Summary:  Sam pays a high price after facing off with the Demon, and Dean refuses to lose the last of his family. He is determined to help Sam find his way back.
A/N:  Well, here we go again, another chapter story. I’m not sure how long this one will be, so I’ll play it by ear. This story may require some patience as it develops. There will be angst, but at the start the boys are in their own separate yet together (sort of) angst. I think you’ll understand once you begin to read. And, just a small head’s up you can expect to see Ellen and some of the other Roadhouse crew, but they won’t own the story, so fans that don’t like the girls, I think you can still stomach the story. And, there will be NO Dean/Jo relationship happening: friends, yeah, lovers, no way. Let me know what you think. Enjoy, I hope.
Disclaimer:  The characters of Supernatural were created by Eric Kripke and are owned by the CW Network. No profit is being made.

“Dammit,” Dr. Winters hissed. “Come on kid,” he grunted as he continued compressions. “When was the last Epi bolus?”

“Five minutes,” Kendra answered as another staff member squeezed the ambu bag over Sam’s face delivering breaths to his still lungs. The doctor shot her a solemn look and continued his compressions on Sam’s chest.

“Please, Sam,” his voice quietly commanding. “Come on give us something,” he looked at the heart monitor. Sam had been asystole with no rhythm since he crashed. He had hoped he could at least get his heart into a ventricular fibrillation, so he could shock him, but nothing was working. “How long has he been down?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Kendra replied. The doctor sighed and stopped delivering compressions to Sam.

“Sonofabitch,” he barked suddenly in anger. He dropped his head and looked at his young patient’s still face. “I’ll call it,” his voice was hesitant. He glanced at the heart monitor and the persistent flat line couldn’t be denied. He placed his stethoscope against Sam’s chest to verify there was no heart activity, and he placed his fingers at Sam’s neck and felt nothing. He glanced at the clock, “Time of death 23:41.” The staff backed away and began to file out of the room. Dr. Winters looked at Kendra as she shut off the wailing heart monitor dropping the room into a momentary silence. “Will you remove the monitors from him? I know Dean will want some time with him.”

“Of course,” her voice shook with emotion. “What happened?” She asked sadly. She couldn’t mask her confusion over how Sam’s heart had suddenly stopped.

“I don’t know. Perhaps, an arrhythmia brought on by a severe physically manifested memory that could have put him into a profound state of shock causing the respiratory failure and subsequent cardiac arrest. I can’t be certain, but an autopsy will determine cause of death, although we’ll never truly know. I need to go talk to Dean.” Kendra nodded and began to prepare Sam’s body for his brother’s impending visit.

Dean stood down the hall and had been watching the staff leave his brother’s room, but the orderly still blocked his return to his little brother’s room. He watched Dr. Winters leave the room and he saw his face and it spoke volumes.

“No!” he barked. His voice echoed down the quiet hallway to the unit. Dr. Winters hurried to Dean’s side.

“You can leave him be,” the doctor looked at the orderly urging him with his eyes to leave.

“No,” Dean said again forcefully. “Sammy’s okay. He’s fine. Tell me he’s okay,” Dean’s eyes were desperate and his voice agonized.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” the doctor began. “We weren’t able to get his heart beating again. He’s gone Dean.” Dean stared at the man in disbelief as large silent tears welled and poured in large droplets down his ashen cheeks.

Dean felt his knees give out and connect with the floor. He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew the doctor was trying to comfort him, but there was no comfort. Sam was gone. Sammy was dead. It was all too much and the thought that the last word he ever heard from his baby brother was his name screamed in a way that sounded like he needed his big brother to protect him, to keep him safe and he had failed. He did the only thing he could as the agony of Sam’s death wrapped its cold embrace around him, he screamed, “Sammy!” It was a loud, echoing primal scream. He rocked back on his folded legs and screamed again, “Sammy!” Before he allowed the grief to consume him.

Meanwhile, Sam’s Room

Kendra pulled the electrodes from Sam’s chest. She pushed back Sam’s bangs gently. She looked down at his face and noted his eyes were still partially open, so she dropped her hand carefully down and closed his eyes all the way.

…Sammy…

It was loud and clear. But, there was a desperate quality to it. Sam was in the house again. He rubbed his chest absently with one hand while another rubbed his neck. He wasn’t in the room anymore. There was no lamp cord around his neck. But, he felt a pull against him and the white-grey walls blurred around him drawing him into a place away from pain and memories. He felt he was on a tenuous slope and if he let go he’d never get back, but letting go meant letting the pain go and he’d finally be free of this empty house with echoes and doors, this limbo. But there was a shout, a voice…

…Sammy…

There is was again that word. He knew now it was his name. It was his name being screamed desperately from a voice that he knew to follow to safety; this voice was like a lightening rod to his brain. His mind ignited into a firestorm of memories, flashes filled his head. A montage of voices and pictures played through his mind, but his final flash was of hazel-green eyes and the name Dean.

Kendra was pulling up a sheet and blanket to neatly place across Sam’s chest when a loud struggling gasp tore from Sam’s silent body. His breath struggled and his chest rose and fell spastically with uneven breaths. She jerked away and stared wide-eyed. “Oh my God,” she covered her mouth in a combination of surprise and shock. She spilled out into the hallway. “Dr.Winters!” She shouted. The alarm in her voice was evident. “He’s breathing!” She shouted and motioned to her co-workers to bring back in the crash cart.

Dr. Winters took off running. “Dean wait here, please,” he barked as he ran toward Sam’s room. Dean was still on his knees as he watched the doctor’s fast retreating form disappear into his brother’s room.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered to himself frozen in place on the floor fearing if he moved it would end whatever dream world he had stumbled into where his little brother was alive.

Two Hours Later

“It beats the hell out of me,” Dr. Winters said rubbing a hand across his tired face. “In all my years I’ve never seen this before. I’ll have to assume that the last bolus of adrenalin we gave him worked and that there was some level of electrical activity in his heart that neither the equipment nor myself were able to detect, otherwise, I’d have to chalk this up to a miracle.” The doctor finished. He had explained a lot of things to Dean in the past two hours, but it was still all a little confusing to him even as a seasoned physician. He had never actually called time of death on a patient and then shortly after the patient gasp back to life.

“But, Sam’s okay though?” Dean shifted from one foot to another. He wanted to see his brother and touch him to confirm what the doctor was saying … Sam was alive; his baby brother was really alive.

“Well, as we discussed a while ago. I can’t explain the swelling in his throat, but we’re giving him IV steroids to help reduce the swollen airway. And, we’ve intubated him to insure he continues to have unrestricted breathing until the swelling goes down. It’s a damn mystery really. It’s almost like he was strangled by some kind of ligature device, maybe a cord or something.” He saw Dean’s face pale slightly. “What?”

“You said he could be reliving memories, right?”

“Yes,” the doctor hedged. Dean lowered his voice, so only the doctor was privy to his words.

“There was a hunt we were on a long time ago and Sam was strangled by a lamp cord by a poltergeist.” The doctor looked at him and couldn’t help but shake his head.

“And, what happened?”

“I got there in time, but I couldn’t get the cord off until I put this Hoodoo bag in the wall to cleanse the house. Sam had already stopped struggling …” Dean’s voice trailed off a bit as the long ago memory assaulted him. “He almost…he could have…” his speech was broken. “I got it off of him and he could breathe.”

“But,” the doctor looked at him with a look of eureka. “But, if you had been even a minute or two later,” he studied Dean. “Sam would have been lethally strangled?” He hedged.

“I guess so, but what does it matter he’s okay now, right?”

“In his mind Dean,” Dr. Winters began. “I’m thinking he has been having flashes like we spoke about. And, he shouted your name before he crashed on us. I think in his mind his memories of self are so fragmented that he relived the moment, but you weren’t there to save him because for him maybe he doesn’t have the memory of you, but at the last moment his subconscious connected the dots so to speak and he called out for you, but the subliminal effects of the memory manifested themselves physically in his body and he literally felt he was being strangled.” Dr. Winters seemed truly amazed with his hypothesis. “This is truly amazing, really.”

“Look I don’t really care about all … this mind mumbo jumbo doc,” Dean groused. “I just want to see my brother. I want him to be okay. I want him back,” Dean asserted.

Twenty Minutes Later, Sam’s Room

Dean sat holding Sam’s hand and listened to the whoosh of the ventilator. “Hey Sammy,” Dean cooed. “The doc says as soon as those meds kick in and your throat isn’t so swollen he can take that damn tube out of your throat, okay?” Sam didn’t stir. Dean sat watching is brother’s still features. He reached out and stroked his forehead with a thumb. “You scared me Sammy,” his voice shook. “Just hear me okay … come back … I’m here … I’ll always be here … you’re not alone Sammy.

…I’m here …you’re not alone Sammy…

Sam heard the voice, but he was tired, so tired and he just wanted to continue to float between the layers of unconsciousness he had slipped into. He was no longer in the house with blank walls; he was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

“Sammy come home,” Dean’s voice pleaded as he stroked Sam’s bangs. “Come home, Sammy. You hear me?”

…Come home …you hear me …Sammy…

The voice was fragmented, but for the first time he knew the voice … it was Dean. But, sleep pulled him under and he let it come blocking away the voice.

Two Days Later

“Why isn’t he waking up?” Dean’s voice held accusation sitting across from the doctor’s desk in his office.

“Dean,” Dr. Winters started. “Your brother’s body went through an extreme physical trial two days ago. He had an extended cardiac arrest. His body is getting the rest its demanding. He’s improving,” he added. “Look, on the bright side we were able to take him off the ventilator and his airway is no longer restricted. Be patient for him to wake up. But, Dean,” the doctor’s tone was hesitant.

“There is no guarantees that anything has changed … you know that right? I think some positive steps have been made in some respects as your brother’s mind begins to process memories, but chances are he’s not going to wake up and start razzing you and walk out of here in a day or two. He’s not sleeping beauty and he’s not just gonna open his eyes and everything is peaches and cream, there isn’t a magic cure for the psychological trauma he underwent when he went up against … the demon,” he finished the sentence in a lowered whisper. “Whatever took him away from reality and locked his mind away causing him to withdraw into the extreme state he’s been in for the last eight months…” Dean interrupted the doctor.

“I know Doc okay. I’m not delusional. But, some kind of improvement isn’t out of the question, right?” Dean hedged.

“No, but…” Dean raised a hand. He didn’t want to hear anything else that was going to tell him his brother may still be lost, maybe forever.

Later that Afternoon, Sam’s Room

Dean had been ever vigilant since he almost lost Sam two nights ago. Actually, he had lost him, but something gave him back and he wasn’t asking why he was only thankful. Sam stirred and Dean sat up straighter in his chair hopeful that his brother would at least open his eyes. Sam’s eyes opened slowly and he squinted at the sunlight breaking through his window in the corner shedding a beam of light across his bed. “Sammy? It’s okay kiddo,” Dean tried to reassure his brother and hoped his words reached deep into the recesses of his brother’s mind where his Sammy was being held captive. He stroked Sam’s arm gently. “Sammy you’re safe,” his voice was quiet and comforting. “I’m here little brother.”

…Sammy…you’re safe…I’m here…

Sam heard that voice and for once he truly could put a name to its familiarity. He turned his head toward the voice. Dean sat in stunned silence and dared to hope. He stared at Sam as their eyes met. Hazel-green meeting dark pools that were actually seeing.

“Dean?” It was whispered, choked and desperate. Dean leaned forward and took his brother’s hand in his own.

“Yeah, Sammy. It’s me. I’m here, are you?” Dean wasn’t sure his brother was actually talking to him or a memory. Sam looked at him oddly.

“Am I here?” He asked curiously. “I’m talking to you aren’t I?” Dean dared to smile and even allow a quiet chuckle to leave his throat. He watched Sam look around the room idly from his vantage point on the bed. “Where are we?”

“Um,” Dean suddenly felt at a loss. His mind overwhelmed by the sound of his brother’s voice and his apparent sudden and complete return to the wise ass little brother he had missed these past eight months. His mind asking one question: Is this to good to be true? And, knowing their luck he feared it was. Sam looked at his brother’s pensive face and frowned. “I asked you a question man,” he coughed slightly at his dry and sore throat. It ached as though it hadn’t really been used in a long time. “Where are we?”

Dean snapped from his stupor of stunned silence. “Uh, I’ll get your doctor Sammy, Okay? He’s a good guy you’ll like him.” Dean started to stand.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was suddenly urgent. “What doctor? Why do I have a doctor? Was there an accident? Dammit,” he hissed in frustration edging on panic. “Talk to me!” His heart monitor began to show his elevated heart rate. Dean cast a worried glance.

“Hey, hey,” Dean leaned forward and dropped a hand on Sam’s forearm. “Calm down okay,” he calmly tried to order. “I’ll get Doc Winters in here and we’ll talk.”

“No!” Sam spat. “Why am I here?”

“What do you remember?” Dean asked suddenly before he could stop himself. Sam looked at Dean as he tried desperately to grasp onto one memory that told him of his life before this moment in this room. He knew his big brother, but as he tried to push into his mind and access his life he suddenly felt overwhelmed by fear, loss and a profound turmoil. His eyes went wide and his breath hitched in his throat. “Sammy?” Dean stood up instantly recognizing his sibling was on the ragged edge of holding it together. “It’s okay,” he urged. “Just relax … you’re okay.”

“No, no,” Sam’s eyes welled up in response to his fear and uncertainty. “Dean, why can’t I remember what happened? I can’t …” Sam suddenly turned on is his side away from his brother drawing his knees tightly up to his chest. Sam wanted to become as small as he could, so he might disappear from the pain, from this nightmare he felt he’d woken up to. Dean’s heart started to hammer in his chest. He strode to the door quickly and opened it. He spotted Julia, Sam’s day nurse.

“Julia,” his voice was urgent. “Page Dr. Winters, Sam woke up.” Her eyes studied him.

“Wait, you mean he woke up, woke up?” Dean nodded. She stood quickly to grab the phone on the opposite desk.

“Tell him to hurry, he’s upset, I’m afraid…” his voice trailed off as he heard Sam’s muffled sobs behind him. He turned back to help his brother. Dean walked back up to the bed. Sam looked so small curled up against the bed railing crying. “Sammy, shh,” Dean tried to comfort. He was at a loss at how to handle this. As Sam continued to sob with his face turned into his pillow something clicked in Dean and he did what he used to do for a crying baby Sammy. He lowered one of the bedrails and climbed into his brother’s bed. He curled himself as much as he could around his little brother. He slid one arm under Sam’s neck and slipped the other protectively around his brother’s shaking form. He held him close and rocked him. Dean rested his chin atop Sam’s chestnut hair. “It’s okay Sammy. Shh, it’s okay. Shh, I got ya little brother, I got ya.” Dean’s mind was pulled back to what he had said to his brother after the battle with the demon. The same words, but this time he wasn’t losing Sam again. He wasn’t going to let his brother slip away again. “Don’t go away again,” Dean begged softly. “Sammy, I’m here. You’re safe. Shh…” He felt one of Sam’s hands wrap around the wrist of the arm wrapped across his chest and his little brother squeezed. Sam’s sobbing had hushed to quiet whimper.

Dean held his brother and in many ways he felt tethered to him as if his own sanity hinged on Sam holding onto this world and not slipping away into his own mind once again. Both brothers clung to the only constant they’d known practically their entire lives, each other.

Dean paced nervously down the hallway in the small waiting area near the nurse’s desk. Dr. Winters had been inside Sam’s room for over an hour now and Dean was ready to burst. When Dr. Winters had arrived Sam was still clinging to Dean. His whimpering had stopped and he had sunk into self rocking again. Dean hadn’t been able to get his brother to speak to him again and he was afraid he would lose him once more. Finally, Dean spotted the doctor leaving Sam’s room. He watched him speak to Julia, Sam’s day nurse and she nodded going to the medication room. The doctor shifted his gaze down the hall and began walking toward Dean. The doctor pulled his badge off and ran it through the security system lock and the door snapped open so he could reach Dean at the nurse’s station on the other side of the security door.

“How are you holding up?” He offered a soft reassuring smile toward Dean.

“How’s Sam?” Dean cut right to business. The doctor could see the tight lines of stress at the corners of Dean’s mouth.

“Let’s talk in my office,” he reached a hand out and coaxed Dean toward the direction of the clinical wing.

“No, I want to see my brother. I want to see Sam,” Dean slipped out from under the doctor’s hand.

“Later Dean,” Dr. Winters began. “I instructed Julia to give him a mild sedative so he can get some restful sleep. Right now, I think it’s more important that we talk.”

“No,” Dean was adamant to get some answers right now. “I asked how my brother was and you can answer that without an office. He’s okay, right? He didn’t …” Dean struggled to find a word that would fit, and finally with a frustrated sigh and running a nervous hand over his eyes he spoke, “He didn’t slip away again … his mind.” Dr. Winters could see the carefully masked fear on the oldest siblings face concerning his little brother.

“No,” the doctor hedged. “But, it’s complicated. I’d prefer we speak in my office. Please, Dean,” the doctor encouraged.

“What do you mean by complicated?” The doctor sighed.

“You are as stubborn as your father was,” the doctor let out a frustrated breath. Dean looked at the man for a moment. He knew that this doctor knew Ellen and had been a hunter once upon a time, but it had never occurred to him that he might have known his dad.

“You knew my dad?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, John and I crossed paths more than once. “Hell, we even went on some jobs together, but mostly he liked solo hunts.” The doctor commented. “He was a good man, but one very stubborn sonofabitch,” the man replied with a wry smile. Dean offered a mild grin in return.

“Yeah, it’s a Winchester thing,” he replied.

“I guess so,” the doctor quipped. “Now, can we go to my office? Trust me,” he reassured. “Sam will be fast asleep after the sedative, okay? He’ll be fine.” Dean acquiesced and followed the doctor to his office.

Thirty Minutes Later, Dr. Winters Office

“So, do you have any questions?” Dean shifted agonized eyes toward the doctor. He had so many questions and didn’t even know where to start after their conversation. The doctor picked up on that and spoke again. “Dean, I know you’re unsure about a lot of things and you have tons of questions. So, don’t rake yourself over the coals trying to think of all of them now, okay?” Dean let out a breath and nodded.

“Explain to me again,” Dean started. “Sam’s not completely withdrawn again, but he’s had a setback … what are you saying? I mean, is he responding when you speak to him? Is he talking? Or is he like he was before staring off and needing fed?”

“Well, like I told you I was able to get Sam to speak to me, but his responses were limited and he was clearly distressed. I’m sure he’ll be aware enough to feed himself, but he may need coaxing. Dean, it’s likely that he’s going to have more setbacks as we work toward helping him come to terms with whatever happened to him when he faced the demon and banished him.”

“So, you’re saying he could go back to staring off into space?” Dean’s rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.

“It’s possible, but I’m going to do everything I can to keep him in the here and now and not let him withdraw back into his mind.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Dean cast a worried glance at the doctor.

“Well, as I mentioned I will be handling his therapy sessions myself, so that he can be free to express whatever he needs to without fear of being labeled delusional when or if he starts speaking of the demon and other things. And, I’ll be trying some other medications.”

“You said his memory is sketchy,” Dean hedged. “What do you mean? He’s got amnesia or something?”

“No, I mean he’s lost some chunks of time. He knows you Dean, but he’s lost some time,” the doctor didn’t elaborate, but Dean wanted answers.

“He’s lost time,” Dean started. “How much? I mean, what does he remember?”

“Well, he wasn’t very talkative Dean. I told him I just wanted to ask him some brief questions, and I asked him the year,” the doctor’s voice trailed off.

“And,” Dean nearly barked.

“He said it was 2006,” Dr. Winters answered bluntly. Dean’s eyes were wide.

“But it’s 2008,” he responded no longer able to mask his worry. “It’s been two years since our dad,” Dean’s voice trailed off. “He’s lost two years,” Dean’s tone was incredulous. “That means he doesn’t even remember facing off with the demon or a whole lot of other stuff that’s happened.” Dean suddenly shifted anguished eyes to the doctor. “Shit,” he hissed. “Does he even know our dad’s dead? Does he remember the car wreck?” Dean felt bile creeping up in his throat as he waited for the doctor’s answer. And, when it didn’t come within seconds he barked, “What does he remember?”

“Being in Manning, Colorado,” the doctor answered. “That’s all he answered when I asked him where he remembered being last before waking up here. He began to get more agitated with himself and lack of ability to access his memories for concrete details, so I shifted to just talking to him about what I’ll be doing to help him. It’s important that you don’t force the issue Dean. He needs to remember on his own. “What does Manning, Colorado mean to you?”

“That’s where we hooked up with our Dad again. We went up against some vampires.” Dean leaned forward into his hands. “God, there’s so much he doesn’t even remember that’s happened. He doesn’t know about Dad being taken and possessed, the cabin and the demon. The car wreck or Dad dying. Hell, he doesn’t even know Ellen and the roadhouse.” Dean’s mind was reeling. There was so much Sam didn’t remember. His mind was locked away from memories of Andy and his twin brother Webber. He’d lost memories of the truth about him and the children like him. He’d lost so much, and part of Dean wished some of it could be permanently lost to his little brother.

“Will he get the time back?”

“Hard to say, but eventually I think he will or at least I hope. Things are going to be precarious for a while Dean. Like I told you a while back there isn’t a quick fix for this. As he remembers things he’s going to experience them all over again.”

“If he thinks our Dad is still alive he’s going to ask where he is or to see him,” Dean hedged. “What do I say?”

“Not the truth,” The doctor warned. “Tell him whatever you have to in order to pacify him, but he needs to remember on his own. Forcing him into the memory before he’s ready could have devastating results.” Dean nodded solemnly.

“Did he ask why he’s here? I mean, what did you tell? Obviously not … you lost your mind after banishing the demon.” Dean turned hard eyes on the doctor.

“No you’re right about that,” Dr. Winters replied. “I told him he suffered a trauma that affected his brain. I told him not to worry about it and that we were doing everything we can to help him heal.”

“Does he know how long he’s been in here?”

“No, not yet,” the doctor answered. “When I feel he is a little more ready I’ll broach the subject with him.”

“What if he asks?”

“Then I will tell him or I’ll let you do it with me present should he have an outburst. But, we’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean relented. “I want to see him?”

“Fine, but you’re in agreement that he needs a few days of intensive one on one therapy to help him adjust to his current situation, so it would be best if you didn’t visit for a few days. I really do feel it’s for the best, and I promise to phone you with progress reports or we can even meet in my office, but its best that Sam is on his own with myself and the staff for a few days.”

“I know,” Dean’s voice was reluctant. “I just don’t want him thinkin’ that I bailed on him.”

“He won’t Dean. I’ve already spoken to him and told him that I’d like some one on one time and for you to give us a few days.”

“Yeah, fine,” he acquiesced. “But, I want to see him before I go.”

“Sure. Of course. I’ll walk you there myself.”

Ten Minutes Later, Sam’s Room

Dean knocked gently on the already open door. Sam was curled on his side with his back to the door. Dean walked quietly around to the side of his brother’s bed to see his little brother’s face. His eyes were closed and his breathing was deep and even. He hesitated at waking his sibling, but he couldn’t just leave and not say anything.

“Sammy?” His voice was quiet and gentle. “Hey, sleeping beauty,” he urged. He ran a tentative hand through his brother’s shaggy hair. “Sammy, can you here me?” He watched his brother’s face scrunch up and then he saw bleary eyes crack open at half mast.

“Dean?” The voice was a croaked whisper laced with confusion.

“Yeah, kiddo, it’s me,” Dean answered with a soft smile. Sam opened his eyes a little more fully and took note of the bedrail and the fogginess of the sedative only helped to curb the anxiety a small fraction. His heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm and his breath hitched suddenly as his eyes began to dart around scanning rapidly the half of the room he could see from lying on his side. “Hey, hey,” Dean urged. “It’s okay Sammy. You’re okay. You remember where you are and talking to your doctor?” Sam studied his brother’s face for a long moment and calmed his breathing.

“Dr. Winters,” he answered with a hesitant voice. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he tried to make his voice sound upbeat, but it fell a little short. “Um, do you remember what he talked to you about a little bit ago? That he wants some one on one time with you…” Dean tried to approach the topic of him not being around for a few days. Sam blinked lethargically as the sedative in his system began to rear its ugly head once more.

“Said you’d go away,” he began to slur as the adrenalin upon waking was quickly being wicked away by the sedative.

“Listen Sammy, I’m not going away. I’ll be back in a few days. The doc just thinks its better right now if you have some time with him. You hearin’ me?” Dean pushed back his brother’s bangs trying to rouse him as he watched his eyes glaze over slightly and begin to close. “Sammy?”

“Hmm,” he mumbled as he slipped toward the comforting sedative laced sleep awaiting him.

“Sammy, you need me you ask okay? I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back,” he urged. Sam opened his eyes a fraction and peered at his big brother through heavy eyelids. Dean reached down and held one of his brother’s hands. “You hear me? I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back. I promise.” Sam offered an uncoordinated nod.

“Not leaving me,” he mumbled. “Be back … promise,” he slurred and his eyes lost the battle with sleep and slid closed. Dean looked up and saw the doctor standing in the doorway watching.

“He’s not gonna remember I spoke to him,” Dean worried that his brother would think he’d been abandoned. Dean remained by his brother holding his lax hand in his own.

“If he thinks that Dean,” the doctor began. “I’ll remind him that you were here and that he and I spoke about you staying away for a little bit.” Dean nodded. He started to let go of his brother’s hand when he felt Sam squeeze it and stir slightly.

“Sammy?” He questioned and was surprised to see eyes flutter open a small bit.

“Dean,” Sam slurred.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Dad,” he mumbled. “Get Dad,” he sighed as his eyes began to close once more. Dean felt his throat tighten and he looked up and saw the doctor’s dark expression and urgent shake of his head indicating that he couldn’t tell him the truth.

“Sammy, Dad’s not here right now, okay? You hear me?” He fought to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Where?” was the quietly emitted question. Sam’s eyes were still closed, but he stirred fighting the complete pull of the sedative. “Hunting?” left Sam’s mouth as a mumble and slur, but Dean had understood. He felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes, but he kept the impending tears from his voice.

“Yeah, Sammy,” his reply was soft and gruff. “Dad’s hunting. Go to sleep Sammy, it’s okay to sleep.”

“ ‘Kay,” was spoken as a breathy sigh and Sam slipped fully under the pull of the sedative still in his system. Dean let go of his brother’s hand and pulled the blanket up over his sibling’s shoulder and walked toward the door.

“You did the right thing Dean,” Dr. Winters replied as he closed Sam’s door once Dean was out. “He’ll remember in his own time.”

“You’ve got four days and I’m comin’ back,” Dean’s voice commanding.

“I think a solid week would be better,” the doctor suggested lightly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not leavin’ him in here for seven days all by himself. Four days.”

“Fine,” the doctor gave in to the older sibling’s demands.

“And, you call if anything and I mean anything happens,” he asserted. “And, I’m comin’ everyday to get progress reports.” The doctor quietly admired Dean’s loyalty and sense of guardianship he had for his little brother.

“Alright,” he agreed. “And, how about we have a standing appointment everyday in my office at 4:00 PM, sound good?”

“Yeah.” Dean cast one final glance through the small window in his brother’s door and looked at Sam curled up just as he had left him and was still sleeping soundly.

Twenty Minutes Later, the Stillwater Center Parking Lot

Dean sat in the Impala his hands trembling as they encircled the steering wheel. He leaned forward dropping his forehead against his white knuckled hands and cried. He hadn’t felt the crippling grief and anger over his father’s sacrifice and subsequent death in a long while. He had never let go of it, but had moved on from it for his and Sammy’s sake. It had been his little brother that was his saving grace for that trying time in both their lives and for Sam to not remember felt like a gut punch. The grief had scarred over, but now it was a fresh wound again bleeding with ferocity. The sobs came in waves that shook him and he realized with a sudden cold fear that his baby brother would literally relive the loss when he remembered about their father and in that clarity of thought his tears came even harder. Dean Winchester cried for himself and his little brother and the fact that he couldn’t protect Sammy from the impending pain of their father’s death or anything else for that matter when it came to Sam’s memories of the last two years. And, that realization left Dean fractured like old china plate.

Sam sat at a corner table in the sunroom watching other patients do afternoon activities under directions of aides and caregivers. He saw others sitting quietly while some interacted with one another playing checkers or backgammon. He missed his brother, but the doctor had assured him that Dean would be back in four days. He had three whole days left before his brother returned.

“Sam,” Dr. Winters voice broke through Sam’s quiet stupor. “Sam I need you to focus for me, alright?” The doctor slid a piece of paper back and forth on the table to get his attention. Sam’s eyes shifted lethargically to the paper. The doctor opened a box of crayons and fanned them out. “Sam do you think you could draw me a picture?”

Sam looked at the doctor with a raised eyebrow. Dr. Winters smiled. “Yeah, I know,” he replied. “You’re not a kid, but humor me, okay?” He replied with an amused tone. The doctor saw a brief flicker of the brother Dean had told him of when he had raised his eyebrow in apprehension and then the moment was gone. He pointed to the paper trying to keep Sam’s attention on the task at hand. The young man’s mind seemed to teeter on the jagged edge and he was trying to hold him to the here and now. His young patient seemed to have only a few moments of real and active lucidity. And, the doctor wasn’t fooled into thinking that the youngest Winchester sibling was anywhere near a recovery.

“Sam, I want you to draw me a picture of your brother or something that represents him.” He decided to start with Dean as a topic before he tried to make Sam represent himself on paper. Sam’s eyes seemed to wander off again and the doctor snapped his fingers in Sam’s line of sight. “Come on Sam, keep focused. Try.” He snapped until Sam’s eyes drifted back and met his before looking at the paper. “Do you remember what I asked you to do?”

“Draw Dean,” he answered quietly.

“Yes, good,” the doctor confirmed. “Or draw something that represents him.” He watched Sam look over his selection of crayons and watched him select yellow. Sam proceeded to draw a simple circle and color it in and then added radiating yellow lines from the orb. The doctor smiled. Sam had drawn a sun. His young patient slid the paper back across the small table to the doctor.

“Dean,” Sam replied softly.

“Excellent Sam,” the doctor reassured. “Can you tell me why you chose a sun to represent your older brother?” Sam’s eyes were drifting away again and the doctor snapped his fingers once again. “Focus Sam. Right here,” the doctor referenced to himself. Sam slowly brought his eyes back toward the doctor. “Sam why did you choose the sun for Dean?”

“Makes it go away,” he answered timidly in an absent sort of tone.

“Makes what go away?” The doctor pushed forward. “Sam,” he encouraged. “Makes what go away?”

“The dark,” Sam replied and seem to draw up into himself quickly before the doctor could slow his decent into himself. The slips weren’t major, but he worried just the same.

“Sam, stay with me,” he tried to call him back, but Sam had dropped his head and was staring at his hands. “Sam, can you tell me about the dark?” Dr. Winters spoke evenly and in a low timbre trying to coax his patient into engaging in a discourse. “The dark Sam,” he asserted. “What about the dark?”

“No!” Sam yelled suddenly. “Nononono,” he began to chant as he started rocking in his chair wrapping his arms around himself. The doctor motioned for a nurse and he quickly administered a mild sedative to calm Sam, so they could get him back to his room. Some of the other patients watched as if it were entertainment while others didn’t even seem to notice the outburst. They moved Sam into a wheelchair and the doctor followed alongside the wheelchair.

“It’s going to be okay Sam,” he placed a hand gently on his patients shoulder. “We’ll get you sorted out.”

One Hour Later, Sam’s Room

And, with sleep came the house and its white-grey walls. The sedatives no longer lulled him away from the emptiness and echoes as they were always waiting when his eyes closed. He walked around the room and noticed a small lamp had appeared on the table near the solitary chair. The bulb was dim and flickering, but it lit a small portion of the shadows, but not enough, it would never be enough. Sam found a corner and slid down the wall pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around them. He sat silently until his eyes cast up toward the dim light emitting from the lamp and his gaze was drawn to the book. He longed to feel the pages again. He rose up just enough to snatch it from the table and went back to his position on the floor. He looked at the wooden chair and he didn’t want it, so he gave it an angry shove with his foot as he propped the book in his lap.

He opened it and saw knew words, but now the one he had seen before, but couldn’t define made perfect sense …brother and he traced the word and smiled. He turned the page and noticed more words arranged almost as if they were a shopping list: Father, mother, lost, and as his eyes read over the final words and his world seemed to close in on him a little more, two words in simple black lettering, the dark. He threw the book under the table and watched it skid across the wood floor. “No,” he whispered. And, the voices came again.

…Then why’d you get so angry when I left…

…You gotta understand Sammy…

…Why’d you do it…

…Because they got in the way…

…In the way of what…

…My plans for you Sammy and the children like you…

“Nononono,” Sam began muttering as he curled against the wall knocking his head against it in rhythm to his muttering. And, as his aggression grew he hit harder and harder. “Nonononono.”

Dr. Winters approached Sam’s room to check on him after the sedative. Dean was scheduled to show for a progress report in three hours, so he had time. Sam had been cooperative, so they hadn’t restrained him. He slid his ID through the locking mechanism on Sam’s door. His eyes quickly noticed the empty bed. He heard a noise and walked toward the other side of Sam’s bed. “Sam! No!” the doctor went to grab the young man. Sam was huddled against the wall banging his head repeatedly. There was blood splattered against the wall leaving a blotchy red impact mark on the pristine white wall and the right side of Sam’s face was a sheen of blood. “Help! We have a situation!” the doctor barked. And, just as he reached Sam’s he watched Sam bang his head one final time violently denting the drywall. Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head as he lost consciousness.

“Shit!” the doctor hissed as medical staff came flooding into Sam’s room. The doctor took out a penlight and looked into Sam’s eyes. “Well, it’s a safe bet the kid has gone and given himself one hell of a concussion. Kendra, call the Medical Unit and tell them I need a stat MRI and I’m placing him on the Med Unit for observation.” Kendra nodded and stood up as other staff helped the doctor. “Dammit Sam,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have had you restrained.” His eyes studied the pale face of his patient as he listened to his heart and breathing. “Geez, you’re a mess,” he took in the side of Sam’s face covered in blood.

Two Hours Later, the Medical Unit, South Wing

“Well, Shawn, how is he?” Dr. Winters asked his long time friend who was the Chief of Staff in their Neurological Studies Department.

“His MRI was clean,” Dr. Shawn Nish, began. “No skull fracture or hemorrhage, so that’s good. He has a moderate concussion and the scans show very minor edema. I’ve put him on a mannitol drip as a precaution for the swelling, but I don’t anticipate it causing a problem. You know Mark I did a PET scan of his brain and well to put it bluntly man, he’s trippin’. His brain is lit up like the freakin’ Fourth of July. How’s this kid even functioning?”

“I wouldn’t call what he’s been doing technically functioning,” Marcus started. “Did you read any of his file?”

“Yeah, I saw until recently he’s been in this atypical catatonia for eight months, but he woke up confused, and started talking like everything was fine, right?”

“Well, he asked his brother where he was, but I wouldn’t say he woke up normally. He became emotionally distraught fairly quick and regressed quickly to a more childlike response pattern of rocking and crying.”

“Hmm,” Shawn replied. “You gonna tell me what got him in here?”

“Can’t Shawn and frankly I’m still workin’ that part out.” Shawn Nish looked at his friend he’d known since college, both men were now in their mid forties, but Shawn had always seemed to maintain his California boy attitude from his youth before winding up in Nebraska at Stillwater a number of years later and meeting up with Marcus once again.

Shawn glanced around to make sure the scan analysis room was clear except for them, “does this have anything to do with that freaky stuff you used to go after? He hunt like you used to? He’s just a kid.” Marcus nodded. He had told Shawn about the supernatural and hunting years ago out of necessity because they had gone on a camping trip to celebrate their approaching end of fourth year in their medical residency before accepting offers at other hospitals and saying goodbye. Unfortunately, the lunar cycle had been perfect for werewolves and they had had a run in with one until Marcus took it down with a silver bullet.

“Yes, he’s a hunter,” Marcus relented. “But mum’s the word, right?”

“I’m not saying anything. Even after seeing what I saw all those years ago … I still have trouble getting my mind around it. I’m just glad you retired, so to speak,” he said with a grin. “Damn, I was always expecting Camille to call and tell me she was a widow because you got your ass killed by Frankenstein or something.” Marcus laughed.

“Frankenstein isn’t real,” he mused. “Vampires, yeah, but Frankenstein,” he just shook his head with a smile. “You watch too many movies.”

“Yeah, right,” he chuckled. “It’s not my fault I went to college with the modern day Van Helsing.”

“Yeah, yeah, but what about Sam,” he wanted to get back to his patient’s diagnosis.

“Huh? Oh yeah,” he grinned. “Uh, his head should be just fine. He gave himself a scalp laceration at his hair line. It took six stitches, but it’s fine. He’s responsive to pain stimuli, but he’s still unconscious for the most part. I suspect he’ll come around in a couple hours or so. You know if he decides to become agitated or combative I can’t sedate him,” he warned. “It could cause a coma.”

“I know. Maybe give a low dose anti-anxiety to avoid any possible sedative effects, okay?”

“Yeah, you want to see him?”

“Yes.”

Marcus stood alone at his patient’s bed side. Sam’s face was stark white and lax. The monitors all showed a good pulse and oxygen levels. He pulled back each of Sam’s eyelids to confirm with his own eyes that his young charge wasn’t in any immediate medical crisis. The pupils reacted to the light albeit slightly unequal, but he knew that was the concussions doing. He looked over the four point restraints and made sure they were comfortably applied. “Sam? I wish I could tell you everything is going to be alright, but I can’t. I hope it will be. I’m going to try and help you, I can promise you that much. You’re going to have to remember things you don’t want to and you’re going to be scared, I know, but you have to try okay. I’ll help.” He spoke softly to his unconscious patient hoping that his words were reaching him, even if just a little. He looked at his watch and decided he better call Dean now rather than wait until he arrived for his appointment.

The Roadhouse, Ten Minutes Later

The ringing phone caught Dean’s attention as he stocked the bar. “Harvelle’s Roadhouse,” he said into the phone.

“Dean?”

“Dr. Winters?” His voice was confused and concerned. “I’m not late am I?” Dean looked at his watch. “My appointment about Sam is at 4:00, right?”

“Huh? No Dean you’re not late. You’re right it’s at 4:00, but I thought you may want to come earlier.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Sam sort of decided to try his hand at making his head a battering ram,” the doctor tried to make his response light. The older sibling had a tendency to go ape wild quickly when it concerned his little brother’s wellbeing.

“He what?” Dean was confused. “Battering ram? Did he hit his head?” He barked into the phone.

“Well,” the doctor hedged a second. “I think a closer description would be he repeatedly knocked it into his bedroom wall. He’s been admitted to the Medical Wing with a moderate concussion.”

“Sonofabitch!” Dean hissed. “You were supposed to be looking out for him. How bad is it? God, he’s not in a …” he couldn’t even voice the word coma. The doctor seemed to understand what word had been deleted.

“No, Dean, there’s no coma. Our staff neurologist thinks he’ll start to wake up in another hour or two, and he’s says Sam will be just fine. He took six stitches in his forehead, but he’s going to be okay.”

“What the hell happened? What do you people do? He shouldn’t have been able to hurt himself,” Dean’s anger was evident in his voice.

“I know,” the doctor conceded. “I take full responsibility. He became a little upset in his session today, and I gave him a mild sedative, but I didn’t have him restrained because he wasn’t combative, but when I came to check on him he was in a withdrawn state and was saying ‘no’ over and over and he was knocking his head against the wall. Look, it’s my fault, okay. The sedative can in some patients cause sleep walking and in your brother’s case most likely allowed him to remain in his dream state and act it out in the real world. It won’t happen again Dean.”

“I’m on my way,” he ground out over the phone line. “And, I better not get any shit for wanting to see him. Fuck these four days away from him shit. I’m seein’ him.” Marcus grimaced to himself. Dean Winchester was beyond angry and he knew he was at the front lines of that rage.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Winters agreed quickly. “And, I’m sorry; I really thought separating the two of you even for the short term might jump start his recovery. It was a poor decision on my part.”

“You’re damn right it was a poor decision. I should have never agreed to it, shit!” Dean hissed into the phone. Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose as Dean hissed into the phone his rage practically dripping out of the phone.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the South Wing where the Medical Unit is located, alright?” The doctor decided he’d be as brief as possible, so Dean didn’t become anymore agitated than he already was.

“Whatever,” Dean’s tone was clipped as he slammed the phone down. Marcus sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Dean was a lot like John and just as fierce. He was going to have his hands full.

One Hour Later, the Medical Wing

Dean sat in a hard plastic chair next to Sam’s bed. The reassuring calm beep of the heart monitor was calming Dean. He had spent thirty minutes with Dr. Winters when he’d first arrived and then he’d been introduced to Dr. Nish who was in charge of Sam’s care while in the Medical wing. He could still feel his blood pressure coming down after his loud venting session with Dr. Winters. He looked at Sam’s peaceful face and still managed to feel a sense of loss for a little brother he feared may be too broken to ever fully mend and be what he had been. Dean shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s a damn good thing that yellow-eyed bastard is sitting in hell Sammy,” Dean whispered his thoughts out loud. “If that sucker wasn’t banished for a millennia I’d track his ass to the ends of the earth because of what facing him did to you.” Dean’s eyes were haunted. “Sammy, I know you did the ritual because you felt it was the only way to buy us, hell, the world some time to figure out a way to face the bastard when he comes back, but you know what kiddo, the price was too high. It’s not your job to save mankind.” He reached up and stroked his brother’s forehead. He frowned at the two steri-strips covering the six stitches at his hairline.

“I ripped Dr. Winters a new one. You got hurt on his watch and…” Dean’s voice broke off as Sam stirred in the bed. “Sammy? Sammy, can you hear me?” He watched Sam turn his head toward his voice, but his eyes remained closed. “Hey, Sammy, come on little brother, open those puppy eyes of yours,” he said with a smile. He watched Sam’s eyes flutter toward consciousness and open slowly. Dark eyes settled on hazel-green.

“Hey,” Sam whispered through a dry throat. Dean smiled warmly at his younger sibling.

“Hey, yourself,” Dean replied softly. “How’s your head?” Sam scrunched his face in response.

“Headache,” he answered simply. He finally took notice of the different surroundings as coherency settled over the fog from waking up. His eyes darted around and he tried to sit up, but was prevented by the restraints. He looked hard at the restraints and gave them an irritated yank. “Get these the hell of me,” he spat as he jerked them again.

“Calm down, Sammy,” Dean stood instantly. “I’ll get them off, okay. Stop pulling on them,” he commanded. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“What the hell is going on?” Sam demanded. “I’m not some fuckin’ loon that needs tied up,” he asserted. Sam studied Dean’s carefully masked expression as he proceeded to undo the restraints binding Sam to the bed. “Answer me!”

“Sam,” a voice from the doorway inserted itself into the moment. It was Dr. Winters. “You need to calm down and act rationally, alright? This isn’t your brother’s fault. He wasn’t the one to put you in the restraints. It was me. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself again.” Sam looked at the man with a confused face.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t…” he stopped speaking as his eyes shifted around the room more fully as he sat up when the last restraint had been removed. “Where am I? This isn’t my room.”

“No, you’re in the Medical wing getting treatment for a concussion. And, you have some stitches on your forehead.” The doctor offered simply.

“Concussion?” Sam questioned absently. “But, I don’t … what happened?” Sam lifted his hand and let tentative fingers feel for the wound the doctor spoke of.

“Sammy, be careful,” Dean gently pulled his brother’s hand away from irritating the fresh stitches. “It’s just six stitches, okay. Leave em’ alone.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“I imagine the sedative we gave you allowed you to sleep walk,” Dr. Winters replied. “You weren’t being combative, so I didn’t have you restrained. This is my fault. You were able to hurt yourself.”

“I did this to myself?” Sam turned scared eyes toward his big brother.

“It’s gonna be okay Sammy,” Dean assured. “I’m just glad you got a hard head.” He quipped trying to soften the tense moment.

“What’d I do?”

“Um,” Dean began and stopped the doctor from adding his two cents when it looked like he was about to speak. “You decided to drum out Stairway to Heaven on the wall in your room, but with your head,” Dean offered lightly. “We might want to take that show on the road,” he threw in when he saw the fear slipping into his brother’s eyes and wanted to chase it away any way he could. It worked slightly as he watched Sam’s eyes soften just a fraction and the faintest hint of a smile turned up the edges of his mouth, and he was avoided with one dimple.

“I bashed my own head?”

“Yeah, but it’s over now,” Dean reached up and gently grasped his brother’s forearm and squeezed. The doctor stepped further into the room.

“Sam, as soon as you’re released from the Medical unit we’ll get you settled back in your room and start with your sessions, okay? We’ll get you sorted out.” Sam shifted his gaze from the doctor back to his brother looking for assurances that he only trusted coming from his big brother. Dean smiled and gave a small nod.

“Okay, Sammy?” Dean spoke.

“Yeah,” Sam felt confused and afraid, but he’d trust Dean that this was the right place for him, at least for now. “I don’t want those anymore,” Sam flicked a dangling restraint with a free hand. “I’m not crazy.”

“No, you’re not crazy,” the doctor replied with a small smile. He had always hated the term crazy. “But, Sam I’ve mentioned your disassociation episodes and sometimes you become combative and you could become a danger to yourself or others. Unfortunately, right now they are a necessary evil. After your latest episode I’d like to use them when you’re sleeping, otherwise, I’ll have to assign a night caregiver who will have to sit and watch you while you sleep to insure your safety.” Sam shook his head.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice chimed in. “Look, I know you don’t need a sitter, but you could have really hurt yourself, so can you humor your big brother and let them use the restraints at night. It’s not forever.” Sam’s face was crestfallen, but he acquiesced to his brother’s request only because he could see the deeply buried concern Dean was trying so hard to mask from him. Sam nodded.

“That’s my boy,” Dean replied as he gently rubbed Sam’s forearm and patted it before lifting his hand. Sam looked at his brother and Dean noticed it was a questioning look. “What?”

“I thought you were staying away for a few days. I remember that,” Sam replied quietly. “So, I could have time with the doc,” Sam shifted his gaze to the doctor and back to his brother. “That was said, right?”

“Yeah, Sammy, but I’m comin’ everyday. I already talked to the doc.” Dean cast a hard look at the doctor and Sam noticed.

“It’s not his fault Dean,” Sam suggested.

“Your brother’s right to be upset with me Sam. A patient doesn’t come into a medical facility to be injured, but to be healed.” The doctor was pleased that Sam appeared to be very lucid and engaging with conversation, but Sam was the proverbial still waters, and he worried that a deadly undertow lie just beneath the surface.

“The doc for your head said he’ll release you in a day or so Sammy to go back to your room.” Dean didn’t feel like discussing the whole Sam hurting himself situation again. He was still so pissed that he just wanted to pop, but wouldn’t for his brother’s sake.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam relented.

“How do you feel Sam,” Dr. Winters tried to gauge his patient’s true emotional state.

“I’m fine, I guess. I got a headache, but I’ve had worse, so no big deal.” The over head lights in Sam’s room flickered.

“Damn electrical,” the doctor grumbled. “They’ve been rewiring this wing,” Dr. Winters commented. “They’re scheduled to finish up this week though and then these little disturbances will stop.” It wasn’t until the sound of an erratic heart monitor beeping wildly that the doctor even knew there was a problem. He turned his eyes toward Sam.

Dean was standing and had cupped his brother’s face in his hands. “It’s okay Sammy. They’re working on the electricity. It’s okay. You’re having a panic attack. Calm down, you’re okay.” Dean knew the flickering lights had triggered a fear response in his brother even if Sam wasn’t aware of the reason. Dean knew it was a buried memory of the demon. Sam wouldn’t be calmed. His breathing was coming in short rapid pants as his face drained of all coloring. He began shaking violently as if he’d just been pulled from the waters of a frozen lake. The doctor cast a worried glance at Sam’s monitors.

“Sam listen to your brother,” Dr. Winters urged. He watched Sam’s oxygen monitor drop to 90 as the youth continued to pant nearing a dangerous hyperventilation episode that more closely resembled a full blown asthma attack. It was when he witnessed Sam’s heart rate monitor hit 175 that he pressed the blue alert button on the wall alerting the staff in the Medical unit that they had a code situation. Sam began rearing back in his bed as if trying to escape himself. He arched his head back as if searching for air and began clawing at his chest while his eyes had become wild and absent.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. “Do something!” He barked at the doctor just as Dr. Nish came running in with the unit’s code team. Dean cast one more glance at Sam as he was ushered out of the room. Sam was pale, his eyes filled with an absolute fear as his lips turned a pale hint of blue as he panted and wheezed in short, rapid breaths. The sound of his little brother’s rapidly racing heart monitor was the last thing he heard before he was pushed out into the hallway and the door closed.