Summary:  A family tragedy during a hunt redirects the lives of the Winchester's in a way they could have never predicted.
Warning:  AU.  WARNING MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH(S) IN LATE CHAPTER(S).
A/N:  I hope you enjoy this newest story. This story may different than what you’re used to reading from me. It’s not laden with tons and tons of angst, although there is angst for a few chapters here and there, especially the beginning. I just had an idea I wanted to run with and get out of my system, so here it is. Also, I already have several new stories begging to be written and when I can I will write them.
Happy reading, I hope!
Disclaimer:  The characters of Supernatural were created by Eric Kripke and are owned by the CW Network. No profit is being made.

Dean and John sat in a quiet and secluded area of the main glass arboretum off of the hospital’s main lobby. Dean stared out the glass window to the dark and sleeping flower garden buried under December snow. His eyes glassy with new tears ready to follow the tracks of their previous predecessors. “So,” he choked out quietly as his mind felt in direct conflict with his heart. He had heard everything his father had told him about his little brother and the brain damage. He understood it logically, but his heart was another matter. He took a breath and began again, “So, you mean Sammy’s re…retarded now or something?” John frowned.

“I don’t want to hear that word out of your mouth ever again,” he warned a little more gruffly than he had intended. He knew Dean was hurt and confused. “Your brother isn’t retarded.” Dean looked at his father with something akin to complete devastation in his green-hazel eyes.

“Then what do you call it?” he blurted. “You said yourself he might never be able to take care of himself … that he’s going to need around the clock care … like … like some kind of baby, Dad. That’s what I’m hearing,” Dean’s voice peaked slightly as his emotions began to grasp him like the strong undertow of an approaching tsunami. “He won’t be the same,” he choked. “Will he even know me? Know I’m his big brother?” Dean dropped his face into his hands and began to cry quietly.

And, there it was in all its stark white truth for John Winchester to see … Dean was terrified he’d lost his little brother and that Sammy wouldn’t remember him or know who he was … Dean was afraid he’d lost Sam in the figurative sense. “Dean, son,” John began. He put an arm around the young fifteen year-old frame of his child. “Sammy’s gonna need help for a while. Learn things over … walking and talking, but you were there for all of that the first time and you’ll be there for him now,” he assured. “And, Dean if Sammy doesn’t know you or me when he wakes up then he’ll learn to know us all over, but know this Dean,” John cupped his son’s face in a single broad hand. “No matter what has happened to Sammy’s brain, his heart … his soul remembers you’re his big brother. The bond will always be there Dean, even if maybe, we have to build a bridge back to it if its’ been damaged. We still have your brother and that’s what counts,” John was trying to assure his son as much as he was himself.

“You really think Sammy will know me even if his brain doesn’t?”

“I do.”

“But, he could remember though right? The doctors really don’t know how he’ll be until he wakes up?”

“True,” John relented. “Like I explained to you Dean they know Sammy’s brain was hurt in different places, but the true level of damage we won’t know until he wakes up from the coma.” Dean nodded. John saw the distant look in his son’s eyes. “Hey, listen to me,” John asserted. “I don’t want you giving up on your brother or doubting yourself, okay?”

“I’d never give up on Sammy,” he choked. “I should have known he’d go out on the ice or something. Why the hell did he?” Dean lamented suddenly. “I knew he was bored because we wouldn’t let him help us, I…”

“Dean stop,” John gently commanded. “None of this is your fault, not one damn lousy bit of it … you understand?” Dean only looked at his father and John saw the self doubt there. “I mean it,” John replied. “If there is any blame to be had in this damn mess it’s me. I should have never had you boys out there, neither of you. You two,” he stopped to rub and hand across his eyes. “You boys are all I’ve got and the danger I put you two in…”

“Dad,” Dean began.

“Don’t son,” John started. “Don’t give me absolution in this. I should have given you boys a home and real childhoods … not a life of demon hunting and motels rooms in place of a real home.”

“Dad, we’re a family … you, me and Sammy. That’s home. Who needs a stinkin’ house on a street? You and Sammy are my home.” John felt his chest swell with a pride and love for his son he didn’t think could exceed what he already had for his first born.

“Dean, you make me so proud,” he replied. “But, you boys deserve better. Hunting isn’t a life for you boys, and dammit,” he hissed. “The price for my learning curve was Sammy. I’m so sorry Dean.”

“Dad, please. We’re going to be okay. Whatever Sammy needs we’ll do. You said it yourself earlier the doctors might not know everything, and if Sammy needs a lot of help he’ll get it. And, he’s still Sammy no matter what.” John wiped at the silent tears that had slipped down his face. He pulled Dean against him and leaned in hugging his child.

“You shouldn’t be comforting me Dean,” he stammered. “I should be comforting you.”

“We’ll lean on each other Dad, okay?” John smiled softly at his son.

“When did you become so wise? I don’t remember giving you permission to grow up young man.” Dean offered his father a tentative smile.

“Snuck under the wire sir, sorry,” he replied softly.

“Yeah, I guess you did.” Father and son sat quietly for a while as both continued to process their thoughts. John wasn’t fooled for one minute he knew there would still be some sort of fallout with Dean. He knew his son had an incredible way of masking himself from the world and others. He knew Dean was broken over his little brother, but for now John would allow his eldest child his well practiced and controlled method of self preservation. He cleared his throat as he looked at his watch. “It’s 8:00 kiddo, I guess we better get back up to Sammy and Jim,” John began. “Dean, I want you to go back to the hotel with Jim tonight.”

“No,” Dean answered quickly. “I want to stay with Sammy. I showered there earlier and I can sleep in the foldout chair.

“Yes, I know all of this Dean, but I want you to go with Jim. I want you to have a decent meal tonight and sleep in a real bed. I’ll stay with Sammy.” John could see his son was about to protest once again. “Dean,” he voice dropped into command mode. “This isn’t a request. You go with Jim and I’ll see you in the morning after you’ve had a shower and a good breakfast … am I clear?”

“Yes sir,” Dean answered under his breath.

John walked Jim and Dean out to the lobby and saw them off for the night. John was thankful for Jim’s presence. He trusted his children’s lives with the man, so he had no reservations giving Dean’s care over to the man for the night. Jim Murphy had been apart of his son’s lives since Dean was five and Sammy turned one. Sam had taken his first steps at Jim’s house. John turned back to return to his baby boy’s bedside.

One Month Later, Knapp Rehab Center, Pediatric Brain Injury Unit, Minneapolis

Jim had driven back to Blue Earth with the intent to call up an old friend to arrange for Sam’s transport back to Blue Earth and to receive rehab and care. He had finally got through to John that they couldn’t keep living like Nomad’s while Sam was in rehab. He had already arranged for Dean to start back to school before he got too far behind. Dean would be entering as a freshman at Blue Earth Area High School.

John walked into the resident rehab center having just finished relocation plans for Sam back to Blue Earth. The boy couldn’t make the trip by ground ambulance, so Jim had made plans with a pilot friend that did medical transports and Sam would be entering a brain injury program at Blue Earth Medical Center under the care of Dr. Kirk Odden. John went toward Sam’s room where he figured it was the time of day that Sammy would be getting some in room play therapy and he knew Dean would be right there with his little brother helping the therapist with Sam.

John arrived at Sam’s room and watched quietly from the door. Dean was sitting on a blue mat with his back to the door facing the therapist. Dean had Sam propped up against his chest and held him upright. He held Sam’s arms out as the therapist rolled a bright red ball toward him. “See Sammy,” Dean encouraged. “Catch the ball and roll it back to Katie.” Dean held his little brother’s arms gently giving them guidance. Sam’s head lulled a little to the side and Dean gently put an arm down to help readjust his brother’s head. “Oops,” Dean replied softly. “Sammy, try to hold your head up,” he encouraged as he looked to Katie, Sam’s physical therapist as she nodded in approval.

“That’s right Dean just encourage him to try.”

John stood watching and his heart ached. When Sam had finally come out of the coma in his fourth week at the hospital he had been non-verbal and limp. The motor movements he did have seemed jerky almost spastic, but the movements had begun to improve with therapy over the past month. He tended to keep his left arm close to his body and to invert his hand at the wrist near his chest, but the therapy sessions were helping and encouraging him to use that arm. Sam was still learning to sit on his own and not fall over, until a week ago when he finally was able to keep himself upright if left unsupported, but it was still hit and miss. The center had told John that they did feel Sam would eventually be able to walk, but when they weren’t sure. John watched the red ball roll toward Sam and Dean again, and Dean held his brother’s arms once again and pushed the ball back to Katie. “Yeah, Sammy, good push kiddo,” Dean congratulated once more. Sam let out a little squeal of happiness and he smiled.

John felt his chest tighten and he stepped out of the doorway and leaned against the outside wall. He closed his eyes for a moment letting the emotional moment recede. His baby boy hadn’t spoken yet, but he had started making noises over the past couple weeks: grunts or squeals depending on his mood. The center had said it was a positive move for Sam’s rehab that his responses although non-verbal were appropriate for the moment. Sam grunted when he wasn’t happy or frustrated about something, he squealed when happy or content and he had even cried. Sam had a long road ahead of him and some days John looked at him while he slept and saw the little boy before the accident, but then Sam would wake up and reality was always a faithful, cold companion.

“Good boy Sammy,” Dean chimed. And, John heard a gurgle and squeal from his youngest. Sam had seemed to remember his family on some basic level and had taken to Dean almost immediately and to his father a few days later. John stepped back into the room.

“Hey there,” John spoke as he entered. Dean swiveled around slightly to get a look at his dad. “What are you two up to, huh?”

“Oh, Sammy here is a regular athlete with the ball,” Dean answered. “He actually gave a little push on the last roll.”

“You did,” John walked over and crouched down to his son’s level. “Hey kiddo,” John spoke softly. He ran his hand gently across Sam’s forehead and pushed his bangs back. “We should cut these Sammy.” Sam looked at his father with curious eyes. A small bit of saliva escaped from the side of his mouth and John gently took the edge of his flannel shirt and dried it away. “You know cut Sammy?” John smiled. He raised his fingers toward Sam’s hair mimicking scissors, and while making a clipping motion, “snip, snip,” he said playfully. Sam wrinkled his brow and grunted. John smiled and laughed. “Some things never change, huh, kiddo?”

“Dean?” Katie’s voice broke into the family moment. “Why don’t you see if we can get him to sit up on his own,” she suggested. Dean nodded. John bent down and helped to hold Sam while Dean extricated himself from his brother. Dean coaxed his brother up into a more upright position, and tried to make him support his head.

“Here Sammy,” Dean said softly. “Try sitting up for me and Dad, okay?” He let go of Sam and watched his head bobble a bit and his body seemed to follow suit with wobbling, but he stayed up. His legs were stretched out in front of him in the shape of the letter V. “That’s it Sammy. Good job.”

“That’s my boy,” John replied gently with a warm smile. Sam smiled and John reached out with his sleeve once again to catch a small stream of saliva as it escaped his little boy’s mouth. John finished wiping it away and then stroked his son’s throat as he’d been taught to help stimulate his swallowing muscles. Sam swallowed. “Good boy,” John smiled and cooed. Sam squealed in response to his father’s smile. He began to wobble more and started to tip like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, but John put out a steadying hand and kept his little boy upright.

“Sammy, try to catch the ball when Katie rolls it to you,” Dean spoke up. The red ball rolled toward Sam and stopped when it tapped the inside of his thighs. “Come on, you can do it Sammy,” Dean encouraged. John watched his oldest child try so hard to help his little brother regain what he’d lost, although they had accepted that Sam would never be the same boy he was before that day at the lake. The doctors had done their testing and said that Sam was sitting at a cognitive level of a four or five year old, but a four or five year old with multiple disabilities. The therapists at the center had told him that as Sam progresses in rehab and his special schooling when he’s able to attend his cognitive levels may raise, but will never be normal, or at least what society would deem normal. It was a cold hard fact that even if Sam learned self care and the basics of life again he would never be on his own in the literal sense. Sam would always need some form of help or guardianship.

John privately worried about that. He knew he wouldn’t live forever which meant that eventually Dean would be the sole caregiver and guardian for Sammy. He knew it was a job his eldest child would do without question, but he hated that one day his boys would only have each other, and God Forbid, John though to himself, what if something happened to Dean after he was already gone … where would that leave Sammy? He felt he had to provide multiple arrangements just to insure that Sam would always have someone. He never wanted his baby boy to end up in an institution if it could be prevented.

“Go on,” Dean’s voice was up beat and encouraging. Sam offered a slobbery grin, and suddenly jerked a hand toward the red ball tapping it. It didn’t go far as it stopped near an ankle, but he’d tried, and it was the first time he’d tried on his own. “Dad!” Dean chirped. “Did you see that?”

“Yes, I did,” John took Sam’s face gently in his hands as he smiled broadly. “Good job kiddo,” he congratulated. Sam squealed in excitement for the smiles and happy voices he was hearing. He was realizing that moving the red ball was a good thing. He tried again, but it was out of reach and that made him angry. He grunted and frowned. John reached over and pushed the ball back up toward his little boy’s hands. “Here it is Sammy. Try again.”

Sam struggled to move his arm and hand and it appeared for the first real time he was beginning to notice his body’s limitations. He struggled as his hand jerked in an uncoordinated flick. He connected with the ball and it rolled just beyond his feet. “Woohoo, Sammy!” Dean cheered.

“Good boy,” John added.

“He’s doing great today,” Katie replied. “It looks like he’s trying to do things and realizing his body isn’t quite up to speed. He may start having those temper tantrums we’ve warned you about.” John nodded. He hadn’t seen one yet, but he’d heard how agitated brain injury patients could become especially children.

One Hour Later, Sam’s Room

John had picked up Sam after his therapy play session and put him down for a nap. He was often tired after a session. “Here we go Sammy,” John gently placed his little boy on his bed and pulled a sheet and blanket up. Sam had little control of being able to turn, and the doctors had said it was best if Sam slept on his side until he had better control of his swallowing. Sam’s young body with its gangly eleven year old limbs was easily pliable to John’s gentle placements. He turned Sam on his side and wedged a pillow behind his child, so he wouldn’t be able to roll over if he tried. He raised the side bars on the bed. “Here you go Sammy,” John’s voice was gentle. He reached for a furry blue rabbit with floppy hears that had been Sam’s since he was six. “You want to take a nap with Hopper?” He lifted one of Sam’s arms and placed the stuffed toy under it. He smiled as he watched Sam nuzzle closer to it and his eyes drift closed as sleep pulled him under. John pushed his child’s hair back from his forehead and kissed him. “Sweet dreams Sammy.”

Dean stood watching his father with his little brother. “Dad?” He began softly. “You talk to Jim?”

John looked up and motioned for them to leave Sam’s room. They walked a short distance down to a tiny lobby area and sat down.

“Yes, and it seems everything is set for Sammy. He has a pilot friend that can fly Sammy from here to Blue Earth. He does medical transports among other things. And, the rehab is all arranged. I guess Jim knows a doctor in Blue Earth that is willing to treat Sam and they subsidize families with no insurance.”

“Are they keeping Sammy?”

“Yes, they will provide 24 hour care and his rehab. We’ll see him everyday while he’s in there Dean, I promise. And, Jim also got you enrolled at the High School there in Blue Earth.”

“I need to help Sammy Dad.”

“And, you will be able to, bit you’re not skipping school Dean. Classes are already in session, and I don’t want you falling behind.”

“It’s a crock Dad,” Dean complained. “Sam’s more important.”

“Look, I know school has never been your favorite thing, but I think that’s my fault. I’ve moved you two boys around so much, but not now okay. Jim’s house is big enough for all of us, and when I can I’ll get us our own place, but for right now I think Jim’s is the best option for all of us.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean answered in a deflated tone. “What about you? We’re hunters dad?”

“No Dean,” John’s voice was firm. “It’s not a life I want for you anymore. Look I can’t promise I won’t go on the occasional hunt when Joshua or Caleb need help, but you boys are more important.” Dean knew deep down his father meant what he was saying and probably even believed it, but he also knew the pull of the hunt was too great for his dad, and that eventually he’d be on the road again looking for the demon. It was just a matter of time.

“So, when do we leave?”

“End of the week on Friday. I’m driving the Impala to Jim’s and I thought you’d make the twenty-five minute flight with Sammy. Jim will meet you at the small air field and an ambulance will be there to take Sammy to the rehab center adjacent to the medical center. Jim’s going to get the paperwork started and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I get to go with Sammy?”

“Yeah, they are going to give him a mild sedative for the flight, but just in case he gets scared I think it’d be better if one of us was there and I don’t want you driving to Jim’s place alone.” Dean nodded.

Three Weeks Later, Blue Earth Medical Center Rehab Facility, Late February 1995

“John,” Dr. Odden began. “Sam has made great strides since coming to Blue Earth. I attribute his youth to that and his family support system. I have to commend you and your older son for being such active participants in your son’s rehabilitation.”

“He still hasn’t spoken yet,” John replied. He had left Sam with Dean in his room. Sam’s therapy today had gone well. Sam participated on his play therapy actively. And, Sam took his first steps today with assistance from his physical therapist Emma. “I mean, I’m thrilled he took steps today with help,” John hurried to add. “But, will he learn his speech again?”

“John, his speech therapist sees him everyday and I’m confident that he’ll start to try and verbalize soon, but how soon I’m not sure. And, his swallowing has improved and even that relatively simple task means a lot toward him learning speech once again. Also, his therapy to engage his left arm has taken huge strides. He is now using his left arm and hand more actively and I anticipate he’ll keep doing so.” John nodded. “Sam has only been with us for three weeks and each week he makes some form of progress.”

“I know,” John hedged. “I just …” his voice trailed off.

“I know a brain injury such as your son’s isn’t easy to deal with and I’ve seen this kind of accident and trauma break a part families, but you have the right perspective on things John. And, you shouldn’t beat yourself up for occasionally wishing things were different. To be quite frank you may never totally let go of the son you knew before the near drowning, but …”

“I know,” John started. “He’s still my little boy no matter what.” The doctor smiled and nodded.

“So, Jim tells me you took a job in town with an auto garage.”

“Yeah, you know hunting isn’t exactly a paying job.”

“I know,” the doctor agreed. He had been raised in a family of hunters, and had even participated in a few hunts when he was younger, but when a twenty-year old cousin had died from blood loss on a hunt when Dr. Kirk Odden was only seventeen, it was that incident which had pushed him into medicine, so that he’d have the knowledge to save a loved one or stranger. “Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to give you an update on Sam’s progress and touch base over his first steps today. I’ll let you get back to your boys.” The doctor looked at his watch. “Sam’s second half of play therapy should be just about over.” The beeper on the man’s belt went off and he saw it was from Sam’s primary care nurse, Lynn Hodges. “John hold up a second.” He picked up the phone and returned Lynn’s page.

John stood and waited wondering what was going on that the doctor had him wait. He couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation, but he heard the doctors last words before he hung up the phone, “Yeah, we’re on our way. Go ahead and sedate him before he hurts himself. I’ve written an as needed order in his charts just reference the dosage there.” The doctor hung up the phone and looked at John.

“What was that about?” John asked.

“Sam,” the doctor answered bluntly. John’s face paled.

“What? What’s wrong with my son?” He barked.

“Apparently he became frustrated in play therapy and had an aggressive outburst and couldn’t be calmed. These tantrum like events do happen, but it just seems Sam’s had a full blown episode. Let’s go. I want to check him out. I guess he was really thrashing about and really worked himself up.”

John was out of the room in a flash.

The first thing John saw was Dean outside Sam’s room leaned against the window looking into Sam’s room from the hallway. His forehead was against the glass as he peered through the open blinds. “Dean, son?” John walked up and put a hand on his shoulder as Dr. Odden skirted past them to go examine his young patient.

“Dad, he just freaked out,” Dean choked. “I tried to calm him down, I promise, but he wouldn’t listen. It was like I wasn’t even there. He just kept screaming and hitting.” Dean looked up and John saw the raw desperation in his child’s eyes.

“Dean this wasn’t your fault sport,” He put a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder. “You know the doctors in Minneapolis told us this could happen and Dr. Odden did too. We’ll help Sammy get through this,” he paused. “We’ll get through this Dean,” he reiterated. John wanted Dean to understand that they would all get through this one way or the other. They sat down the hall while doctor examined Sam. John looked over at his eldest as he leafed through a magazine he knew Dean wasn’t reading, but merely trying to keep himself occupied while he waited to hear about his little brother. “Dean?”

“Yeah,” he looked up at his father.

“You get a lot of homework at school today?”

“I got history and science,” Dean started. “Why?”

“Cause it’s after 6:00 and you should be getting to that. Plus, you need some dinner. I’ll call Jim to come get you.”

“I don’t want to go Dad. Screw the homework,” he blurted.

“Dean watch your mouth,” John corrected softly. “You know,” he stared as he rubbed a hand across his face. “I’ve got my eye on a truck, so if I get it I’m thinking I’ll let you have the Impala, after all, you’ve been a licensed driver now for almost two months.”

“Dad,” Dean began.

“Don’t Dean. Look you know the drill … you can spend as much time as you want with Sammy on Fridays after school, Saturdays, and Sundays, but during the school week you gotta hit the books. I’m not going to have you flunk out.”

“Dad school was never my thing,” Dean replied quickly. School is Sa…” his voice dropped off suddenly as he realized what he was about to say. His mind however still continued the thought in its own silent reverie, school is Sammy’s thing. John saw the stricken look cross his son’s countenance and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay Dean,” he assured. “I’ll call Jim,” John stood up and then noticed that Dr. Odden had finally come out of Sam’s room. “There’s the doctor,” he commented and Dean stood up. “Well?” John asked quickly as he and the doctor both closed the distance between them.

“He’s fine John,” the doctor assured. “He’s sleeping off the mild sedative. Look we discussed that these tantrums could occur, and most likely would. We’ll just play it by ear. I’ve explained that his cognitive and emotional responses are affected because of the brain damage and with further rehab it’s my hope that these outbursts become more manageable as his rehab continues.”

“Can we see him?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly. “He’ll most likely sleep an hour or two, and then his primary care nurse will give him a bath and get him ready for bedtime.”

“I’d like to help with that,” John spoke. Sam wasn’t capable of self care and wore diapers, but John was hopeful that his baby boy would learn those things again and have some level of a life outside the walls of the rehab center. It scared him to think that if his child reached a plateau in his rehab they would say he should be institutionalized, but he’d have none of that. John had already started investigating getting help if Sam should be allowed to come home and needed twenty-four hour care.

“Sure,” the doctor agreed with a smile.

Blue Earth Pediatric Rehab Center, Mid-April 1995, Saturday Afternoon

“Dee want ball,” Sam sat unattended on the blue mat during his play therapy. Dean smiled at his little brother, and although he couldn’t quite say Dean, it was close enough and music to his ears. Sam had begun verbalizing over a month ago and it appeared his language and speech centers in his brain although damaged had begun once again to be accessed.

“Dean make him tell you the color of the ball,” Katie, Sam’s play therapist requested.

“Sammy,” Dean said with a smile as he picked up the ball to roll to his little brother. “What color is the ball?” Sam reached out with his hands and grunted. Sam balled up his fists and opened and closed them rapidly indicating he wanted the ball. “What color Sammy?” Dean urged.

“Want ball,” Sam’s child like response demanded.

“You can have it as soon as you tell me the color,” Dean replied. Sam frowned and proceeded to slap his hand on the mat in frustration. Dean could see his cheeks beginning to redden and knew a tantrum would erupt soon. He cast a look at Katie.

“Sam,” Katie clapped her hands to draw his attention to her. “What color is the ball? Dean needs help,” she started. “He doesn’t know the color, so you need to tell him.”

“That’s right Sammy,” he agreed. Sam grunted in response.

“Ball,” he demanded in no uncertain terms. “Ball!” Dean allowed a frustrated sigh to escape his lips.

“It’s okay Dean,” Katie assured. She stood up and picked up the ball and walked it across the room and put it inside a bright yellow plastic toy bin. “No more ball,” Katie declared to Sam. Sam sat silent for a moment his young damaged mind trying to sort out what had just happened. His face reddened and fat tears began to well up and fall down his cheeks.

“Katie,” Dean hedged. He hated to see his little brother upset. Sam’s tears always threatened to break him.

“Dean, he’s okay,” she assured. “Just wait.”

“Want ball,” Sam screamed and bubbled through his frustrated tears. He struggled over onto his stomach and in a wobbly fashion climbed up to his knees and hands and in a haphazard crawl that more closely resembled a drunken man trying to crawl to the nearest toilet he made his way toward the bright yellow bin the ball had disappeared into.

“Do you see that?” Dean chirped as he turned wide eyes to Katie. She nodded.

“Want ball,” Sam continued in his broken tear laced mantra. He made contact with the bin and pulled himself up to his knees with a grunt. “Ball!” he bellowed again. He reached one hand into the bin in an effort to get the toy, but he couldn’t quite reach the deep part of the bin it had settled into. He moved a small jerky arm up and down as he hit the plush stuffed toys on top. He was furious.

“Maybe, I could…” Dean started.

“No, wait,” Katie encouraged in her soft voice. And, then it happened …

“Ball! Red ball,” Sam hiccupped though his tears of frustration. “Want red ball.” Dean felt his throat close up and his chest tighten at his little brother’s voice. Sam had identified the color of the ball on his own without any hints.

Dean reached over and pulled Sam into his lap. “Good boy Sammy,” he spoke lovingly. Katie reached into the bin and handed the red ball to Dean. “Here you go.” Dean started to hand his brother the ball and stopped when Sam looked into his face and studied him.

Sam looked into his brother’s smiling face. He reached a hand up and touched Dean’s cheek with an uncoordinated hand. “Dee…Happy?” Sam asked in a small voice. Dean laughed as hot tears sprung up in his eyes. His smile grew larger.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he replied softly. “I’m happy.” Katie nodded with a big smile. Sam had made taken huge steps today. Today, Sam not only named a color, but he was also able to assimilate his big brother’s facial expression with an emotion. It was a big day for Sam Winchester.

Later that Afternoon

John had come to the center as soon as he could change out of his work uniform. He had already had the excited call from Dean and the good news about Sam’s achievements for the day. He walked into his young son’s room at the tail end of another play therapy session. Sam looked up from the blue mat and smiled. He reached his arms up in excitement. “Dada,” came out as an excited squeal. His speech allowed the Dada to form in his mouth, but not Daddy … at least not yet.

“Hey kiddo,” John reached down and picked his son up. “How’s Dad’s big boy?” Sam was nearing his twelfth birthday next month and was lanky and already showing signs of his impending height he’d achieve in puberty and subsequent adulthood, but John didn’t care. Sam wanted picked up John would pick him up. Anyway, where Sam was a lanky and gangly eleven year old he was a lightweight. John held him on a hip while Sam wrapped himself around his father like a baby monkey. John nestled his chin on top of his little boy’s chestnut curls. Sam nuzzled into his father and found comfort in his scent.

“Well, would you look at that,” Dean commented. “I better alert the news media.” John smiled.

“Must have won the lotto and no one told me,” John replied with an amused face.

Two Months Later, Blue Earth Pediatric Rehab Center, Early June 1995

“Daddy!” Sam squealed from the kiddie exercise pool. His water play therapy instructor Rebecca waved at John as he walked into the pool area. “Daddy!” Sam slapped the water with a hand as he let partially go of Rebecca. He had a small life vest on that kept him buoyant in the pool. John had had difficulties when they started the water therapy for Sam’s leg muscles to help his walking. It took him a couple weeks to be able to watch his little boy in the water without seeing him being pulled lifeless from the icy lake water. Fortunately, Sam had no memory of his lake experience and John was glad for that small grace. In fact, Sam loved the water and looked forward to pool time.

“Hey kiddo,” John bent down to the edge of the pool and Sam wiggled out of Rebecca’s arms and tried to reach his father, but Rebecca helped get him there. John took hold of Sam’s outstretched arms and pulled him straight up out of the water. “There we go,” he commented softly. He held securely to Sam as he wobbled to maintain his balance and once he saw his little boy get his balance he draped a fuzzy pale blue towel around his child and toweled him off. Sam walked into his father’s arms and nuzzled against him. John looked over the wet chestnut curls of his son at his therapist. “How’d he do today?”

“He loves the water,” she commented and silently John cringed. “He’s making excellent progress.” She glanced at Sam who had practically melted into his father’s protective and warm embrace. “Sam tell your daddy what you did today.” She urged in a playful tone. Sam stepped back on unsure feet and John steadied him.

“Daddy, I walk and Rebe said … said I good.” Sam’s speech was getting better, but he still made errors and called his therapist Rebe because he couldn’t manage Rebecca. John didn’t mind at all. There was a time he could remember when doctors weren’t sure his boy would ever be capable of speech again.

“You walked?” he smiled and rubbed the towel over his son’s dripping hair. “Show Daddy,” he encouraged. John scooted back on his haunches, but not far and watched as Sam took four unsteady steps toward his father. He toddled like a baby, but he was walking and that’s all that mattered to John. Sam wore a large dimpled smile on his face and he giggled with self satisfaction toward his new found mobility.

“See!” he squealed happily. “I walk.”

“Yes, you did kiddo. Daddy’s proud of you,” he congratulated and he held Sam close. He could feel his son’s young heart beating against his t-shirt. Sam was alive and mending to his best potential.

“What else Sam? Tell your Daddy what you did before we went in the pool.” Rebecca urged. Sam’s eyes widened as he remembered his other big news.

“I went to pottie ... by self,” he replied in excitement. John looked at Rebecca and she smiled with a nod. Sam raised a hand up proudly extending a single finger. “I did a number one,” he said with childlike pride.

“Good boy,” John pulled his son into a hug. “Good boy Sammy. You’ll be in big boy pants pretty soon.” Sam giggled as he looked around the pool room briefly.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah sport?”

“Where Dee?” Sam’s speech had improved, but he was still having problems pronouncing his big brother’s name correctly.

“Dean’s going to a school dance tonight Sammy,” John answered. “He wanted to be here, but I told him to go.”

“Dee dance?”

“Yes, Dean’s at a dance.”

“What dance?” John looked at Sam for a second and Rebecca nodded to him from her vantage at the pool’s edge to answer Sam’s question however he saw fit.

“You mean what is a dance?” John prompted. Sam nodded and looked at his father with wide expectant eyes. John’s heart melted at the sheer innocence in his little boy’s eyes. John smiled, “here better to show you.” John reached his hands toward Sam. “Give Daddy your hand’s Sammy,” he urged. “Now, step on my feet,” John tapped each foot and encouraged his son to put a foot on each of his own. He began to move from side to side and back and forth. He proceeded to do an old-fashioned box step with his baby son. Sam giggled. “This is dancing Sammy.”

“Daddy fun!” he laughed. John chuckled. This moment would go under one of John’s more memorable with his little boy. It seemed since Sam’s accident that father and son had found one another again, and in some ways John felt the accident had saved his family, but at a high price. John felt he’d been given a second chance at being the father his boys deserved. Sam’s laughter piped up again and John could only smile. “Faster Daddy,” Sam begged with excitement.

The next day, Saturday morning 9:00 AM, Jim’s House

Jim walked through the kitchen to grab a coffee. John had offered to help at the garage for a couple hours before going to the rehab. Jim knew Dean was still around somewhere, but had been scarce since returning home around 10:00 PM from the school dance the previous evening. He had spoken to his father about Sam and his progress for the day, but had offered little word about the dance other than a shrug and a quick it wasn’t bad.

“Dean?” Jim called out, but the house remained silent. His eyes caught the glimpse of something through one of the kitchen windows. He stopped and looked. He saw Dean sitting on top of the picnic table further out in the yard staring off deep in thought. Jim let out a sigh and went to talk to the young man. “Mind if I sit?” Jim asked in a casual tone. Dean looked at the man briefly.

“Okay,” he answered quietly. “So, Dad went into work today?”

“Yes, but only for a couple hours. They were short and he agreed as long as he was out of there in time to spend time with your brother in some of his therapies.”

“Yeah, I should get up there.” Dean was only sixteen, but he carried himself as if he were much older. It made Jim ache.

“You have time,” Jim replied. “How about we talk?”

“About what?”

“Well, you didn’t have a lot to say about the dance last night when your Dad and I asked you about it,” Jim commented casually. “Was it fun? I mean in my day and age girls never asked the boys out to dances, well except during Sadie Hawkins and that Maggie girl is a real cutie,” Jim smiled. Dean looked at Jim.

“Sadie what?” he asked. Jim chuckled.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Obviously, it was something for us old timers and not you young kids these days. So, how was it?”

“I said it was okay,” Dean answered with a slightly sharp tone.

“Dean what is it?” Jim pushed. “So, you didn’t have fun? Did something happen with Maggie … you have a disagreement?”

“No,” Dean sighed.

“Then what’s the problem?” Jim hedged. Dean let out a long controlled sigh and cast a quick glance at Jim before settling his gaze to some distant point in the yard. “Well?” Jim urged.

“I had fun okay,” Dean answered in a frustrated tone. Jim blinked in confusion.

“That’s the problem?” He asked in a surprised voice. “You had fun … that’s the problem?”

“Yeah,” he complained and remained staring into the distance.

“Okay, did I miss something here sport,” Jim replied. “Since when is having fun a problem?”

“Because,” Dean answered simply.

“Because why?” Jim pushed.

“Because I had fun … at a dance … with a girl,” Dean answered in a way that implied his answer was crystal clear and Jim was an idiot.

“Okay,” Jim’s voice drew the word out implying he still wasn’t following Dean’s train of thought. “Help an old man out Dean,” he watched Dean with soft eyes. Dean sat silent for a long moment and then shifted his gaze to Jim and the anguish in them sucked all the air from Jim’s lungs. “Dean? What is it? Talk to me,” he pleaded softly.

“I had fun Jim,” Dean answered brokenly as his stoic façade crumbled before the religious man’s eyes. “I went to a dance with a girl. I hung out with friends,” his speech was strained as he fought against the emotions bubbling to the surface. “Sammy won’t have that … ever … I shouldn’t be having fun when my little brother is … is…” Dean dropped his face into his young sixteen year old hands and began to cry. His shoulders hitched up and down as the sobs erupted from him. Jim wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders.

“Hey, hey,” he comforted. “Dean,” he began. He wanted to say the right words, but what could he say to make this right. “You’re aloud to have fun kiddo. It’s okay.” He smiled tentatively at the youth. “Sammy is getting better everyday, and who knows what’s in store for him,” Jim tried to placate the teenager. Dean lifted his face from his hands and turned his bloodshot eyes to Jim.

“You don’t know,” he hissed. “Nobody knows how much more progress Sammy’s gonna make …”

“So, you’re giving up on your brother?” Jim pushed.

“No, hell no!” he snapped. Jim raised an eyebrow at the teen’s use of hell. Dean just shrugged. “I’d never give up on Sammy,” he responded with a softer tone. “It’s just … he’ll never be on his own Jim,” Dean lamented. “I mean,” he hiccupped. “The newest tests from last week say that Sammy is basically a seven year old in a twelve year olds body, and not a regular seven year old, but one that has disabilities,” he brushed away the hot tears sliding out of the corners of his eyes with angry hands.

“Hey,” Jim began. “It wasn’t that long ago that they said Sammy was sitting at a four or five year old range, he’s doing well Dean, and who knows how far he’ll come once he starts school.” Dean turned wide-eyes to Jim.

“School?” he stammered. “Sammy can’t go to school. The kids … they’ll make fun of him.”

“Dean it’s a special school, and when Sam’s ready to be released from the rehab center he’ll come home and live with all of us and he’ll get to go to school, a school for him.”

“Dad didn’t say anything to me,” Dean replied.

“No reason to yet,” Jim assured. “Dr. Odden was telling him the other day that when Sam is ready to be released that they’ll make arrangements for him to attend Minds in Motion Learning Academy it’s for children with special needs,” Jim answered. “Your father took a brochure from the doctor. He planned to talk to you about it soon, but didn’t see a real point until we know when Sammy will get out of rehab and that is still probably a little ways away yet.” Dean looked at the man.

“I’ve seen that place,” he started. “They have a big playground with a red fence around it.” Jim nodded. “It’s not too far from my school. So, Sammy could go there?”

“Sam will go there,” Jim asserted. He needed Dean to believe that his little brother would have a life, the best life they could all give him. Dean offered a small smile. “So, is all this I shouldn’t be having fun mumbo jumbo done and over … tell me about the dance and that cute Maggie girl.” He leaned over and nudged Dean with a glint in his grey-blue eyes. Dean turned red and grinned sheepishly as he ducked his head.