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.

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. Dean paced up and down the hallway never straying too far. It had been over twenty minutes now that he’d waited for a single word on Sam. He had given up on trying to hear anything through the door. He’d heard a muffled command of ‘IV Push’, but didn’t hear what drug they were injecting into his brother not that he’d know anyway. He couldn’t shake the mental image of Sam in the violent throes of a full out panic attack. He could still hear the horrible short gasping noise his brother had been making when he was shoved out of the room. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to clear the image of Sam’s lips taking on a pale hue of blue.

“Respiratory STAT,” a voice paged over head and echoed in the empty hallway. “Respiratory STAT, Room 121M … Respiratory STAT Room 121M…” Dean turned panicked eyes to his brother’s door and his stomach fell to his feet as his heart climbed up into his throat. The number on Sam’s door was 121M. He was frozen in place just staring when he saw a young girl in pink scrubs run past him pushing a cart with various equipment and tubing jostling about as she pushed open his brother’s door and went in. He finally found the nerve impulses he needed to move and took urgent steps toward his brother’s door. He started to push the door open and had managed a crack before a nurse stepped into his view effectively blocking any potential view of Sammy. In fact, even if the nurse hadn’t stepped in his path he doubted he’d be able to make out his brother because he was completely surrounded by medical personnel.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait outside,” she spoke firmly but not unkindly.

“Like hell,” Dean hissed. “That’s my brother in there,” he replied. “I want to know what’s happening, and no one is telling me a damn thing.” A sympathetic look ghosted across her face for a moment.

“Wait here and I’ll see if one of his doctors can speak with you.” She closed the door and left him there to pace in small tight circles by the door. And, a couple minutes later Dr. Winters came outside.

“Dean,” Dr. Winters motioned for Dean to move away from his brother’s door and before he could say another word he saw Dean’s blazing eyes.

“What the hell is going on in there? What are you people doing to him? Answer me!”

“Well, are you going to let me get a word in edge wise?” The doctor’s tone was clipped. He understood Dean’s anger, but he’d had enough and he could see the eldest sibling was barely holding it together and he didn’t need him cracking under the pressure. Dean gave a curt nod and silenced himself by biting the inside of his left cheek. “Thank you,” the doctor replied. “Well, Sam had a panic attack triggered as you already figured out. Why would the flickering lights cause such a strong reaction?”

“The demon,” Dean spoke in a low tone. “It seems whenever it is about to show up there are electrical disturbances like flickering lights among other stuff,” Dean ran a hand through his short hair. “How’s Sam? His lips were turning blue.”

“His attack was so acute that he triggered a bronchial spasm and was headed toward respiratory arrest, but we were able to get the spasm under control and called in respiratory and he’s receiving a breathing treatment right now to help reduce the inflammation the spasm caused.”

“So, he’s breathing on his own right? No tube down his throat?”

“No,” the doctor shook his head. “He’s breathing on his own. We gave him a mild anti-anxiety injection and he’s calmed somewhat. His heart rate and blood pressure are still slightly elevated, but I’m happy to say his heart rate is in a much better range than before.”

“So, he’s really okay?” Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“In terms of this current health crisis, yes,” Dr. Winters hedged. “But, your brother is far from okay Dean.”

“I know,” Dean relented and dropped his eyes from the doctor and looked at the closed door to his brother’s room.

“Dean, do you have any ideas at all concerning why you think Sam would remember Manning, Colorado and everything that preceded it, but nothing after. What significant events happened? I know you told me briefly, but…”

“It’s a long list doc,” Dean answered flatly.

“Well, I have time, and it’ll probably be another hour or so before you’re aloud in to see Sam. Let’s talk.” The doctor motioned for Dean to follow him and he nodded reluctantly as he followed the man.

Two Hours Later, Medical Unit, Sam’s Room

Dean sat watching Sam sleep. His throat still felt tight when he allowed himself to think about the drawing the doctor had shown him in his office. Dean had talked about the last two years and even a little before that with the doctor to fill the man in and give him a better road map toward helping Sam. But, when Dr. Winters had mentioned Sam’s first session and had told Dean he asked Sam to draw a picture or Dean or something that represented him. The doctor had slid the paper with the yellow sun on it across his large desk toward him. Dean had looked at it with a raised eyebrow, but then the doctor had told him that when he asked Sam why he chose to draw a sun to represent his big brother that Sam had answered ‘he makes the dark go away’ had shaken Dean to his core.

“Dammit Sammy,” Dean whispered. “I just want you to be okay, and you’re not,” he dropped his head into his hands as he leaned forward propping his elbows on Sam’s bed.

“Dean?” The voice was quiet and scratchy. Dean’s head shot up and he met eyes with his younger brother.

“Sammy? Hey there kiddo,” his voice softened and held a reassuring tone. “How ya feelin’?” Sam squinted as if thinking about his answer before he spoke.

“Been better, I think,” he managed with the barest hint of a smile. Dean couldn’t help but notice that the smile didn’t reach his little brother’s eyes. He missed Sammy’s eyes. They were always expressive and so full of life. These eyes were dull, and there wasn’t a light in them.

“You scared the hell out of me you know?” Dean countered.

“Sorry,” Sam remembered the panic attack, but couldn’t remember what set it off. The flickering lights had pushed some button he knew, but why he couldn’t figure out. And, he didn’t feel like thinking about it too much. “Dean?” Sam’s voice was hesitant as he stared at his hands not looking at his big brother. He traced the thin white scar on the palm of his left hand trying to recall where and when he’d received that injury.

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong with me?” His voice sounded broken.

“Sammy, there’s nothing wrong with you, okay? I mean not like you’re thinking. Your head’s just in a bad place right now that’s all and Dr. Winters is going to help. Me too, I’m not going anywhere.”

“But, why’s my head in a bad place right now? Why am I here? The doc said something about my head, but that I didn’t have a head injury, so what’s he talking about? Did I go flip out or something? Dammit, why can’t I remember?” Sam turned pleading eyes to his brother and smacked the mattress in frustration.

“Okay, first off don’t get yourself all worked up, alright? It won’t do you any good.” Dean reached up and placed a reassuring hand on his brother’s forearm.

“You’re not answering my questions?” Sam studied his brother. “Why am I here … exactly?”

“Sam, I can’t okay. The doc said you have to remember on your own. You’ll have more sessions with him okay? It’s gonna be alright.”

“How’d I get this?” Sam asked suddenly showing Dean his palm. It took Dean a second to catch up with his brother’s train of conversation and thought. His little brother was all over the place. “How Dean? I don’t remember this.”

“It was cut, and you had some stitches,” he offered bluntly without any real embellishments.”

“Cut how?” Sam pressed.

“It was an accident Sam,” Dean started. “You had my hunting knife and you cut yourself. No big deal.” Sam studied the scar. It was thin and white, no longer pink and new.

“It’s not a new scar Dean,” Sam continued to study his hand and suddenly it occurred to him and he turned frightened eyes to his older sibling. “How long have I been here Dean.” Sam watched his brother look away and saw his jaw muscles tighten. “How long?!” Sam shouted.

Dean turned pleading eyes toward his brothers. His gaze was begging his little brother to stop. Not to push. Sam saw the hesitation and it made a panic creep up into his chest. “Sammy, just relax. It’s not important right now. Later, okay?”

“Screw that,” Sam hissed. “How long have I been here? This scar looks like its months old. Jesus, Dean … talk to me.” Dean shook his head.

“No, Sam. Just let it go for now. Look I’ll get the doc for you.” Dean started to get up to go get Dr. Winters.

“No!” Sam shouted. “Is it months old? It looks it.” Sam’s eyes widened and he felt his heart begin to palpitate in his chest. “Months,” he gasped out. The realization settled over him like a tidal wave. He felt pulled under the swift current and he was suffocating under the torrent of emotional waves. His heart monitor alarm went off and a red light began to flash. Dean’s eyes darted toward the screen and saw a rhythm warning of some sort. The screen said PVC.

“Sammy calm down,” Dean reached out to touch his brother, but Sam jerked away.

“Months,” he yelled. “I’ve been here months haven’t I?” Sam began gasping and clutching at his chest as his heart monitor began to beep wildly as the alarm continued to sound. The door to Sam’s room pushed open and Doctor Nish and Dr.Winters came running in followed by medical staff. Dean watched Sam’s eyes roll back into his head as he collapsed back against his pillow. His head lulled to the side and Dean felt fear grip him for the second time tonight. He knew he was being gently guided out of his little brother’s room and he felt in a haze. It wasn’t until he was halfway down the hall that he realized Dr. Winters was gently guiding him toward the small waiting area in the Medical unit.

“Sit Dean, please,” Dr. Winters watched Dean closely. The young man was pale and sweating. He took Dean’s wrist in his hand and timed his pulse. “Dean, listen to me you have to calm down, okay? Your heart rate is through the roof. Take slow easy breaths, easy …” Dean focused on the man’s voice and took in a shuddering breath feeling the doctor lower his head gently toward his knees. “Easy does it,” the doctor encouraged. “Keep your head down … just relax.”

“What happened in there?” Dean finally asked as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Another panic attack? He asked how long he’s been here,” Dean’s voice shook. “I tried doc, I did,” his voice was pleading. “I tried to make him let go of it, but that damn scar on his hand he knew he didn’t have it before and that it was old. Shit,” Dean hissed under his breath.

“Dean,” Dr. Winters started. “Neither of us ever anticipated your brother noticing the scar on his palm, and I certainly never thought he’d have the presence of mind to analyze how old the scar was,” the doctor offered a mild smile. “What’s done is done. And, now we deal with the fallout.” There were footsteps in the hallway and they both looked up. Marcus Winters recognized the staff cardiologist, Dr. Stowe. “Wait a minute Dean,” the doctor stood up and met his colleague and pulled him to the side away from Dean and out of immediate earshot. “Were you paged for Sam Winchester?”

“Hi Marcus,” Greg Stowe replied. “Yeah, I got a cardiac page for him. Is he yours?”

“Yeah, he was put in for overnight observation for a concussion. But, he had a panic attack earlier, and then another that precipitated a cardiac event, but I was under the impression it was under control when I stepped out. What’s going on?”

“Dr. Nish paged me and said his cardiac status is having problems stabilizing. He keeps having runs of PVC’s even with the lidocaine. So, I’m here to consult and most likely start him on an IV course of an antiarrhythmic.”

“Go,” Dr. Winters encouraged. “Please, fill me in as soon as possible. That’s his older brother I’m with, so he’s biting at the bit, okay? And,” the doctor put a hand on his friend’s arm to stop him. “Take care of him, alright? He’s a good kid.”

“Sure thing Marcus.” Dean stood up and walked toward Dr. Winters as the other physician disappeared into his little brother’s room.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong? Who was that?” Dean fired off questions in rapid fire succession.

“Easy, Dean,” the doctor urged. “I’ll tell you what I know.” He smiled at Dean and directed him back to the seats in the small waiting area. “That was Dr. Stowe he’s the staff cardiologist.”

“A heart doctor,” Dean’s voice barked. “What’s wrong with Sam’s heart? That damn monitor was saying something like PVC when I was pushed out. He passed out,” Dean’s eyes were wide and panicked. “His heart,” he stuttered. “It didn’t stop did it?” His eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

“No, no, his heart is beating,” the doctor assured. “That monitor will label the rhythm. And, when Sam panicked his heart had an adverse reaction. It’s sort of an episode of palpitations, but not. The monitor abbreviation of PVC was to alert the staff that Sam was having what is called premature ventricular contractions. It’s essentially an irregular heart beat. Sam lost consciousness because his PVC’s were over six per minute and then he was having what we call a run of multiple pairs.” Dean’s face was confused. “All that means is that at one point Sam was having over six palpitations per minute and when I talk about pairs it just means that the PVC’s came in quick succession with one another, partners, if you will, understand?”

“Sam has a good heart,” Dean’s voice was hesitant. “What’s happening to him?”

“Dean,” Dr. Winters began. “Sam is having very acute panic attack episodes that are having a huge impact on his health. The bronchia spasm from earlier and now the PVC’s are both concerns. His panic attack obviously made him hypertensive and the acute episode triggered the PVC’s. We’re just going to have to monitor him. His body is having violent and dangerous reactions to both his memories revisited in sleep and now with his acute panic attacks. He’s already had respiratory failure and cardiac arrest from what you and I both assumed was a visceral memory of him being strangled during a hunt. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. I’m going to try some new medications to help with the panic attacks and we may have to keep him mildly sedated, but keep him functioning. I’ve never had a case like your brother’s Dean. I’m winging it a little, at least when it comes to how his body is reacting to memories. I’ve never had a patient go into cardiac arrest over a memory, and especially since the memory was recalled differently than it originally occurred.”

“You mean because he didn’t remember me saving him?” The doctor nodded. Dean dropped his head a moment trying to assimilate his emotions before they consumed him and he got right back on task. “Why was that doctor here for Sam if his heart is still beating? What’s wrong with my brother?”

“Dr. Nish had him paged because Sam’s heart keeps degenerating into an irregular heart beat despite the use of lidocaine. He just wants to make sure Sam is getting the best care.”

“What if they can’t stop these PVC things?” Dean studied the doctor’s face intently.

“They will.” He tried to assure Dean, but it was clear the kid wasn’t buying it.

“I asked what if they can’t. What happens?” The doctor sighed.

“If, and this is a big if … if Sam keeps having PVC’s there is a chance that it could lead into an arrhythmia that may require advanced cardiac life support efforts.”

“You mean is heart could stop, right? That’s what you’re saying.” Dean barked.

“Could stop? Yes,” Dr. Winters replied. “But I don’t think it will. Dr. Stowe is very good, and if he has to he’ll start Sam on an IV course of an antiarrhythmic drug to help regulate his rhythm and stop the PVC’s.” A nurse scooted down the hall past them as they sat in the chairs and Dean watched her go straight to his brother’s room. She was carrying two IV bags in her hands. Dean looked at his watch and sighed.

“How much longer? That heart doc has been in there for a half hour now,” Dean threw a glance that was a combination of concern, frustration and anger at the entire situation.

“I’ll go see and try to get some news, okay? Just wait here Dean.” The doctor saw Dean’s look of despair. “He’s going to be fine Dean.” Marcus Winters smiled warmly as Dean offered a short nod. He turned to go get news about Sam. Dr. Winters opened the door and entered Sam’s room.

“Yeah, start the first rapid loading infusion of the Cordarone,” Dr. Stowe instructed as he continued to examine the EKG tape printing out of the side of the digital monitor. “Set the rate for 150 MG over the first ten minutes. Watch the kid for any hypertensive episodes. I don’t want to push him into ventricular tachycardia.”

Dr. Winters looked at Sam who still remained unconscious. “How is he Greg?” He stepped up alongside his friend and glanced at the cardiac activity monitor strip the cardiologist was examining.

“Well, I’m starting him on the Cordarone IV. He had a run on ten PVC’s and it got a little tense in here. I thought he was going to code, but a high dose lidocaine converted him for a little while. It bought us some time for the Cordarone. I’m going to be honest,” he started. “I’m not comfortable with the fact his PVC’s appear lidocaine resistant. This could go bad very quickly if the situation decides to snowball.” Marcus looked at his friend and colleague with urgency.

“Is he in immediate danger? I mean, his rhythm looks stable.”

“Yeah, it is for the moment, but his cardiac activity is all over the place.” The doctor looked at the clock and turned to the infusion nurse standing next to Dr. Nish who was examining Sam’s pupils and trying to assess his patient’s level of unconsciousness. “Pam,” Dr. Stowe began. “It’s time to move on from the rapid loading dose. Initiate the slow follow up dose. Infuse 360 mg over the next six hours, and set the infusion pump and lock it out. I don’t want this kid getting more than 360 MG total. I have to see how he’s going to tolerate this dosage increase.”

“Programming and locking,” the nurse replied.

“Are you worried that he won’t tolerate it?” Dr. Winters asked with intensity.

“Well, it’s a toss up,” the doctor began. “I had some patient’s crash within ten minutes and others have had some side effects while others are completely fine and respond well. We’ll know within the next ten minutes or so. We’ll be ready if something happens. I’m not leaving him until I know he’s tolerating the drug. And, I’ll be checking on him throughout the night. When the infusion is complete in six hours then I have to start him on a maintenance dose over eighteen hours, and that can cause problems too.” Dr. Marcus Winters let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face.

“So, now we wait?” The cardiologist nodded. Marcus hated keeping Dean waiting, but he didn’t have any solid news yet to take to him, so he’d wait to see how Sam reacted to the increase in the IV dosage.

Twelve Minutes Later

An alarm sounded and Dr. Stowe jerked his head toward the cardiac monitor. “He’s got severe bradycardia … push atropine 1 mg.”

“Atropine in,” Dr. Nish called out. They all watched the heart monitor.

“Okay, heart rates coming back up,” Dr. Stowe nodded his head and let out a breath.

“Are you stopping the Cordarone?” Marcus asked.

“Not yet, we may be in the clear. This was a mild reaction.”

“Mild? His heart rate dropped to 42.” The psychiatrist knew that cardiology wasn’t his field, but he still had an M.D. the same as his friend and knew an adult male in his twenties with a heart rate in the forties was a bad thing, a very bad thing.

“His rate came back up to 64 within a minute of the atropine injection. He’s okay. Let’s just see how things go. So far he hasn’t had anymore PVC’s since we started the IV. At least, we’re headed in the right direction.”

“Marcus,” Dr. Nish’s voice broke in and Dr. Winters turned to his friend.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been monitoring his brain activity since he lapsed into unconsciousness,” the doctor indicated the electrodes he’s placed on Sam’s temples and forehead.

“I noticed earlier. Is something wrong?”

“I want to show you something,” Dr. Nish motioned for his friend to come over and take a look at the EEG monitor.

“Go ahead,” Dr. Stowe inclined his head. “I need to study his cardiac rhythm print out right now anyway to see if I can find any irregularities.” Marcus nodded at Greg.

“What is it?”

“This,” Dr. Nish pointed. “His activity has jumped in the last five minutes. I know he’s unconscious, but there is something going on…” his voice trailed off.

“Like what?” Marcus cast a concerned gaze toward Sam’s silent features. On the surface the young man looked peaceful and clearly unconscious.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say this is activity resembles a high level of REM activity. It looks like dream activity of some sort, but it’s all over the place. I can see extreme activity in the temporal lobe, the cerebral cortex. There’s a lot of activity in his memory center.” There was a sudden explosion of brain activity on the monitor and the waves became erratic and sharp as they danced across the screen.

An alarm sounded. “Shit, he’s having a hypertensive episode,” Dr. Stowe’s voice broke suddenly as he drew up an injection of Vasotec. The heart monitor showed Sam’s blood pressure had hit 250/190. Both Dr. Nish and Dr. Winters lowered Sam’s bed and prepared for a code. “Vasotec is in,” Dr. Stowe barked. He watched the monitor. He watched the automatic blood pressure cuff take a reading. “Come on,” he said under his breath waiting for the injection to bring down his patient’s pressure. “Pressure is coming down.”

“Crap,” Dr. Nish said to no one in particular. The doctors glanced at Sam’s brain activity. There was a fire storm of waves filling the screen. Sharp waves going high and low in such quick succession that the screen was literally filled with brain waves akin to a child’s wild scribbles. “Sonofabitch, he’s seizing,” Dr. Nish barked. “Push 5 mg Diazepam.” There was a flurry of activity as the infusion nurse and another RN helped the three physicians. The seizure was violent as Sam arched and jerked his face grimacing even while unconscious. “Watch his airway, Christ!” Dr. Nish yelled. “Come on,” he waited for the anticonvulsive medication to work.

Meanwhile

Dean paced around the small confines of the small waiting area like a caged tiger in a zoo. Dr. Winters had disappeared over twenty-five minutes ago and he still hadn’t come out. He glanced with irritation and concern down the hallway toward his little brothers closed door. He sat down heavily in a chair and dropped his head into his hands. “Sammy,” he whispered quietly to himself.

Meanwhile, Sam’s Room

Sam’s body began to relax and the seizure stopped. Dr. Stowe and Dr. Nish were both looking at their respective monitors. And, just as Dr. Winters was about to ask about Sam’s status Shawn Nish tensed visibly. He saw the brain waves on Sam’s monitor begin to dance wildly again. And, before the physicians could react their patient began seizing violently again. “Push another 5 of Diazepam,” Dr. Nish commanded. Sam’s body seized again and again.

“Diazepam in,” Sondra, a staff nurse for the Medical unit called out to Dr. Nish. Sam’s body continued to convulse.

Dr. Winters felt the situation growing graver. And, then he and Dr. Nish heard Greg Stowe call out urgently. “Get the damn seizure under control, now! He’s gone into atrial flutter.” The doctors glanced at Sam’s heart monitor. “Get the seizure stopped,” he commanded. “I’m pushing Procainamide for the flutter.” Sam continued to seize.

“Dammit, give him another 10 of Diazepam,” Dr. Nish called out. Sam’s body finally slowed to a tremble and fell lax.

“Procainamide isn’t stopping the atrial flutter I’m going to have to use cardioversion.” Greg Stowe walked to the wall and rolled over the defibrillator. “He won’t convert out of the flutter. His heart is going too fast. Charge to 80 Jules.”

The room was in organized chaos, but Sam was somewhere else and the madness in the room would have been a welcome change.

Sam was back in the house and the voices and images assaulting him wouldn’t let up. He stood in a room, it resembled a cabin. And, the voices were clear.

…How is he? …

…He just needs some rest … How are you? …

…I’ll live…

…It’s you…We’ve been looking for you for a long time…

…Well, you found me…

Yellow eyes and his father’s face burned into his mind and he tried to run from the mental image, but there was no escape.

…You kill me, you kill daddy…

…I know…

He jerked at the sound of a gun going off. The sound ricocheted in his head. He covered his ears, but the noise was inside him like a cancer.

…Dean, you’ve lost a lot of blood…

…Where’s Dad? …

…Check on him…

…Shoot me in the heart son …I can’t hold on to it much longer…

…Don’t you do it …

He pushed himself off the floor and threw the door open and ran into the hallway. He found some comfort in the white-grey walls, but the voices still followed him as they rose to a crescendo.

…Why Sam …why…why…

“No!” he shouted. He dropped to a corner and drew his knees up tightly and began to rock. His eyes caught the book once again and he released his legs and reached for the book. He found comfort tracing the word brother it would protect him. He opened the book and traced the word over and over, but the voices were so loud and he felt like he was being pulled further into a dark void, but he resisted. He saw new words had been added to another page.

Jefferson City, Sunrise, possession

None of them made sense to him. They might as well have been another language. He went back to tracing his finger over brother. A noise and a light beneath a door in the hallway drew his attention. The voices had stopped and he got up. He stood outside the door for long minutes and turned the knob. It was a room that looked vaguely familiar. He saw two children’s beds and an open window. He remembered being here once, but the memory was vague and someone was missing. He felt a presence and turned. He felt himself thrown against a wall and then suddenly he was looking into the eyes of a Shtriga as it held him down. And, part of him registered that Dean should be here, but he wasn’t, and then the creature began to feed on his life force and he felt his life slip into a darkness he wasn’t sure he’d escape.

Meanwhile, Sam’s Room

“Clear!” Dr. Stowe yelled as he shocked Sam with the low Jules to convert his heart rate into a slower more regular rhythm. They watched the monitor and saw there was no change. “Okay, we’re going again. 80 Jules, clear!” Sam chest arched upward in response to the cardiac shock delivered from the paddles.

“We’ve got sinus rhythm,” Dr. Winters replied with a sense of relief.

“Yep,” Dr. Stowe confirmed casually. “He’s converted from the atrial flutter.” The room seemed to take a breath. All the doctors thinking the worst had past.

Sam stared into the cold eyes of the Shtriga as his life ebbed away into darkness. He heard a voice whispering, but it was so quiet …

…you okay, little brother…

and the darkness pulled him under before he could stop it and just as the void consumed him he knew the voice was his brother, but the shadow consumed the fleeting light and Sam sunk into the oblivion.

“Respiratory arrest,” Dr. Nish barked. He moved briskly around Sam and proceeded to call out orders to the respiratory technician for an intubation kit and deftly dropped a breathing tube down Sam’s throat and within a couple minutes Sam was already breathing with a measured, mechanical click and whoosh as the ventilator breathed for him.

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?” Marcus Winters demanded.

Two Hours Later, Family Conference Room

Dean sat numbly across from the three doctors that were treating his brother. His mind was still trying to understand how everything had gone so bad, so quickly. The heart medication had caused Sam to have a blood pressure crisis and it had caused a vascular bleed in his brain that had already self clotted. He had had two major seizures. And, the last seizure had irritated is brother’s heart to the point he’d need a mild shock to convert it into a slower rhythm, and now Dr. Winters and Dr. Nish said Sam had slipped into a coma and was on a ventilator. He felt the bile rising in his throat and swallowed it back down.

“I know this is a lot Dean, but the coma isn’t a typical coma. Sam is having extreme moments of brain activity and then he’ll drop into a minimal level of activity more appropriate to coma.” Dr. Winters tried to explain. He could see that Dean looked shell-shocked.

“The Cordarone has stabilized his PVC activity,” Dr. Stowe threw his two cents in.

“But, it’s that drug that started all of this,” Dean spat.

“Yes, it precipitated the hypertensive episode and the vascular bleed, but neither of those side effects were the cause of the coma or respiratory arrest.”

“You know what,” Dean hissed. “I don’t give a flying fuck who is to blame. I want my brother awake and not hooked up to some damn machine breathing for him. He was a little messed up in his head,” Dean’s hands moved restlessly on the table. “But, at this rate you’re all going to kill him. Dammit, you broke him,” he spat. “You fix him!” Dean knew the statement must have sounded stupid and infantile, but all he knew is that his brother was speaking a few hours ago and now he was in some kind of coma and breathing through a tube. Dean dropped his head and leaned into his hands with his elbows propped on the conference room table.

Dr. Winters motioned for the others to leave and he moved over and dropped a hand onto Dean’s forearm. “You said he was going to be fine,” Dean’s voice was broken as he spoke. He kept his head down not meeting the doctor’s eyes. Dr. Winters grimaced at the young man’s words. He had said that previously in the hall when he’d gone in to check on Sam before everything had gone to hell in a hand basket.

“I know,” he agreed. “Sam is strong Dean and he’s going to come out of this.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean’s head shot up as his eyes blazed at the doctor pulling his arm away from the man’s grasp. “He’s trapped in his head again. Who knows what he’s remembering or going through. You don’t understand what’s happening to him, so don’t tell me he’s going to come out of this when you don’t know a damn thing!” Dean’s voice ground out with venom.

Dr. Marcus Winters could only nod. His chest cold with the thought Sam Winchester may be lost beyond finding, but he wouldn’t give up. He knew enough to know he wasn’t fighting for the life of one brother, but two.

Two Days Later, Sam’s Room

“What’s that for?” Dean asked with an accusing tone as he watched Dr. Nish follow a technician in with a large bulky machine.

“It’s a portable chest x-ray Dean,” Dr. Nish replied.

“What the hell for?” Dean’s voice was threatening. He’d started questioning every procedure and medication going into his brother after the events of two days prior. He blamed the doctors for a large amount of his brother’s condition. He glanced at Sam whose chest continued to rise and fall mechanically. He hadn’t moved or responded to any stimuli since lapsing into coma.

“When I examined him yesterday I didn’t like the sound of his lungs, but today they sound worse, so I want an x-ray.”

“What’d you do to him? His lungs were fine before all this crap.” Dean stood up and protectively stood by Sam preventing the machine from advancing toward his brother.

“Dean, I understand your feelings…”

“Do you?” Dean hissed. The doctor put up a placating and apologetic hand.

“Okay, I don’t. Wrong choice of words.”

“Damn straight,” Dean growled.

“But, Dean, the x-ray isn’t going to hurt him, and I feel it really needs to be done … for your brother’s sake.” Dean cast anguished eyes toward his little brother and stepped aside to allow the test.

Thirty Minutes Later

Dean sat at his brother’s bedside holding his hand and stroking his bangs gently. It reminded him of when they were little and Sam had trouble sleeping on nights their father was away on a hunt. He’d stroke Sam’s forehead and bangs and he’d always drift off to sleep. He smiled at the warm memory. He glanced at the EEG monitor that Sam was always hooked up to as it measured and recorded his brain activity. It was quiet right now and had been for a couple days. He hadn’t had another episode since everything had happened. Before they had said Sam was in an atypical coma with moments of extreme activity and then minimal activity more conclusive of a true coma. “Hey Sammy,” Dean whispered softly. “How about you give your big brother a break and open those eyes of yours. How about it, huh?” He watched and waited, but there was no movement, no flutter … only the consistent beep of Sam’s heart monitor and the persistent click and whoosh of the ventilator that breathed for him. “What’s happening in your head?” He studied his brother’s silent features. “Sammy, please…” his voice caught in his throat as hot tears stung his eyes.

The door opened and Dr. Nish came in hurriedly with and IV bag. “What are you doing?” Dean demanded.

“I’m starting Sam on a strong course of IV antibiotics,” Dr. Nish answered as he hung the bag.

“For what?”

“His chest x-rays,” the doctor began. “I thought I heard consolidations in both lungs, but I couldn’t believe it developed so quickly…”

“What?” Dean demanded.

“Pneumonia,” the doctor replied. “Sam has pneumonia. It’s a pretty bad case, too. I’ve never seen it come on so quickly. His lungs were perfectly clear two days ago.” Dean stood up abruptly as his mind processed what he was hearing. He looked at Sam with concerned eyes as a memory bloomed in his mind … a memory of Fitchburg a couple of years ago.

“Bacterial pneumonia,” Dean’s voice sounded detached as he continued to look at his little brother. Dr. Nish turned curious eyes to the older sibling.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” Dean turned and looked at the doctor with intense eyes.

“You’re sure,” he demanded.

“Yeah, the blood work from earlier confirmed it, but…” His words tapered off as he saw Dean head toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back.” Dean called out over his shoulder. He was headed for Dr. Winters office.

Ten Minutes Later, Dr. Winters Office

“A Shtriga, really? I’ve heard of them, but never encountered one. Nasty mothers, right? And, the children all presented with symptoms that mimicked bacterial pneumonia and all lapsed into comas and died?”

“Well, the ones from years before, yeah? But, I killed the bitch and the life forces returned to kids or something … I don’t know,” Dean rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. “All I know is they got better when it died.”

“And, it fed off of Sam the night you killed it?”

“Yeah, it was feeding on him when I killed it. He was okay,” Dean commented. “It’s just with the pneumonia and the coma … do you think?” Dean’s voice trailed off.

“Do I think that Sam could have relived another memory from his past like the strangulation? Well, it’s as good a guess as any. And, it makes sense.”

“But, he hasn’t forgotten those memories, why relive them? He just doesn’t remember past Manning.”

“Dean … the mind is a complex thing and perhaps as he accesses memories that exist behind the wall he’s built he’s reliving other old ones he does remember, but they’re broken, as well. Maybe, his mind is getting at the lost information by accessing visceral memories that are acting as catalysts to reaching the lost memories. Make sense?”

“I don’t know,” Dean looked at the doctor with a raised eyebrow. “Does it make sense to you?” Dr. Winters couldn’t suppress the chuckle despite the seriousness of the situation. He suppressed his chuckle quickly.

“Yeah, well, your brother’s case as I’ve said before is rather unique.”

“But, Sammy’s getting sicker. The kids from before … they got sicker, weaker, and died in comas.”

“Dean, talk to him and try to reach him. I think you’re the only one who can. We’ll handle the life support aspect of his condition. Talk to him. You saved him from the Shtriga before … make him hear you.”

Three Hours Later, Sam’s Room

Dean sat watching his brother. Sam had continued to deteriorate over the last couple hours. His vitals had become more unstable and it seemed to Dean that he had very little alone time with his little brother. Medical personnel were coming in every few minutes or so to check monitors, adjust drip rates, and take Sam’s vitals. Dean watched everything the nurse did while in the room. His eyes followed her silently around Sam’s bed. She met his eyes once and offered a small smile. He simply nodded. He watched her leave the room and finally he hoped he’d have some time with his brother before there was another intrusion.

“Sammy? Can you hear me?” Dean reached up and stroked his forehead. “You feel that Sammy? I need you to hear me little brother. You have to fight this kiddo,” he urged. “What you think is happening or happened, whatever,” he let out a frustrated sigh. “It didn’t okay? You just have to realize that you can come back from this … that you can fight. Sammy, I was there … remember? I killed that life sucking bitch. Sammy,” his voice was pleading.

…Sammy…

The voice settled over him like a soft summer breeze and it soothed him. The darkness had embraced him and he had found it eerily comforting. The voices of the empty house were silent and the images gone. There was peace here and allowing it to embrace him felt right. Sam Winchester listened, but the voice was gone and maybe letting the oblivion consume him was right, was good … there was peace on the other side he was sure of it.

Dean looked at his brother’s heart rate and could see it had dropped. “Dammit,” he hissed. “You fight damn you. I’m not losin’ you too. I can’t …” his voice stammered. “I can’t Sammy. Come on, please… Sammy.” His voice cracked with the sheer emotion of the moment. Sam was slipping and he didn’t know how to hold on to him. “Sammy, No!” His voice was commanding. “Please.”

…Sammy …No …Please…

There was the voice again and he knew it was his brother. He focused completely on it and suddenly the darkness wasn’t so complete and he edged toward a pale glow in the distance of his endless void.

Dean looked nervously at the heart monitor and watched 52 suddenly climb to 60 and remain there. He smiled. “Sammy? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? Please, keep fighting. You’re not alone.” He held his brother’s cool limp hand in his own as he stroked the thin white scar with his thumb.

…Sammy… I’m here… you’re not alone…

Sam found himself back in the house curled in a corner. The book was only inches from his fingertips and he reached out for it. He looked around confused at the sudden change of absolute nothingness to the same white-gray walls he knew too well. He pulled himself up and opened the book. He traced his finger as he always did … over and over the single word brother and it calmed him.

…I’ll summon her … she’ll come after me…

…you know what? … That’s it…

The voices filtered down the hallway and something was familiar. He walked to a closed door and pushed it open. He found himself standing in a dark room lit only by the dim light coming from street lamps through the store window. He was facing a mirror and looking at himself, but his reflection looked defiant and its eyes began to bleed.

…You left her alone to die …you dreamed it would it happen…

A crushing pain filled Sam’s head and flared across his chest. He clutched at it as he dropped to his knees as the voice repeated its tirade.

…You left her alone to die… you dreamed it would happen…

Dean noticed Sam’s EEG monitor had begun to flash and seconds later Dr. Neff ran into the room. “What’s happening?”

“His brain activity is through the roof,” the doctor replied. Other alarms began to sound. “What the hell?” The doctor shouted as he saw blood begin to run from the corners of Sam’s eyes. Blood tears. And, it was quickly followed by thick streams coming from his nose. “Jesus!”

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. “Sam it’s not real.” He recognized this and he felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. His memory of Bloody Mary was like a white hot poker in his brain. “Sammy!”

Medical staff poured into the room and Dean moved to a corner, but refused to leave. “He needs an MRI stat,” he shouted. “Sonofabitch! Get him off the vent and start bagging him we gotta hustle people. He may be having a massive hemorrhage. I gotta see what’s happening in his head.” Additional alarms began to sound. They scooted out Sam’s bed so they could have complete access at all angles. “Dammit we’re losing him, he’s crashing,” Dr. Nish shouted.

Dean stared at the scene as staff began to work feverishly to save his brother’s life. He watched them injecting drugs and listened to alarms ringing and buzzing. He pushed himself off the wall and pushed a nurse aside. He grabbed Sam’s face avoiding the tube protruding out of his brother’s mouth. A nurse stared wide-eyed at Dean as she continued to squeeze the bag delivering breaths to his brother. “Sammy! Don’t do this! It’s not real” he shouted.

“Dean, get away!” Dr. Nish bellowed. “We have to work,” he yelled. Dean looked quickly at the doctor and all the doctor saw were wild, feral eyes of a sibling on the edge.

“Sammy! She’s not real. You’re okay.” Dean felt strong hands pull at him to try and remove him from his brother. He jerked and threw an elbow back and felt it connect with flesh and heard a muffled ‘oof’. He didn’t care. He had to fight for Sammy and he had to do it now. “Sam! Let it go! It’s over. Sammy!”

…Sammy … it’s not real…let it go…

The voice of his brother broke through the pain and stopped his decent into the waiting darkness. The pain began to recede and before he closed his eyes he realized he was out of the room with mirrors and curled on the floor once again. He dropped his head on the floor and let sleep claim him.

The room fell into silence for a moment. The alarms stopped sounding and reverted back to there normal beeping and chirping. The only other sound was the whoosh of squeezed air from the ambu bag as the nurse continued to deliver breaths to Sam while off the ventilator. Dean stared at his brother’s face with his hands still firmly on each cheek. “Dean,” the voice was hesitant yet gentle. The young man finally broke eye contact with his brother’s silent features and looked into the eyes of Dr. Winters. He could see the man’s lip was bleeding and realized the physician’s face must have been the contact point of his elbow. “Dean, you need to let go of him. They have to do an MRI to see if he’s okay. Let Dr. Nish have him. He’s stabilized for now Dean. But, you need to let him go.” Dean stared at the man as he tried to hear the words. His voice sounded like he was speaking inside a metal barrel.

He felt in a fog as he released his hold on Sam’s face and watched him placed on a trauma gurney and taken from the room followed by staff and IV poles. He felt himself guided gently toward a chair, but before he could take more than two steps he felt the world drop out from under him and his world spot around the edges and right before his world closed out completely, he heard Dr. Winters voice spike in urgency, “Dean!” and the welcoming darkness came.

Dean felt like he was floating as he slowly surfaced toward waking. He felt warm and comfortable. He almost didn’t want to open his eyes, but there was something wrong and he knew it, so he continued toward waking. A steady beeping noise crept into his awareness and he focused on the sound. His eyes opened slowly and focused on the white ceiling above him.

“Welcome back,” Ellen’s voice broke through the fog. He turned his head slowly toward her voice. He looked at her for a long moment and said nothing as his brain tried to play catch up with the situation. “Dean, honey,” Ellen’s voice softened. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” his voice was a mere whisper as he spoke.

“Here,” she leaned forward pouring some cool water into a cup with a straw for him. He reached out for it with a shaky hand. “No,” she replied. “You’re shaking like a leaf. I can hold it for you.” She held the cup and straw as he drank. This wasn’t the Ellen Harvelle he was familiar with, but he was thankful for her help. He leaned back into his pillow as his mind still tried to grasp at fragments.

“Thanks,” his voice a little stronger.

“No problem. Well, you sure know how to scare the hell out of me Dean Winchester,” she scolded. He frowned and looked around his room. He was attached to a heart monitor and wore a pulse-ox meter on his left index finger. He had a blood pressure cuff attached, as well. He saw the IV stand with multiple bags hanging.

“What the hell happened? Where am I?”

“You’re at Stanton Memorial Hospital in the CICU,” Ellen began. “Once Marcus and a Dr. Stowe stabilized you at the Center they called Care Flight for you and then Marcus called me to say you’d collapsed.” Final memories before the blackness had swallowed him came flooding back and he jerked up in his bed.

“Sammy! Oh, God, I gotta get back to him. How long have I been out? Shit, he was headed for an MRI. He needs me. I gotta go.” Dean tried to get up as his heart monitor began to beep rapidly.

“The hell you do? Your ass isn’t moving from this damn bed,” Ellen commanded. “You’re going to lay there and do nothing. Sam is okay. Marcus is looking after him until you’re out of here.”

“He’s okay? He’s awake?” Dean’s eyes were hopeful. Ellen listened as his heart monitor quieted slightly.

“No, he’s still in the coma, but the MRI showed no bleeding. He’s stabilized. Marcus visits with him during his day at the center and talks to him. The pneumonia responded to the antibiotics and cleared up quicker than they had ever seen before.”

“Ellen he needs me there,” his eyes were pleading. Dean knew why the pneumonia cleared, so quickly. It was a creation of Sam’s mind that manifested and he had pulled him away from that memory.

“No, he needs you alive and healthy Dean. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for so long that it finally caught up with you and your body is too stressed.”

“What happened? You said I was in the CICU,” Dean started. “That’s the heart isn’t?”

“Yes,” Ellen answered bluntly. “You scared Marcus something fierce boy and me too.”

“What happened?” Dean’s mind was torn. He wanted to be at Sam’s bedside. He knew and felt he was Sam’s anchor, and his brother was the same for him, and it felt wrong not being at his side.

“Your cardiologist here at the hospital explained to me that you had a stress induced cardiac arrhythmia and your blood pressure shot up and down for a while. You had the staff on their toes here for a bit. They also said you were suffering from exhaustion.”

“How long have I been here?” Dean looked at the clock in his room and it was just a little after 8:00 and from the small window he could tell it was night. “Is that clock right?”

“Yeah, it’s right,” Ellen replied.

“Then good, I’ve only been away from Sam for about four hours, so I can still get back. I’ll take it easy.”

“Dean, you weren’t listening to me earlier were you? I said your ass isn’t going anywhere. And, anyway, it’s been longer than four hours.”

“No,” Dean pointed at the clock. “Sam was headed to the MRI a little after 4:00 PM, so…”

“Dean you’ve been unconscious for two days kiddo.” Dean’s eyes were wide.

“What? No, he needs me there Ellen. He could die if I’m not. He only listens to me. I get through to him.” Dean struggled and Ellen placed both hands on Dean’s chest holding him down.

“Dean! You can’t leave here. You’re here for a reason.” She reached down and hit the call button. Dean continued to struggle as his heart monitor beeped a staccato rhythm and he began panting in short breaths. He continued to struggle under Ellen’s hands and now there were new hands also holding him down as he fought. He watched a syringe get injected into the tubing of his IV and within seconds he felt a warm sensation flow into and up his arm and he sunk into a calming darkness with his brother’s name on his lips.

“Damn he’s strong,” Dr. Giles commented as he released his hold on Dean. Ellen looked at him and smirked.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Is he okay?”

“Well,” the doctor began as he looked at Dean’s monitor. “His heart rhythm is a little irritated, but it’s regulating now that he’s sedated. I’ll be keeping an eye on him for the next hour or so to see if it stays regulated. His blood pressure is up again, so I’ll give him something for that. He’ll sleep for a few hours, maybe through the night with that sedative.”

“Thanks,” Ellen sat back down at Dean’s bedside. She knew Dean wanted to be with Sam, but she felt comfortable knowing that her friend Marcus was looking after Sam in the Medical unit until Dean could take back his job at his brother’s side.

Meanwhile, Stillwater Center, Sam’s Room

“Hi Sam,” Dr. Winters spoke casually to his young patient. He watched Sam’s silent features and studied the rise of his chest with a click of the ventilator and lowered with a swishing whoosh from the machine. His patient had lapsed into a coma over four days ago and still hadn’t shown any signs that he was coming out of it. “I know you’d rather have your brother here, but he can’t be right now. He’s a little under the weather, but I spoke to his doctor and he said he’s doing much better. He woke up today and asked about you. His doctor said he’s resting now and that’s the best thing for him. Look,” he reached up and placed his hand on Sam’s forearm. “You have to keep improving, okay? If you get worse on my watch Dean will chew me a new one,” he said with a wry grin. “That brother of yours is a regular pit bull.” He reached up a touched at his bruised jaw and spilt lip. “I’ve got the battle wounds to prove it when I tried to pull him away from you. I’m not sure you’re hearing me at all kiddo, but I just wanted to stop by before I head out for the night. And, I wanted to make sure you knew that if Dean could be here right now he would. It’s time you woke up Sam.” The doctor lowered his head for a moment and looked back up studying Sam’s silent face. “Dean needs you.” He said simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good for the staff tonight, okay? Sleep well.” He patted Sam’s arm and left.

Words filtered in from a distance as if on some kind of delayed relay and were more like white noise, but when he concentrated Sam could hear some words. He stood looking out the window at the dark landscape. He placed his hand on the cold window glass and listened to the words buried in the white noise coming from outside.

…I know you’d rather …have …brother …but can’t …here right now…

The fragmented words piled on top of one another and he fought to piece them together.

…He’s under…weather…spoke…his doctor …time you woke up…Dean needs you…

The fragments began to coalescence in his mind and as he put them together he knew one terrible truth and it scared him. Dean was hurt or sick and his brother needed him. He turned around abruptly in a panic as he scanned the relatively empty room. He needed a way out, but he had no clue. He paced in frustration. “Dean?” he spoke the name out loud and he watched the white-gray walls seem to waiver, but he remained. He looked around desperately needing to leave this place. The words he’d heard earlier from a voice not his brother’s grasped him once again, Dean needs you. Sam felt hot tears sting his eyes in fear and frustration. “Dean, please,” his voice shook as he begged and the walls were gone. Sam opened his eyes.

Meanwhile, Stanton Memorial Hospital, Dean’s CICU Room

Ellen watched Dean sleep. She had left word at the Roadhouse that she’d be back later, but she wanted to sit with Dean for a while. She was thankful the sedative still had Dean deeply unconscious. It was a relief to see the stress lines he frequently had relaxed leaving him looking like a young boy despite turning twenty-nine earlier this year. She looked down at Dean’s hospital ID bracelet on his wrist and shook her head, it was hard to believe he was born in 1979; he looked just like a boy while he slept with the help of the sedative.

“Rest Dean,” she whispered and placed her hand gently on his arm.

Meanwhile, Stillwater Center, Sam’s Room

Sam fought the intubation tube, but found his hands gently restrained by a nurse that happened to be in the room taking his vitals when he awoke abruptly. “Shh, it’s okay,” she urged. “Relax, I’ll call Dr. Nish.” Sam focused on her with wild eyes and he found himself searching for Dean, although part of his mind knew why he wasn’t there.

“Sam, welcome back,” Dr. Nish appeared in his line of sight. “I’m giving you something to relax you, okay? You gave us quite a scare. It’s okay, you’re going to be fine” he attempted to soothe. Sam stopped fighting against the tube down his throat and his eyes drifted closed as the mild sedative began to pull him under. Dr. Nish watched Sam fall back asleep and nodded approvingly as his patients vitals regulated from the anxiety upon waking. “Please, call Dr. Winters and tell him Sam woke up. I’m going to extubate him,” he commented as he looked at the ventilator settings and Sam’s tidal volumes. “He’s triggering the vent, so he has spontaneous respirations and his volume looks good.” The nurse nodded and moved to assist the doctor.

Two Hours Later, Sam’s Room

Sam opened his eyes slowly still feeling a bit foggy and immediately recognized the lack of intrusion in his throat. He tasted something funny in the back of his throat and smacked his lips in response. “It’s just an anesthetic Dr. Nish sprayed on the back of your throat to help with the discomfort of having the tube removed. It tastes kinda bad.” Sam focused on the voice and turned his head. He focused on the face of Dr. Winters. His mind was still sorting through the haze of the mild sedative. He started to clear his throat, “Here, your throat is dry. Take slow sips.” He felt a cup pressed to his mouth and drank a little of the cool water the doctor was providing him.

“Thanks,” he whispered against the rawness of his throat. His eyes continued to rove around his room. “Where’s Dean?” He knew something was off and he could almost grasp what it was, but it slipped away. He studied the doctor and something clicked. “Your voice,” he began rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Were you talking to me?” The doctor smiled.

“You did hear me a little, huh?”

“I guess. Did you say something about Dean? He’s okay, right?” Sam saw the doctor glance nervously at his monitors looking for a warning of some sort. “I’m not going to lose it,” Sam assured quietly. “Where’s my brother?”

“Dean’s going to be fine.” Dr. Winters assured. “He’s just been burning the candle at both ends and stress sort of put him on his back … literally.” Sam cast a worried glance toward the doctor. “I checked in on him Sam. He’s okay … he’s resting. He’s at Stanton Memorial.”

“Hospital? How bad is he really?”

“Sam, I said he’s fine and I don’t want you upsetting yourself.”

“Not knowing how my brother is doing exactly is what is upsetting me. I’m fine. Do you see me freaking out?”

“No,” the doctor conceded. “But, I think the sedative is still playing a role in your calmness.”

“Maybe,” Sam relented. “But, I want to know how he is.”

The doctor filled Sam in on Dean’s collapse and his cardiac stress induced arrhythmia. Dr. Winters was pleased that although Sam appeared very concerned over his sibling he was remaining calm and hadn’t had one episode of outbursts or panic attacks. He knew it may be fleeting, but perhaps Sam had turned a corner he’d have to see.

The Next Day, Dean’s CICU Room, Morning

Dean came to slowly from his medicated sleep. His vision was unfocussed and fuzzy. He blinked lazily and rubbed his eyes with a hand. He heard hushed voices and turned his head to see unclear dark images standing just outside his doorway. His vision cleared and he saw Ellen speaking with Marcus Winters. He tried to hear what they were saying and it wasn’t until he heard his brother’s name spoken that he opened his mouth. “What about Sammy?” His voice croaked. Ellen and Marcus both turned suddenly and obviously surprised to hear Dean’s voice.

“Dean,” Ellen spoke first. “You’re awake.”

“I asked you both a question,” Dean’s tone serious. “What about Sammy? Is he okay?”

“Dean,” Dr. Winters voice was firm. “Remain calm,” he looked at the monitors as his Dean’s vitals spiked. “Sam is fine. He’s awake.” Dean’s vital almost immediately leveled off and the doctor smiled in relief.

“Awake? He’s out of the coma?”

“Yes.”

“And, he’s okay?” he hesitated. “I mean … his brain. He’s alright?”

“There’s no sign of any brain damage. We actually were able to talk for a bit. He knows about you being in here and he sent a message,” he said with a grin and blushed slightly. Dean looked at him oddly.

“Well? What did he say?” Dean asked. The doctor cleared his throat and looked at Ellen and then Dean.

“He said, Get some sleep, bitch,” Marcus relayed. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Figures,” he complained. “Geek boy stole my word.” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Dean commented. “You seein’ him today doc?”

“Yes, we’re going to have a session while he’s still in the Medical unit, and I expect he’ll be able to be transferred back to his regular room in another day or two.”

“When can I see him?”

“Dean.” Ellen began. “You’ll see him when you’re able. You collapsed and you’re in a cardiac intensive care unit. Has that not got through that thick, damn stubborn head of yours?”

“Ellen,” he complained. He knew the woman was well meaning, but she was treading on thin ice when she started to get between him and his little brother. He took a calming breath. “I know where I am and I also know Sam needs me.”

“But…”

“No,” Dean countered. “Look I get that I put myself in here alright. And, I get that I can’t run right back to the Center to see Sam. I have no intention in keeling over in front of him and sending him over the edge. He’s my responsibility,” he asserted. “And, I’m an adult. I’ll see Sam when I say the time is right and the doc here says Sam can see me,” he cast a glance at the doctor.

“When you’re given the green light from your doctor Dean you can see Sam whenever you choose. I’m not keeping you boys apart again not like the last time. I still think for a while at least that his sessions should be with me, but eventually I’d like to have you sit in on them to be there for him. But, I assure you that I’ll never ask you to stay away again.” Dean offered the man a small smile and nodded.

“Fine,” Ellen acquiesced to both men. “Sorry,” she replied begrudgingly. “You’re right. It’s just I worry about you boys and …” her voice trailed off.

“I get it Ellen,” Dean answered in a gentle tone. Ellen nodded.

One Month Later, Stillwater Center, the Acute Wing

“Hey Sammy,” Dean smiled as he walked into the sunroom and found his brother sitting at a table in a far corner. Sam was looking out a window lost in thought. “Sammy?”

“Huh?” Sam was pulled from his thoughts. “Oh, hey,” he offered a smile. Dean studied his brother’s face and frowned.

“You look tired,” he commented. “You sleepin’ okay?”

“Yeah, my meds at night put me out,” Sam replied casually. His life as of late had become a strict regimen of pills and therapy with Dr. Winters.

“So what’s up?” Dean sat down and scooted the chair closer to his brother. “I ran into the doc on my way in here and he said your session went okay today.”

“It’s been a month since I got out of the Medical unit Dean,” Sam began suddenly. “I know I’ve been in here nine months now, and you and the doc were both there when he told me about the demon and the ritual. You and he have been telling me some things, but as much as you tell me you leave out.”

“Sammy, just take things slow,” Dean encouraged.

“Slow? I’m in a mental institution Dean having daily therapy sessions and popping pills, how much slower do you want me to go?” Sam let out a slow frustrated sigh. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“The ritual banned the demon for a long time, right? Like a millennia or something?”

“Yeah, so?” Dean wasn’t sure where his brother was going with this line of questioning.

“Nothing, it’s just…” his voice trailed off. “I remember the cabin and Dad being possessed. I even remember you were pretty busted up afterward from that yellow-eyed bastard. I’ve had patchy memories of the car crash and the hospital. I remember talking to Dad about you and that we needed to find a way to help you, but it’s fuzzy after that, and…”

“And, what?” Dean felt unease growing in his chest and Sam seemed to be jumping from one line of questioning to another.

“There’s no demon to be hunting Dean, so where’s Dad? And, don’t feed me the ‘he’s hunting’ line of bullshit either. Dad may be guilty of screwed up priorities most of the time, but if the demon’s out of commission for the long haul then where is he? Because I know he wouldn’t stay away, especially with me locked up in here. Where is he?” Dean looked away and seemed content to stare at the tile pattern on the floor. “Dean?” Sam gauged his big brother and watched his jaw twitch with tension, and then he saw the unmistakable glisten in his brother’s eyes and he felt his chest tighten. Sam knew without knowing and he didn’t want to deal with it and he refused to break down since that was what they all seemed to expect here. He stood up abruptly and walked out of the sunroom.

It happened so quick that when Dean looked up Sam was already passing through the doorway to the hallway. “Crap,” he hissed. “Sammy wait up.” Dean caught up to his brother in the hall and gently reached out stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. Sam turned to face him and Dean saw the anger and anguish all mixed together.

“He’s dead isn’t he?” Sam’s voice was a mere whisper. He sounded broken and lost. Dean took in a shaky breath.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

“When?” Sam asked timidly.

“He died at the hospital Sammy. I came out of my coma in the middle of the night and he stopped in to see me in the morning, and when he left my room,” his voice trailed off. “You found him collapsed on the floor in a room a couple doors down from my room. They tried to save him, but he was gone.” Sam could see in his brother’s eyes that Dean still missed their father fiercely. Sam’s mind flickered memories like an old movie as images and voices filled his head. Dean watched Sam get this far off look in his eyes and knew his brother was remembering something.

“The demon,” Sam began. Dean cast a worried glance up and down the hallway to make sure no one heard Sam talking about demons.

“Let’s go in your room Sammy. This isn’t a conversation for a hallway.” Sam allowed himself to be led to his room. He felt in a fog.

“The demon killed him,” Sam hurriedly spoke as Dean closed the door to his room. “A bargain of some sort, right? To make you better. To save you.” Dean nodded solemnly. The whole idea of what his father had done never had set well with him, and he knew it never would. Sam wanted to be strong, but it was a fresh wound and for him his father had just died. His grief wasn’t old and dulled from two years of adjusting. He still couldn’t remember huge chunks and now his father was dead. “I picked a fight with him before…” his voice hiccupped and his eyes filled with unshed tears.

“Hey, hey,” Dean reached out to comfort his brother. “Don’t go there okay kiddo. Dad and you always butted heads. He knew you loved him, okay?” Sam wanted to believe his brother, but the loss seemed so complete. He began to tremble and the tears cascaded down his cheeks. Dean looked at his little brother and did the only thing instinct was commanding for him to do … he stepped over and pulled his sibling against his chest and wrapped his arms protectively around Sam and held him. He rubbed circles on Sam’s back as his brother cried and trembled. “It’s going to be okay kiddo,” he wasn’t sure it was the truth, but Sam needed to hear it as much as he did. “I got ya. Shh…” he cooed. “Sammy, it’s okay.”

Dean looked over at the door and for the first time realized that Dr. Winters was standing in the doorway, he hadn't even heard the door open. The doctor watching with a soft eyes that spoke volumes. Sam’s legs began to buckle and Dean kept him standing as he helped Sam to his bed. Dr. Winters moved forward silently. Dean saw the syringe and simply nodded as the doctor injected the contents into Sam’s IV port. Dean held his little brother until the crying tapered off and he felt Sam’s head grow heavy on his shoulder. He lowered his sibling gently down onto his pillow and adjusted his arms comfortably to lie loosely across his chest. He pulled the blanket up and covered his brother.

“He’ll rest,” Dr. Winters spoke softly. “Now, how about you and I have a little chat,” he smiled knowingly. “I think you need it kiddo.” Dean nodded.

Dean ran a tentative hand gently through Sam’s bangs assuring himself his brother was deeply asleep and left with the doctor.