Ttt…turn off cell phh…phones in thh…the library. It’s a rrr…rule.” Dean smiled despite the obvious emotional state if his brother. Even upset his little brother followed the rules.

“Sammy?” Dean rested his hand on top of his brother’s unruly mop of hair. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Dean lifted his hand and reached for a spare chair and pulled it over to sit next to his brother. Sam shook his head. “Come on, Sam, I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is,” Dean replied lightly. Sam remained silent.

“Did you have trouble with class today or your tutor?” Dean decided if Sam wasn’t going to talk he’d try trouble shooting with question prompts.

“Nnn…no,” Sam answered.

“Come on Sammy, cut your big brother a break here. You had me worried sick. Dad’s at home sitting by the phone in case you call or come home while I’m out looking for you.” Sam reluctantly raised his face from his hands and looked at his older brother. Dean looked at Sam’s flushed face and bloodshot eyes that still bore the glassy remnants of tears long ago spent. “Sammy,” Dean cooed softly. “What is it kiddo?”

“Phh…phone call…” Sam began and stopped.

“Huh? Phone call? You call someone?” Sam shook his head. “Okay, did someone call you?” Sam nodded. “What about?”

“Sss…Sar…ah,” Sam replied with a haunted look. Dean’s mind was reeling. Oh Christ, his mind spat. Please, let her be okay. If something happened to her … if the Demon…Dean’s mind raged. He spoke calmly to his brother.

“Is Sarah okay?” Sam shrugged. Okay, that’s not the response I was expecting, Dean thought. “Sammy was it Sarah that called you?” Sam scooted his phone over to him and turned it on. Dean pulled up the missed calls and back tracked through the eleven missed calls from him earlier, and then there it was: Sarah Blake. “Did you talk to her?” Sam shook his head vehemently. “What? Why not?”

“Www…what www…would I sss…say? I ccc…can’t even sss…say her name without sss…sounding like …”

“Without sounding like what Sammy?” Dean’s tone was warning. He hated when his kid brother bad mouthed himself.

“Sss..stu…pid,” Sam offered as he let his eyes drop down to stare at his folded and fidgeting hands. “Shh…she nnn…not know.” Sam’s speech was fragmenting and Dean reached out a hand and placed it comfortingly on his little brother’s shoulder.

“Easy Sammy,” he encouraged. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Sam turned agonized eyes to his older brother. “Nnn…no nnn…not okay. Shh…she not know. Ccc…can’t ttt…talk right,” Sam’s words fragmented and rushed on top of each other.

“Hey, hey kiddo,” Dean soothed. “Calm down Sammy. It’s okay. We’ll work this out.” Sam shook his head.

“Work whh…what out?” He hissed. “Ccc…can’t fff…fix me.”

“Sam,” Dean’s tone dropped a little as he studied his brother. “There isn’t anything to fix Sammy.” Dean asserted. “You’re not broke.”

“I am and yyy…you knn…know it. Hhh…head mmm…messed up. Was smm…smart now sss…stupid,” his words rushed forward. Dean sighed and looked hard at his brother.

“Sam look at me,” Dean commanded when his little brother dropped his eyes. “Look at me.” Sam raised his eyes hesitantly and met his brothers. “Now listen to me and get this through that damn thick stubborn head of yours … I never want to fucking hear you call yourself stupid again. Do you understand?” Sam didn’t respond. “I’m not screwing around here Sammy I mean it. You’re not stupid and you’ve never been. So, I’ll say it again, and you know how much I hate to repeat myself … you are never to call yourself stupid or anything remotely negative again … am I understood?”

“Yes,” Sam answered quietly.

“Good,” Dean softened his voice as he replied. He reached up and ruffled his brother’s hair affectionately. Sam ducked his head away with a small sheepish smile. It might not have been the coveted Sam Winchester lopsided dimpled grin, but it was better than nothing Dean thought. “So, did she leave a message?” Dean asked suddenly. Sam looked at his brother.

“Yeah.” Sam nudged his phone. “Yyy..you ccc…can listen.”

“You sure?” Sam nodded. Dean picked up the phone and scrolled to the voice mail and selected Sarah’s message:

Hi, Sam, it’s Sarah. I know… long time no talk. I just wanted to see how you and your brother are doing. I thought I might have heard from you by now, so I guess I was a little worried. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t run across one too many angry Casper’s, she laughed lightly into the phone. I think about you and just wanted to say hi and touch base. Well, you have my number, and I’d love to hear from you. I hope you and Dean are okay. Tell him I said Hi. Take care of yourself. Bye.

The message finished and Dean handed the phone back to his brother. “Sammy…”

“Ddd…don’t,” Sam barked. “Nnn…nothing ttt…to sss…say. I ccc…can’t ttt…talk ttt..to Sss…Sarah … Dammit!” He hated how bad his words were stuttering.

“Sam just relax, okay? You know damn well that the more worked up you get the worse it gets, and…” Dean looked at his watch. “And, you’re just about due for your evening dose of your meds. I don’t want you bringing on a seizure.” Sam just looked at his brother and said nothing. “Look, I better call Dad before he has a stroke or something.” Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and selected ‘home’ on his cell phone. He smiled inwardly at that simple word, ‘home’ and despite everything that has happened over the last year he had his family, he had a home. “Dad?” Dean heard his father’s voice after the first ring.

“Dean? Did you find him?” John wasn’t trying to keep the concern out of his voice.

“Yeah, Dad. He’s okay.”

“Thank God,” John let out a sigh over the phone, and then went into angry father mode. “Where the hell was he?”

“Long story dad. I’m bringing him home.”

“Long story? You’re sure he’s okay?”

“Dad,” Dean softly chided. “You can see for yourself when I get Sammy home. He’s okay. He’s safe.” John relaxed. To him ‘safe’ meant that he wasn’t hurt or in danger.

“Okay, I’ll see both you boys when you get home.” There was that word again, ‘home’ and Dean’s mouth quirked ever so slightly.

“Okay, Dad. Bye.” Dean closed his phone and looked at his crestfallen brother. “Okay, kiddo. Papa Bear is climbing the walls back at the house, so we better get going.” Dean stood up and pushed his chair against the wall with his foot. “Come on, Sammy,” he picked up his brother’s backpack and handed it to him when he stood up. Sam took the pack.

“Thh…thanks,” Sam said quietly. “Sss…sorry I ddd…didn’t call.”

“Water under the bridge Sammy,” Dean replied. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Later the Next Day

Dean looked at the wall clock in the kitchen. He was off today, and Sam was at rehab. His brother hadn’t mentioned Sarah again, but Dean felt like he needed to do something. He scrolled though his own phone knowing full well he had her number. His father was out running errands and it was the perfect time to call. He selected her name and pushed send.

“Hello?”

“Sarah? It’s Dean.”

“Dean! Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, and you?”

“I’m fine. You know I called Sam’s cell phone yesterday, but I had to leave a voice mail.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean began. “That’s why I’m calling.” Sarah felt her stomach drop to the floor and a feeling of cold dread filled her.

“Dean? Just tell me he’s okay. Tell me Sam’s all right. He’s not hurt is he?” Her pleas came so quickly that they left Dean speechless for a moment and that only added to her fear. “Please, Dean…”

“Sam’s okay, Sarah, but…”

“But, what. Dammit Dean, what’s wrong? Why isn’t Sam the one that’s calling?”

“It’s hard for him Sarah,” Dean began. “A lot has happened.”

“Hard for him? Hard how? What’s wrong?”

Dean figured he might as well jump right into explanations. “Look Sarah a year ago we were in a car wreck and Sam hit his head. There were complications and …”

“Oh my God,” Sarah’s voice caught her throat. “Dean?” Her voice was soft and pleading.

“He had to have brain surgery and was in a coma for a while. He suffered brain damage from it,” Dean’s voice was steady. “But, he’s going to rehab and he’s getting better every day,” he added quickly.

“How bad is it Dean? The truth.”

“He really is doing okay Sarah. He’s even taking some classes at a local college here in Missouri. He has some speech problems and some other issues. He couldn’t bring himself to answer his cell when you called. He wanted too I know he did, but it’s just he was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what? Me?”

“Of your reaction.” He replied quietly. “He stutters Sarah, and certain words are harder than others for him to say. He just was afraid of what you’d think.”

Dean and Sarah talked for a long time, and he filled her in on things about Sam and that they had found their father and were living in Jefferson City, Missouri. She asked questions about his head injury and rehab and Dean answered them. He told her about the seizure disorder and he told her about the bout of endocarditis that had almost killed him. “I need to see him Dean,” Sarah spoke suddenly.

“Uh, Sarah, I don’t know if that’s something he’s up to right now.”

“Dean, please. I need to see him with my own eyes.”

“You know he’s gonna be pretty pissed at me for even calling you, and then to tell him you want to come to Jefferson City to see him. I don’t know,” Dean hedged.

“Make it happen Dean. Look if he’s uncomfortable talking to me on the phone tell him we’ll talk in person. Please…”

“No promises,” he replied. “I’ll talk to him, but I’m not going to force the issue with him, okay? It’s not good for him to get stressed out.”

“I understand,” Sarah lamented.

Ivy Ridge Rehab Center

Dean parked the car and went inside. He was early for picking up Sam, but he wanted to talk to Sam as soon as possible. And he thought they could take a walk to the duck pond the center had on its premises that they used to walk to when Sam was still living at Ivy Ridge. He walked in and saw Carrie at the front desk. She waved at him and he returned her wave. He headed for the gym knowing that Sam was in PT for another few minutes. He poked his head inside and could see it was a busy day. The various machines were almost all occupied with a rehab patient and the mats were full too. Dean spotted Sam and Mel in the far corner near a window and he could tell that Mel was stretching out Sam’s leg muscles as Sam provided some mild resistance. Dean knew they had finished and Mel was just making sure Sam had a proper muscle cool down before sending him home. Mel spotted Dean and smiled. He saw him say something to his brother, but he was too far away still to hear, and then he saw Sam twist his head and look over and smile. He waved and started to sit up.

“Hey Mel,” Dean greeted. “How ya doin’ it’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has. I’m good. And you?”

“No complaints,” he replied. “So, did Sammy put you through your paces today or was he a slacker?”

“Nah, your brother is a hard worker.” Mel gave Sam a hand up.

“Yyy…you’re ear…ly Dean,” Sam commented.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Sss…some…thing wrong?” Sam looked concerned.

“Huh? No, nothing. Just got here early.”

“Okay,” Sam commented lightly. He knew his brother though and knew there was something, and if he knew Dean like he was sure he did … his big brother would spit it out when he was ready, so he let it drop. “Thh…thanks Mel,” Sam looked at the older man. “I’ll sss…see you nnn…next week, okay?”

“Sure, thing sport.” Mel answered.

They said their goodbyes and Sam walked with Dean toward the lobby of the rehab center. They reached the outside and Dean stopped. “I thought we could take a walk down to the pond like we used too.” Sam looked at his brother and smirked. “What?”

“Nnn…nothing,” Sam replied. He knew whatever his brother had on his mind was about to come out. “Sss…sure let’s ggg…go,” Sam quipped. Dean offered a nervous smile and fell into step beside his little brother.

Dean and Sam followed the concrete walking paths that went to the pond and they took a seat by the water on a bench. “Sammy,” Dean began. His stomach was tight with nerves. “Um, I don’t want you to get pissed with me, but I guess I can’t blame you if you are after I tell you something.” Sam looked hard at his brother.

“Whh…what ddd…did you dd…do?”

“I called Sarah.”

“Dean!” Sam shouted. Dean flinched at his name.

“Look Sammy, I had to okay. You weren’t going to call her back and I thought you’d at least want her to know the reason you weren’t calling her back wasn’t because you’re dead or something.”

“I www…was ggg…going ttt…to email hhh…her.” Sam let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like an angry hiss. “Ccc..can’t ttt…talk dammit!” He stood up suddenly and walked toward the water to just stare at it. Dean stayed seated, but watched his brother closely. Sam took another couple steps toward the edge of the pond. Dean involuntarily tensed.

“That’s close enough Sammy,” he said standing up, but remained by the bench. “I don’t need you falling in there.” Sam spun around and glared at his big brother.

“I ccc…can swim!” he retorted. “Whh…what’s yyy…your damn ppp…prob…lem?”

“You getting all worked up and standing too close to the damn water,” Dean replied hotly. “Yeah, you can swim, but you go and have a seizure and fall in … you’ll swallow half the pond before I can drag you out.” Sam turned away from his brother and looked back over the water.

“I ttt..take mmm…my mmm…meds,” Sam turned and glared at his brother. “Lll…ike a ggg…good lll…little boy,” he hissed in anger.

“Sammy, I just thought she should know. I know that was your call, but I just felt like I had to do something. Hey, she wants to come for a visit to see you with her own eyes. See her Sam.” Dean watched his brother turn and face him again, but his little brother’s face wasn’t angry anymore just stricken, haunted.

“Sss…Sarah ddd…deserves bbb…better,” Sam stuttered. “Nnn…not sss…safe www…with me. Thh…the ddd…demon.”

“Hey,” Dean admonished. “First, what’s with this deserves better load of crap?” Dean chided. “There isn’t a better catch than you,” he mused with a smile and continued. “Well, with the exception of your older and much more handsome brother.” Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean saw the hint of a smile despite his brother’s distraught emotional state. “And, yeah, I get that you’re worried about her safety Sammy, but maybe…”

“Nnn…no mmm…may…be,” Sam barked. “Nnn…not sss…safe. Never sss…safe www…with me. Nnn…no one is.” Sam walked back toward his brother and sat down heavily on the bench and Dean joined him. Sam stared out over the water and said nothing. The silence hung heavy between them both and Dean felt at a loss of what to say to his little brother.

“Sam,” he began tentatively testing the waters with his sibling. Sam cast a sideways glance at his big brother, but said nothing. Dean pushed forward with his thought. “I know you worry … hell, I know you blame yourself for shit that you shouldn’t be carrying around in your head. Mom and Jess weren’t your fault, but no matter how many times I tell you that I know you don’t believe me. I know what the demon said to you, I was there remember?” Sam held his brother’s gaze for a long moment and looked away to stare at the ground. “And, I’m going to keep telling you it’s not your fault ‘til the day they put me in the ground and toss in the dirt. I’m not going to stop until you believe me. You didn’t kill them, and that evil sonofabitch will get what’s coming to him. But, it’s that damn demon that killed Mom and Jessica. And, yeah, maybe you’re right until that demon is dead or sent back to hell gift wrapped in a big red bow, maybe Sarah should stay away … one less thing for the demon to use against you, but she deserves to hear it from you Sammy. And, I think you need to do this.” Dean looked at his little brother and wished in that moment that Sam was six again and he could comfort him like he did when they were small. It seemed so easy then and he was always able to make him feel safe, make him feel better. But, this wasn’t a scraped knee or a bruised ego, and all he could think to do was reach over and cover his brother’s hand with his own and give a light squeeze.

“Yyy… you’re rrr…right about Sss…Sarah, I guess.” Sam conceded with a small smile. “Bbb…but whh…what www…will sss…she thh…think about me? Diff…erent.”

“Sam I told her about the accident and your head injury. She knows what to expect, and anyway it’s not like you’re drooling in a corner or something. You’re still you.”

“Easy fff…for you ttt…to say,” Sam started. “Yyy…you’re used ttt…to this now, bbb…but I knn…know in the begin…ning it www…was hard fff…for you I sss…saw it in your eyes.” Sam looked at his brother. “I’m bbb…brain ddd…dam…aged not bbb…blind,” Sam quipped. Dean looked at his brother as a smile crept at the edges of his mouth. His brother could choose the oddest moments to let his sense of humor come out. Like Big Brother, like little brother, he mused internally.

“You’re not brain damaged,” Dean replied insistently. He hated that label whether it was true or not he hated hearing it from his brother. Sam just gave him this look that said sell that denial somewhere else. “Well you’re not,” he reiterated again with an impassioned look in his eye. Sam shook his head lightly.

“Hey, I ddd…don’t lll…like any…more than you, bbb…but it is whh…what it is,” he conceded.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean’s reply was a little more caustic sounding than he had intended. He softened his voice. “I don’t want to hear you say it again though, alright?”

“I’m sss…scared Dean,” Sam responded quietly. Dean looked at his brother and recalled the last time he could remember his brother saying that very sentence. And, his mind was taken back to the night Sam had had his first waking vision about Max’s uncle dying from an unseen force snapping a window down on his neck. Sam had said he was scared then in the car. It had bothered Dean in that moment terribly, although he hadn’t admitted it to his brother, and now over a year later, that short sentence still bothered him.

“Sammy it’s gonna be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Sam turned glassy eyes to his brother and Dean’s heart broke. He was already a sucker for his brother’s puppy eyes, but when they were glassy with the threat of tears he almost coul