Summary:  A walk home from school turns deadly.
Spoilers: 
A/N:  Hey guys… here’s another limp Sam story, and I don’t think this idea has ever been done… So let me know what you think…
Disclaimer:  I own nothing to do with supernatural… It’s all Kripke’s. Song by Breaking Benjamin...

So sacrifice yourself,
and let me have what's left.
I know that I can find
the fire in your eyes.
I'll throw it all away,
get away, please.

Seventeen year old Sam Winchester walked down the street, his friend Jake right beside him. They were talking about the upcoming Academic Decathlon competition, where Sam would compete in the Honors division, his subject, history.

“So hey, are you still coming to the last event when eighth period ends?” Sam asked Jake, worry hidden in his voice.

“Yeah I told you I would be there, and have I ever broken a promise?” Jake asked, trying to placate the anxiousness that he could tell Sam was feeling.

“No, but I just wanted to make sure. I mean with my dad and Dean going out of town tonight, and not coming back till next week; well I just wanted to make sure that someone could come.” Sam said, clear relief lining his tone.

“Aw, you really love… Don’t worry Sammy, I’ll be there for you forever and ever.” Sam laughed as Jake grabbed a hold of his arm, pretending to cling to him, while looking up at him with doe eyes.

Sam shook Jake off, still laughing. “Sorry I don’t swing that way, man.” Jake looked at him with pretend tears, and Sam lowered his voice. “I’m sorry to crush all your hopes and dreams, but I appreciate female anatomy very much.” Sam tried to keep a straight face, and Jake tried to keep up his act, but in the end they both ended up laughing.

Sam walked with Jake to his house, and after talking with him for a few minutes; he put his headphones on, and walked back down the driveway and down the road toward the apartment he, Dean and his father were staying in.

Sam had been walking for five minutes, when he arrived at home. He started to cross the street when he remembered the mail and walked back across the street to the mailbox. He grabbed the mail and started walking back across the street, flipping through the letters.

Sam never heard the truck heading straight for him; he never saw the horrified look on the driver’s face, as he was hit on the side of the head with the rearview mirror of the truck. All he felt was the impact on the side of his head, and all he saw was the rushing darkness as he lost consciousness.

Dean Winchester looked up from the bag he was packing when he heard the screeching of tires right outside the house. He looked out the window of his bedroom, and saw a big dark blue truck stopped in the middle of the road. The driver got out and looked around, then he walked back toward something near his back tires.

Dean crinkled his forehead, wondering what the man was looking at, and decided to go check it out. He grabbed his bag, and walked down the hall. Dean set his bag on the table and walked out the door. Seeing the guy still stopped he walked toward him, what he heard next froze his blood.

“Somebody help!” Dean took off at a run, all the while praying it wasn’t Sam. He knew it wasn’t their father; he was still in the house, getting ready to leave.

Dean ran around the truck, stopping when he saw Sam. His brother was lying on the ground, blood running down the side of his head, his eyes closed. The lack of movement made Dean’s heart clench.

Dean dropped to his knees next to his brother, and felt for a pulse, ignoring the man that was standing beside them. His relief when he felt the unsteady thump beneath his fingers was short lived. Just as he felt the heart beat, Sam’s chest hitched and he breathing stopped altogether.

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and threw it at the man who was still yelling for help. “Call 9-1-1!” When Dean knew the man was doing what he asked, he turned back to his brother.

Not wanting to move his brother’s head, but not having a choice; Dean carefully tilted Sam’s head back and blew into his mouth. He looked up to see his father drop to his knees beside him, horror etched onto his face.

“Dad,” Dean said and when the man didn’t look at him, Dean called his name louder. “DAD!” His father’s head turned sharply in his direction, and Dean continued; “do compressions, and I’ll do breaths.” His father nodded, and he started compressions, while Dean moved into a better position to help his little brother breathe.

Dean heard the sirens before he saw the ambulance, and he mentally cheered, while still keeping up with the CPR. Dean was pulled out of the way as paramedics surrounded Sam, and he could hear his father cursing, so he could guess that his father had been pulled away too.

“Blunt trauma to the head,” one of the medics reported as the other checked Sam’s gag reflex. Finding no resistance, a tube was inserted into Sam’s mouth and pushed down his throat. The medic then attached a translucent blue bag to the tube, and squeezed it methodically, to give Sam air.

“Pupils are uneven and have a sluggish response, we’re looking at a severe concussion and possible brain damage. This kid needs to get to the hospital fast.” As the medic finished talking, he wrapped a neck brace around Sam’s neck, and then transferred him from the asphalt to a backboard.

Sam was strapped onto a stretcher and then loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance. When Dean went to follow, one of the paramedics put his hand up, stopping him.

“I’m sorry sir, but you are going to have to follow us to the hospital, there isn’t enough room in the back of the ambulance for you to ride, while we work.” Dean reluctantly nodded.

As Dean started to walk away, the paramedic stopped him once again. “Sir before we leave, can you tell us his name, age, and if he is allergic to any medications?”

“Sam Winchester, he’s seventeen, and he’s not allergic to anything that we know of.” The medic nodded and hopped into the back of the ambulance, as he thanked Dean for the information.

Dean got into his father’s truck and he and his father took off after the ambulance, all the while praying that Sam would be okay.

The medics wheeled Sam through the doors of the ambulance port, doing all they could to keep him stable. A team of doctors met them as they walked through the doors, and tried to get a handle of the situation.

“Seventeen year old male, with blunt force trauma to the head. His pupils are dilated and have a slow reaction time, and he stopped breathing at the scene, so we had to intubate him.” One of the medics said.

The lead doctor studied the young man before him in horrid fascination, wondering just what could have caused this much damage. “What happened to him?” He asked the medics standing next to him, and his team of nurses, and his partner wheeled Sam into a trauma room to prep him for surgery.

“Brother said that he was hit in the head with a rearview mirror of a truck while he was crossing the road. The driver was too distraught at what he had done to give a clear answer, so I’m assuming the older brother was telling the truth.” The medic answered, and the doctor nodded, taking the answer in.

“Okay, well you did a good job in stabilizing him, let’s just hope that it was good enough; and you didn’t do all that work in vain. If what you said is true, this kid could have major brain damage.” The doctor said as he walked toward the trauma room Sam had been wheeled into.

He walked over to where Sam head had been positioned, and tried to see the damage that had been done. Moving his hair, he looked at the three-inch long gash that lined Sam’s hairline from his temple to his ear, and grimaced. That would have to be closed up, and it would have to be done soon.

The doctor checked back farther, and became concerned at the amount of swelling just behind the kid’s ear. The patch of lifted skin was a deep red, and the doctor almost immediately identified it as a subdural hematoma.

“Looks like a subdural hematoma behind the right ear, and there may be elevated intracranial pressure. We need to get this kid down to MRI now, and find out the damage that was done to him.” The other doctor nodded, and called down to MRI, telling them that they had a serious case, and they needed to get in as soon as possible.

“They said they just need to move a man out of the room, and to give them a few minutes, but the room should be ready by the time we get down there.” He nodded, and told the nurses to take him down to MRI, while he went to see the family, and tell them the possibilities of the injury.

John and Dean waited in the waiting room anxiously. Dean had been pacing since they had gotten there, twenty minutes before; and John had sat with his head in his hands, praying for Sam to be all right.

Both John and Dean heard the soft padding of footsteps coming down the hall and looked up. They had been the only ones in the waiting room since they had gotten there, and either the guy was going to come talk to them, or he was going to stop and go in the room at the end of the hall.

The man looked haggard to both Dean and John, and they were immediately wary about anything he was going to say. He walked right up to them, and John stood up, unable to sit any longer.

“Family of Sam Winchester?” The man asked, and both men nodded.

“John Winchester, and this is my son Dean.” John answered and the doctor nodded.

“My name is doctor Mason Carter, and I am going to be your son’s surgeon.” John nodded, and Dean’s gaze sharpened on the man. “When I checked Sam over, it looked like he had a subdural hematoma, and brain swelling from the trauma of the impact. He has been taken down to MRI to get a scan to tell if my predictions are correct, and if so, we are going to need permission to operate to relieve the pressure.” Dr. Carter said and John nodded, looking worried, while Dean just stood there frozen.

“Now while we have seen this injury before, one this severe is very rare. Recovery from this type of injury is hard, and the victim may never heal fully. Now I’m not trying to scare you, but even if the surgery goes perfect, and there are no complications afterwards; the chances of Sam waking up are about fifty, fifty. Then even if Sam wakes up, the possibility of brain damage is high.” The doctor said and both older Winchesters paled.

“So there’s a chance that Sam may never be the same?” Dean asked, his voice small and broken.

“There is that chance, yes. But there is also a chance that Sam will recover fully, so you need to keep thinking positively. Sam could get better.” The doctor said, and was about to say more when his pager beeped. He looked down and then back up at John and Dean. “Your son’s ready for surgery, so I have to go. A nurse will give you forms to fill out, and I will be back to tell you how it went just as soon as the surgery is finished.” John nodded, and Dean sat down in the chair hard.

Once the doctor had walked away, John turned to Dean, whose eyes were bright with a sheen of tears. “I’m going to call Jim and Caleb, they need to know about Sammy.” Dean nodded and John walked towards the doors, digging his cell phone out of his pocket.

John dialed Jim’s number first, knowing that the older priest would take the news of what had happened to Sam better than Caleb would. He held the phone to his ear and waited, trying to figure out what to tell to Jim when he answered the phone.

“Hello?” A familiar voice asked, though it wasn’t Jim’s.

“Caleb? What are you doing at Father Jim’s?” John asked, confused as to why the man was staying there, and not at his apartment in Sacramento.

“Well I got into a hunt that went bad, and Jim wouldn’t let me leave. I swear it was just a scratch on the arm.” Caleb said innocently and John laughed when he heard Jim’s voice in the background. “Yeah a scratch that almost ripped off your arm.” “So it was a bad scratch… But I wouldn’t say that it would give you the right to hold me here for two weeks.” Caleb shot back at him.

“Hey John, what’s going on?” Jim’s voice said, and John’s mirth immediately left him.

“Well there’s been an accident,” John said and he heard Jim’s breath catch over the phone.

“Are you okay? The boys?” Jim asked, and John could hear Caleb ask what had happened in the background.

“Dean and I weren’t involved. Sam was walking across the street and a guy driving a truck hit him in the head with a rearview mirror. The doctor said something about a subdural hematoma, and brain damage.” John said and his voice broke.

“Where are you? Are you still in Grace?” Jim asked, his voice concerned.

“Yeah we’re still here. We were about to leave for the hunt when Sammy got hit.” John answered tiredly.

“Okay, just hold on John, we’ll be there in about two hours. Just stay calm and think positively. Sammy will be alright.” John nodded before he remembered that he was on the phone.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see you in a couple hours. Be careful coming here, I don’t need to worry about anyone else in my family right now.” John said.

“Take care.” Jim said and before he could hang up, Caleb’s voice came back on the phone.

“Hey, tell Dean that Sammy will be okay. That I’ll see him in a couple hours.” John told him he would and hung up the phone.

He walked back to the waiting room, where Dean was once again pacing, with the nurse sitting behind the desk watching him with worried eyes. John took his seat, and left Dean to his own actions. Right now all either of them could do was wait and hope that Sammy would be okay.

Pastor Jim and Caleb walked through the doors of the waiting room, two and a half hours after John had called them, and both could immediately sense the tension in the room. Caleb’s view of the emotions was amplified due to his psychic powers, and he stumbled as they hit him full blast.

John looked up at the sound of the doors opening, and when he saw Caleb and Jim, a small smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He had nothing to be happy about at the moment. Sure he was glad that Jim and Caleb were there, but his youngest son was in surgery with major head trauma and a possibility of brain damage.

Dean had settled his head on John’s shoulder an hour before and was sleeping now, though his expression was anything but peaceful. There were lines around his eyes, and a crinkle lined his forehead, telling everyone in the room that Dean’s sleep wasn’t anywhere near restful for the twenty one year old.

John laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and shook him awake, startling the younger man, so he grabbed the offending wrist with bruising force. When he saw who it was, Dean let his grip go lax, and John pulled his arm away, rubbing it as he stood and walked over to Caleb and Jim, Dean following him close behind.

“How is he?” Jim asked softly, and John sighed, pulling a hand roughly through his hair.

“We haven’t heard anything else yet, he’s still in surgery.” John answered quietly, a pained expression marring his too old face.

Jim placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and squeezed it lightly, trying to show his concern for the man without overdoing it. “Sammy’s strong, he’ll pull through.”

“Yeah, but will he ever be the same?” John asked quietly, and Jim’s hand dropped, he didn’t know what to tell the man. He didn’t know if Sam would be the same, and there was no way he was going to lie about what he knew. He wouldn’t do that to John, he wouldn’t get his hopes up, just to have them dashed, if the unthinkable happened.

Jim and Caleb looked over to Dean, studying the forlorn look on the young hunter’s face, and knowing that no matter what they said or did, they couldn’t erase that look. Only Sam could do that, and right now, they didn’t even know if Sam was going to make it. “Hey Dean-o, how you doing?” Caleb asked, his tone joking, but all three men knew there was actual concern in his words.

“I’m fine,” Dean said, his tone deflated, and once again, all three men knew he was anything but.

“Yeah sure you are.” Caleb said, and walked over to Dean, throwing his arm around the younger hunter’s shoulders, and leading him from the room with a, ‘We’re going to get coffee, and some crap to eat,’ thrown over his shoulder at John and Jim.

Both men left standing in the room, knew there was nothing they could do except wait, and there was mutual understanding that neither wanted to talk as they sat down, side by side. The same thought was on both of their minds.

‘Sammy has to be alright.’

Three hours later found all four hunters sitting in the waiting room once again, a dead silence surrounding them. All four were worn haggard, and had a look of pain about them, that seemed to scare everyone that came near them. They took up one half of the waiting room, and anyone else that came in sat in the other half, not wanting to have anything to do with the hunters.

The sound of footsteps came from the hall, and the four hunters looked up in unison. Seeing Dr. Carter walking towards them, Dean and John stood, followed closely by Jim and Caleb, the two knowing this must have been Sam’s doctor.

“Mr. Winchester,” The man greeted John. He nodded to Dean, and looked curiously at Jim and Caleb, but got back to what he was saying, when none of the hunters said a word, just looked at him anxiously.

“Sam pulled through surgery, though we did lose him on the table once. His heart stopped for two and a half minutes, and it was touch and go for a while.” Dr. Carter gave them a minute to take in what he had just told them, and continued when the horror wasn’t quite so evident on their faces.

“We had to place a shunt in his head to drain the blood, but his intracranial pressure is still high.” When John gave him a quizzical look, and started to ask what that meant the doctor explained. “Normally a person’s ICP is between ten and fifteen, depending on their activity level. Sam’s ICP is fluctuating between twenty and twenty two. Which can and has in Sam’s case resulted in a coma.” The impact of the statement was visible. John paled and Dean looked about ready to collapse.

“How deep is it?” Jim asked, voicing the question that was on everyone’s minds.

“Well awareness ranges on a scale from one to fifteen, on the Glasgow Coma Scale. The lower the number, the worse the coma. Sam’s number is ranging from seven to eight.” Carter said, and waited for the question he knew was coming.

“So that’s not that bad right?” Dean asked, his voice small.

“Well technically eight and lower are severe comas. Moderate comas are from nine to twelve, and minor are thirteen and higher.” The doctor paused, then said, “So it could take Sam weeks or even months to wake up; though there is also the chance that Sam may not wake up at all, and even if he does, there is the distinct possibility that he will have brain damage.” Once again the impact of the doctor’s words hit all of them hard, and Caleb had to help Dean sit down before he fell down.

Dean’s breath’s came in short sporadic bursts, and the doctor hurried over to where he was sitting. “It’s my…gasp…fault.” The doctor heard him say, and he knew the man was having a panic attack.

“Easy, put your head between your knees,” the doctor said, and as he helped Dean lean forward he added, “that’s it, now take a slow deep breath.” When Dean complied, the doctor once again said, “now let it out, and take another.” Dean did as the man said, and the doctor kept his soothing instructions going until Dean was breathing normally and sitting up in the chair.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s your fault?’” John asked, and when Dean looked at him, the anguish was clear on his face.

“He wanted a ride home, but I told him that we would be too busy packing, and that the walk wouldn’t hurt him.” Dean coughed out a bitter laugh, and John sat next to him. “I told him that it would be good for him.” Dean took another breath leaned his head into his hands. “God, if I had just picked him up…”

John wrapped his arms around his oldest son, and pulled his tension filled body toward him. “Dean, what happened to Sammy wasn’t your fault, it was an accident, you didn’t know it would happen.” John said soothingly, calmingly.

“But-” Dean started and John interrupted him.

“No buts, Dean, it was an accident, and it certainly wasn’t your fault. You understand me.” Dean nodded in response, and some of the tension released from his body.

John looked back up at the doctor, his arms still wrapped around his oldest, and asked, “When can we see Sam?”

“As soon as Sam is moved to a room in the ICU, two of you can see him at a time. Visiting hours don’t apply to the ICU, so you can stay as long as you like.” Dr. Carter said and John nodded along with Caleb and Jim. Dean mumbled a response that could have been, “okay,” but didn’t move from his father’s arms.

“Someone will be down to tell you when Sam is settled, until then, you can stay here, or you can go to get something to eat or something.” The doctor supplied.

“Thank you,” John said gratefully, “thank you for saving my son.”

“Your welcome,” Carter said sincerely, and John held out his hand to shake the other man’s, his other arm still around Dean.

“I’ll see you on my next shift.” Carter said and left, as John nodded at him.

Each man felt relieved at the news from the doctor, the man had done everything he could. The rest was up to Sam, and time.

‘Full of fear,
Ever clear.
I'll be here,
Fighting forever.
Curious,
Venomous,
You'll find me
Climbing to heaven.
Never mind,
Turn back time.
You'll be fine - I will get left behind.’

"Unknown Soldier" -- Breaking Benjamin

“Why hasn’t anyone come down yet?” Dean asked, frustrated. He had stayed in his father’s arms for only a few short moments after Sam’s doctor had left; and then he had been up and pacing the waiting room again. His fears and guilt for Sam had taken over, and no matter how many soft words or harsh orders he was issued, Dean couldn’t sit still.

“Dean,” John said with a sigh as he watched his oldest son pace. When Dean didn’t so much as look at him, John growled and stood up. Grabbing Dean’s arms, to stop his son, John made Dean look at him. “Dean, stop this!” The words and the tone were out of his mouth before he even had the chance to stop them, and John froze, as he watched Dean’s eyes widen.

“Sorry,” the reply was so low, and John wouldn’t have heard it if it hadn’t been for his hunting skills.

Lowering and softening his voice John said, “ It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, and scared, hell we all are. But Dean you can’t keep blaming yourself, and all of your pacing isn’t going to help anything.” Dean nodded, knowing his father was telling the truth.

John released Dean’s arms, and the young man reached one of his newly freed arms up to scrub his face. With a heavy sigh, Dean went to sit down in the chair beside John’s. Before he even reached the chair, the sound of footsteps came down the hall. Dean’s head snapped up, and John sighed, hoping that whoever was coming was going to tell them that it was okay to see Sam.

“Family of Samuel Winchester?” The man asked as he walked up.

“It’s Sam.” Dean and Caleb corrected at the same time, not liking the attitude of the man standing in front of them one bit. The man looked like he cared more about his hair than the life of a seventeen year old boy. Dean’s baby brother.

John and Jim must have sensed the hostility the other two felt, and though they didn’t like the man either, they weren’t about to let the two younger hunters get themselves in trouble for doing something stupid. Both stepped back, placing a hand on each of the young hunter’s shoulders.

“Fine, Sam then.” The man’s voice held spite and Dean growled low in his throat.

“Dean.” John said simply, warningly; hoping that his son wouldn’t do something he would regret. Breaking the doctor’s face might seem like a god idea now, but later when Dean found himself kicked out of the hospital and unable to see Sam, he would regret the action.

John couldn’t help but to be proud of Dean though. The bond his sons shared was strong, and unbreakable, no matter how hard either of them pushed, it would bend but never break. Just seeing Dean protecting Sammy when the youngest Winchester couldn’t do it himself made John’s heart swell.

He had done a good job with them.

“Sam has been moved to a room in the ICU and is being allowed two visitors at a time. Okay?” Dean would have been just fine if the man hadn’t added that last little sarcastic word. As it was, he tried to launch himself at the man in front of him. John held his son back, though he did growl at the man, and his look was murderous.

When he was sure Dean wasn’t going to launch himself at the man, John walked up to the man, his expression turning eerily calm. As he spoke his tone was soft, though his words displayed a blatant threat.

“Don’t you ever, and I do mean ever, talk to my son like that. He has a right to be upset, though you have no reason, other than the obvious stick shoved up your ass. If you keep up this behavior you will have my boot added to that stick.” The man shivered as John talked, and he looked as if he was about to piss his pants. “Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes sir!” The man replied.

“Good. Now please remove yourself from my presence.” John said, and added a malicious smile, that told the man there would be trouble if he didn’t do what he was told, and do it quickly. The man nodded jerkily and skittered away from the angry Winchester.

Saying nothing, John headed toward the ICU. Caleb, Dean and Jim followed closely behind him, Caleb looked confused, but Dean and Jim were grinning like idiots. And John… John looked grimly pleased with himself.

Dean and John walked into Sam’s room, after having found out from the nurse which room it was. John kept his gaze facing the floor, not wanting to see Sam until he had somewhere to sit incase the shock of seeing his youngest so hurt, sent him to his knees.

Dean walked to Sam’s side and gasped quietly at the sight of his usually strong brother looking so… broken. Sam’s head was bandaged, with a tube coming out of the mass of bandages. A tube jutted from Sam’s mouth, a holder hooked into Sam’s mouth and strapped around his head, holding the tube in place. Another tube ran up into his nose, and it was taped to the side of his face, near his ear; Dean assumed it was taped to keep it out of the way.

There were wires attached to his temples, and running under the neck of his gown. IV’s ran piggybacked into his left hand, one giving him blood and the other giving him antibiotics and other medication. But overall what got to Dean most was the pallor of his brother’s skin, he was such a sickly white.

Dean sat down before he fell down, and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling it to his chest, unconsciously rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of Sam’s cool hand. Tears clouded his vision, and Dean wasn’t ashamed of them at all. His brother was sick, broken, battered… dying?

John finally looked up at Dean’s almost inaudible gasp, and watched as Dean’s face drained of its color, and it was then he knew Sam looked bad. Without even looking at his youngest, he knew this; Dean’s expression told him this.

Looking down at his youngest, John wanted to cry. All the wires, the monitors, tubes, the bandages… Sam looked so small, laying so still and pale in the bed. John didn’t bother to wipe his face as he felt the tear drip down it, his son was hurt, maybe dying; and John really didn’t care about anything else at the moment.

Gently taking his youngest son’s hand, John sat down. He pulled the lax hand to his mouth and kissed it, not caring who saw this display of affection. He leaned over and placed his other hand on Sam’s chest, needing to feel his heart beating.

John pulled his chair closer, and laid his head on Sam’s arm, closing his eyes, and prayed for Sam to get better.

Day Three:

Dean slept by his brother’s side, not wanting to leave his younger brother alone. He hadn’t left the hospital since Sam had been moved to the ICU, and he rarely ever left the room, only when he had to get cleaned up, or when he had to eat.

The doctors had come in the day before, and the tube that had been threaded up Sam’s nose had been removed, only to be replaced by a feeding tube. The tube was once again taped to the side of Sam’s face and again Dean assumed that it was to keep it out of the way.

That had been one of the times that Dean had left. Caleb had taken him down to the cafeteria to get him something to eat, but in the end they had gone to the vending machines, and Dean had his M&M’s in hand.

Sam’s intracranial pressure had gone down, now fluctuating between seventeen and eighteen. The doctor had told them that it was good that the swelling had gone down, and it helped Sam’s chances of complete recovery.

So Dean was once again sitting by his brother's side in the ICU, praying, hoping and talking to Sam, trying to get any response he could out of his younger brother. But since Sam had been brought into the hospital, he hadn’t moved, or shown any indication that he was aware of anything that was happening to or around him.

He had started bringing some of Sammy’s books with him, in case he ran out of things to say for the day, and so far he had gotten over half the way through The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair. The facts mentioned in the book about the meat packing factories were freaking him out, but he figured that since Sammy had it in his room, it was a book that he liked.

So the days had gone by with Dean a permanent fixture by his baby brother’s side. Whether he was reading a book to him, talking to him, or just sitting there holding his hand and watching him, Dean was always there, and no amount of prying by Caleb, Jim or John could get him to leave for more than a few minutes at a time.

Day Five:

John and Dean sat in the chairs beside Sam’s bed. Both were worried about the youngest Winchester, and neither wanted to leave his side. Though Sam’s intracranial had gone down to sixteen, both men’s concern had not lessened in the least.

There was still a chance that major damage had been done to his brain from the impact of the truck mirror, so John and Dean didn’t want to get their hopes up too much, though the doctor had told them that the improvement with the swelling was a good sign.

Dean had finished reading The Jungle to Sam, and now John had taken Dean’s idea and was reading to Sam, while Dean half listened and kept a keen watch over his brother. The low tones of John’s voice read the words of, Counting the Costby David Drake, flowed over both boys’ senses.

Sam didn’t acknowledge Dean or John, and he didn’t move, but deep down Dean knew his brother was hearing them, even if he couldn’t respond, and it was the only thing that kept him going.

Beginning of Week Two:

Sam still hadn’t shown any sign of waking, and though his intracranial pressure was down to fifteen, he still hadn’t moved. A physical therapist had started coming in to move Sam’s arms and legs to keep blood clots from forming, and to make sure his muscles got a little use.

Sam’s coma level had gone up to a level ten, which was giving hope to John and Dean, and the doctor seemed to be happy with the improvement. Some of Sam’s color had come back, and Dean was glad to see his little brother with a better pallor.

Jim and Caleb had both gone in to see Sam that day, the doctors allowing all four men in to see Sam, as long as they didn’t tell the hospital board. All in all Sam looked and was doing a lot better.

Middle of Week Three:

Sam’s intracranial pressure had gone back to normal, and his coma was only a level twelve. He had been stirring a little on the bed, and doctors, nurses, friends and family alike were all happy that Sam was waking up.

Dr. Carter had told them all that Sam was due to wake at any time. It could be minutes, hours, or days, but Sam was waking up. Sam was fighting hard to get back to them, to get back to his family, and the waking world.

Day Twenty-Seven:

Dean watched Sam like a hawk. He had been left alone in the room with Sam while his dad, Jim and Caleb went to get some rest and take a break. All three had wanted Dean to go with them, but he had fought tooth and nail, wanting to be there when Sam finally woke up.

Sam’s eyelids fluttered and Dean stood, squeezing Sam’s hand gently. “Sammy?” He asked, trying to coax Sam to wake up, to just open his eyes.

Sam waded through the gray darkness that surrounded him. He couldn’t remember when he had last seen anything but black, so even the gray fog that encompassed him was a welcome change.

‘Sammy?’ He heard a familiar voice say. He turned towards the noise, but it was so distant. Walking towards the voice Sam waited to hear it again, to see who or what it was.

‘Sammy, c’mon little brother, open them eyes.’ He knew that voice; he would know it anywhere. Dean?

‘That’s it Sammy, you can do it.’ The closer Sam got to Dean’s voice, the harder it was to walk. It felt like something was pushing him back. It was like something didn’t want him to get to Dean.

Sam pushed through the blossoming pain, that coursed through his the closer he got to Dean’s voice, and through the constricted feeling of something blocking his throat.

“Sammy?” This time the voice was clear, and Sam pushed his eyes open. As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw the tube that was threaded down his throat, and Sam choked.

He tried to gasp air through his restricted airway, panic shooting through him. He tried to reach his hands up to the tube in his throat, but he found both appendages uncooperative.

“NURSE!” He could hear Dean yelling, but Sam couldn’t think of anything but trying to breathe, it felt like he was suffocating. “Somebody please, HELP ME!”

Sam felt his brother’s hands on his arms, and looked pleadingly up at him. “C’mon Sammy, calm down. The tube was to help you breathe. Just don’t fight it.” Dean’s tone was soothing, but Sam couldn’t help fighting against the tube.

Suddenly Dean was replaced by a man in blue hospital scrubs. “Sam, calm down!” The tone was demanding, but the voice was soft. Sam heard the order issued in the short sentence, but it was hard to follow; still being a very big factor.

“Now Sam, I want you to breathe out as I pull this out of your throat.” Sam gave the man a little nod, and then pushed a breath out as the tube was pulled from his throat. “Good.” The man said soothingly.

“Wha-?” Sam started to ask, but winced, his voice was hoarse and scratchy, and his throat pulsed with pain, with just the one word.

“Hold on, let me get you some water.” The man said, and Sam nodded as the man walked away. Dean took his place once again, and Sam weakly held out a hand, silently begging his brother to take it. Dean grasped his hand, and took the cup from the doctor as the man came back.

Dean let go of his hand, and placed his now free hand on the back of Sam’s neck, to help steady the weaker man. As the liquid washed down his throat, Sam knew that he had never tasted anything better. As he finished, Dean helped him settle back down, and entwined their hands together again.

“Wha’ happened?” Sam asked, his voice still hoarse.

“You don’t remember?” Dean asked softly. Sam shook his head, and Dean sighed. “You were hit in the head with the rearview mirror of a truck, Sammy.” Dean said. “You’ve been in a coma for almost a month.”

Sam looked scared as he listened to Dean, and then he noticed something. “Is that when you got your hair cut?”

Dean looked absolutely horrified at Sam’s question. “Sammy, I got my hair cut short like this two months ago. You went with me.”

“So you’re saying that Sammy doesn’t remember anything from at least a month before the accident?” Dean asked Dr. Carter, with his father, Caleb and Jim standing behind him.

“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. Though there is a chance that Sam may remember the missing month, and the accident in time, right now, he doesn’t remember a thing. It’s common for some memory loss after a serious accident, and Sam’s accident was definitely serious. It’s a miracle that he’s even alive, let alone awake, and able to talk and comprehend.”

The impact the man’s words had on the small family was visible. Dean seemed to deflate, John drew in on himself, and both Caleb and Jim looked sorry for Dean and John.

“Now, I’m not telling you that Sam’s doing bad. He was hurt very badly, but he was strong, and he pulled through, despite what modern medicine said should happen. There is a good chance that Sam will regain his full memory, and though it may take some time, energy and a lot of determination, Sam should regain full strength, and full use of all his muscles.

“There will be some drawbacks, such as unexplained, and unpredictable spasms, Sam might have trouble remembering things, and there is a definite chance that Sam will experience major migraines for the rest of his life. But other than that, Sam should be able to return to his normal life.”

“Thank you doctor Carter. When do you think Sam can go home?” Jim asked, seeing that Dean and John were a little too dazed to be able to ask the doctor anything at the moment.

“Well if everything goes the right way, and Sam’s physical therapy goes as expected, he should be released by the middle of next week. He will still have to come in for outpatient PT, but other than that, he should be good to go.” Jim and Caleb smiled, while a relieved smile lined both of the Winchesters’ faces.

“So he’s really okay?” Dean asked softly.

“Yep, Sam’s really okay, he’s just a little weak right now, but that will change with time.” Dr. Carter replied, grateful to finally be able to give John and Dean good news.

“Thank you for saving my son.” John said, admiration clear in his voice..

“And my brother,” Dean added before Mason could answer.

“It was my pleasure to help Sam. I’m just glad he was strong enough to pull through, the best surgeons in the world wouldn’t have been able to save Sam if he didn’t have such a strong will.” Mason told the men.

“Your son is a very strong man, and I believe that if you didn’t have such a strong bond, Sam wouldn’t have fought as hard as he did to live. So it’s me who should be thanking you.”

“Sammy is strong. But it has nothing to do with me. The bond he and Dean have is something to be envious of.” John said, as Dean walked away towards Sam’s room.

One Week Later:

Dean walked into Sam’s room, being as quiet as he could, so he didn’t wake his younger brother up. Though Sam had “slept” for a month, he was still tired most of the time. It didn’t help that the Physical Therapy plan the doctor had come up with, left Sam pooped after each session.

Dean was just glad that Sam would be going home the next day. He had been getting stronger, though he was still weak, and had never been more grateful for anything in his life, than he was for Sam to be alive.

Dean sat down next to Sam’s bed, and he didn’t miss the action of Sam turning to him subconsciously, his brother knowing even in sleep that Dean was there for him. A small smile pulled on the sides of his lips, as he watched his brother sleep.

Sam stirred on the bed, and Dean pulled his chair closer, knowing before Sam even opened his eyes, that his little brother would be a little disoriented when he first woke up. Sam opened his eyes, and Dean leaned a little closer, as Sam turned his head from side to side, only calming down when he caught sight of Dean.

“Dean?” He asked, and Dean watched as the memories of the past week came back to Sam, realization dawning on his face. “Oh.” He said softly, and Dean offered him a smile and a nod.

“Yeah.” He said. “You feeling okay?” He asked, as Sam grimaced when he turned.

“Yeah, m’okay, just a little sore and tired.” Sam answered softly, and Dean nodded.

“They wear you out again in PT?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. I did twenty laps by myself on the walking course. And gee, I can lift twenty pounds again, ain’t it cool?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“Hey, it’ll get better. I mean geez Sammy, you were in a coma for a month, you’re not gonna be a hundred percent again right away.” Dean’s tone was comforting, but he said the words forcefully, silently begging Sam to understand.

“I know.” Sam answered lowly. After a few minutes of silence, Sam spoke up again. “So I get out of this joint tomorrow, right?”

Sammy was gonna be just fine.

John pulled his truck into the driveway of the house they were renting, and cut the engine. Looking over at the seat next to him, a smile quirked at his lips. Sam was asleep again.

Dean had been absolutely livid when he had been called into work that morning. He had tried to tell his boss that he needed the day off because Sammy was getting out of the hospital, but the man had no one else to call, and Dean had reluctantly gone into work.

Sam’s face had fallen when he found out that Dean wasn’t going to be there when he got out of the hospital, but after John promised that he would take Sam out for lunch, and that they could watch a movie together when they got home, Sam had brightened up quite a bit.

So they had gone to Friday’s for lunch, getting in some much needed father and son time, and just talking for an hour. They hadn’t even fought while they were there, and John had found some interesting things out about Sam’s life. He had found out that his son was on the Academic Decathlon team, that his son had a girlfriend, and that Sam had been doing odd jobs around the neighborhood in order to save up for a car he was looking at.

John had told Sam some stories about his mother, and he had told him about his marine experiences, and that he still talked to some of his old buddies. Sam had been awed by his father’s life, and though he had stubbornly refused to talk about hunting and his feelings on the subject; they hadn’t fought.

By the time they had left the restaurant, Sam had been lagging. It had been the longest he had stayed awake in a long time, and that combined with the physical therapy he had gone through that morning had left Sam exhausted.

John had helped Sam to the car, pulling his youngest son’s arm over his shoulders, and wrapping an arm around his waist to steady the younger man. They had talked for a while on the way home, before Sam had drifted off to sleep with a murmured, “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a minute.”

John opened the door, and jumped down from the truck. He walked over to Sam’s side and opened the door carefully, putting his hand against Sam’s arm so he wouldn’t fall out. He thought about waking Sam up, but in the end he decided that it would be better to just carry Sam in the house, he needed his rest anyway.

John put his arms under Sam’s arms, and under his knees, being careful not to jostle his youngest too much. Pulling Sam’s body against his own, he rolled Sam’s head so that it rested on his chest. He carried Sam up the walkway, and around to the back door of the house, so it would be easier to get to Sam’s room.

John turned the knob of the door, and pushed it in with his foot. Carrying Sam through the door, he turned around and kicked it shut. He walked down the hall with Sam in his arms, grimacing to himself at the amount of weight Sam had lost while in the hospital.

‘I’ll fix that. He’ll eat good homemade food, and I’ll make sure he gains that weight back. Either that or I’ll sic Dean on him.’

John smirked to himself at the thought of his eldest badgering Sam into taking care of himself. Sam unconsciously turned into John’s shoulder as he felt his father’s chest move with laughter, and John smiled down at him.

John walked into Sam’s room, and laid him down on the bed. He pulled the blanket out from under him, and covered Sam, his hand lingering on Sam’s shoulder. After leaning down and placing a kiss on Sam’s forehead, John walked away, closing the door softly on his way out.

Dean Winchester pulled the Impala into the driveway, and turned the key harshly, still mad that he had had to work the day that Sam had gotten released from the hospital. He knew his little brother had wanted him to be there, and he had wanted to be there for Sammy, but his boss had been desperate, and with the inconvenience pay added on, there was no way that Dean could say no.

Dean walked into the house, immediately noticing the dead silence. It had become a regular occurrence since Sammy had been in the hospital, but he had thought that since his brother had come home that day, it wouldn’t be as quiet. Doubt set in almost immediately.

‘What if Sammy had to stay in the hospital?’

‘What if something had gone wrong?’

‘What if…’

Dean was interrupted from his thoughts, when his father walked in the room, looking more relieved that he had in months. Dean’s fear lessened, but he was still suspicious of the quiet that lingered.

“Where’s Sammy?” Dean asked, confusion lining his voice.

“Well, I took him out for lunch today, and we talked so long that he wore himself out, so he’s in his room sleeping.” John said quietly, not wanting to talk too loud, for fear that it would wake Sam.

Surprise made Dean’s eyes widen. ‘They had talked? Without yelling?’ Voicing his thoughts out loud, Dean waited for an answer.

”Yes, your brother and I can talk without fighting. We had a very nice conversation about school activities, crushes, some old marine experiences, and your mother.” John answered indignantly, defending himself, and Sam.

“Whoa, calm down! I was just asking, because you and Sam haven’t ‘talked,’” Dean used air quotes to emphasize the word before continuing, “since Sam was like twelve.”

John nodded, understanding his eldest son’s point of view, and said, “I know we haven’t, but today was different somehow. I have a feeling that the fighting will be back in no time, you know how stubborn your brother can be.”

“I know how stubborn you both can be.” Dean muttered under his breath.

“What did you say?” John growled at him.

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” Dean answered, looking for a way out of the room. “I’m ah, I’m gonna go see Sammy.” He said, leaving the room before John could say anything.

Dean walked into Sam’s room, relieved to see his brother. He pulled the chair over from Sam’s desk, turned it around, and sat in it backwards. Looking at his brother, at home, in his own room, made Dean happier than he had been in a long time. He was just happy that his little brother was getting better. Happy that he hadn’t lost him forever.

“Man you took quite a hit there Sammy, that truck really screwed you up.” Dean said quietly.

“M’ still prettier than you.” Sam answered; opening his eyes just a crack, and scaring Dean.

Dean placed his hand on his chest, and his face took on a mask of absolute horror. “You prettier than me? I don’t think so bitch.”

“You know the girls like me better, jerk.”

“Just keep thinkin’ that geekboy.”

“Ass,”

“Pansy,”

“Man whore.”

“Oh Sam, now you’re just looking to wound.”

Fin