Summary:  John decides the best way for Sam to overcome his fears is to leave him home alone for the night while he and Dean go on a hunt. Dean thinks it’s a bad idea. Who is right?
FYI:  Sequel to "Winter Solstice".
A/N:  I have to thank imbreena for planting the seed for the sequel to Winter Solstice although I don't think it's necessary to read that fic first.
Thank you Annonie for the great prompt that lead to Winter Solstice and for your marvelous beta on Equinox. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Happy Spring!
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Dean felt like smacking his head on the kitchen table. He could already see where the conversation was headed and he felt powerless to stop it. He glanced around the dingy, faded kitchen, feeling just as worn himself, before his eyes settled on his dad.

Dean scrubbed a hand across his face. He let his mind wander to the day three months ago that he and his Dad had found fifteen-year-old Sam lying in the snow, stolen away and then abandoned by a crazed hunter seeking eternal life. As a result of the kidnapping Sam had suffered anaphylactic shock, hypothermia, frostbite, and pneumonia. The physical ailments had all healed but Sam was far from well. The mental scars were just below the surface.

“Dean, we’ve tried your way and it’s just not working. If anything I think Sam’s worse instead of better,” John sighed in frustration before he paced over to the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of Coors Light.

John lobbed one of the cans toward Dean who was gracefully reclining on a hard, kitchen chair. Dean effortlessly plucked the can out of the air.

Dean had just turned 20 in January, too young to legally drink, but John felt that his oldest son had earned the right to kick back and have one with his old man. More and more John was relying on Dean – relying on him to bring in money to the household, to watch his back on hunts, and to take care of Sammy. Since Dean was shouldering so much of the responsibility John figured Dean had earned the right to have a beer.

Dean cracked open the can and took a long pull from it as he thought for a moment before responding to his Dad. Maybe Dean had been handling Sam with kid gloves but if anyone deserved it he thought it was his little brother. Sam had been a confident, smart teenager learning to navigate the world before the kidnapping. Now he was a pale shadow of his former self.

After JT’s death the Winchesters had relocated about an hour northwest of Schaumburg to Rockford. For the first time since Dean could remember Sam hadn’t made friends at his new school. He didn’t go out for any extracurricular activities. He barely kept up with his school work. But it went even further than that because Sam, already lanky since he’d hit his teen years, lost interest in food and now was anorexic looking. And Dean couldn’t remember the last time Sam had cracked a real smile

“It’s only been three months. Maybe we should give him a little more time,” Dean began, watching his dad carefully to gage his reaction. “He was doing better up until a month or so ago. We just need to be a little more patient,” Dean implored, watching in dismay as John reached up and rubbed his forehead. Theclassic John Winchester tell. His mind was already made up and there was nothing Dean could say or do to change his dad’s mind.

“I know you think you’re helping him, but I knowthis mollycoddling has got to stop. You’re right, he was getting better, but now he’s in freefall. He’s jumping at shadows, barely eating, and seems to have lost interest in everything around him. I think he needs to stand on his own two feet to regain some of his confidence and the only way we’re going to get Sam moving in that direction is to leave him over night while we’re on a job,” John finished as he leaned back against the refrigerator. He loved Sam buthe wished Dean would loosen the apron strings just this once.

John wasn’t saying it was going to be easy, but Sam needed to face some hard facts. The world wasn’t going to slow down and wait just because his youngest had faced some tough times. In fact,it was quite the opposite. Sam needed to get a hold of himself before the world reached up and smacked him around some more.

Neither John nor Dean saw Sam approaching the kitchen door. Sam was finally feeling hungry and thought he’d see what was in the fridge. He heard his dad and Dean talking and was relieved that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t necessarily want to talk, but knowing they were around made him feel safe. He drew himself up short when he heard his name.

“Sam’s still fragile. You’ve seen him! If you push him he’s going to break,” Dean was aghast at the idea of leaving Sam alone and tried to make his dadsee how close Sam was teetering on the edge. John’s body language said it all to Dean – arms rigidly crossed over his chest and mouth pursed. If anything Dean thought his words had only convinced his dad that Dean was too soft on his brother.

“Don’t you see? You’re only enabling him. He needs to face his fears before they swallow him whole,” John responded gruffly. He saw Dean’s face fall in disappointment. He didn’t like being made to feel like a monster, but if that’s what it took to straighten Sam out then that was fine with him. Dean might know his brother inside out, but he was still Sam's father and he knew what was best for him.

Sam silently reeled back a step or two. His dad thought he was a burden, and Dean thought he was mental.

His knee jerk reaction was that neither one was right about him, he was fine. But deep down he knew he was broken in some fundamental way. Most likely both his dad and Dean were right about him. The thought of food suddenly turning his stomach, he quietly turned and trudged back down the hallway to his bedroom.

As Sam passed by an old mirror hanging in the narrow hall, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. His heart thundered so loudly he could hear it roaring in his ears, but he was able to stifle his gasp. The last thing he wanted was to attract the attention of his Dad and Dean.

Hands shaking he made himself turn around and look at the mirror and then down the hallway. Nothing. Maybe he’d been startled by his reflection. This had been happening more and more frequently so he really shouldn’t dismiss it but if his dad and brother already thought he was losing it imagine what they would think if he told them he sometimes felt like he was being watched. He couldn’t convince himself that passing by the mirror and catching sight of himself had been the sole reason he jumped yet he refused to allow his brain to contemplate any other explanations.

Sam darted into the bedroom he shared with Dean and collapsed on his bed. He tried to relax but the adrenaline was still circulating in his system. Although it embarrassed him, he found himself hopping off the bed and crouching down on all fours to peer under the bed. Assuring himself that no one was there, he quickly crossed the room to pull open the closet door and flicked on the light before he could talk himself out of it. He covered his heart with a hand and forced his breathing to slow. He was alone in the room.

Slinking back across the room,he slumped dejectedly on his bed. He knew he was a mess but he wasn’t sure how to fix it. Dean had been nothing but patient with him but for some reason three months after the kidnapping he was worse instead of better. Maybe his dadwas right. Maybe he needed some tough love.

Pulling the covers up tight around his neck, Sam resolved to take anything John dished out. He was strong. He was a Winchester. He refused to break.

It was coming up on midnight and Dean hadn't turned in yet. Sam lay on the bed, stiff as a board, willing himself to relax. He thought about turning on his bedside lamp,but he hadn’t needed a nightlight since he was three. However, recently, there was just something about being in the dark by himself that put him on edge. He wished Dean would hit the sack already. Then maybe he could get some sleep.

He consoled himself with the thought that at least the days were getting longer. In fact, tomorrow was the Vernal Equinox. That was something he could think about for a distraction. The word equinox was derived from the Latin words aequus (equal) and nox (night). Each March the sun spent an equal amount of time above and below the horizon so day and night were equal lengths.

On a previous Equinox, Dean had convinced him to try balancing an egg on its end. Dean claimed the Equinox gave the egg special properties on that date and Sam was convinced it made sense. After all, Dean never lied to him. Imagine his disappointment when the egg not only refused to stand up but fell over and cracked, leaving a wet, sticky mess for Sam to clean up. Dean had thought that was hilarious. John had pulled the same trick on Dean when he was younger and Dean though it was worth repeating on his younger, more gullible, brother.

Sam’s thoughts returned to the next day. The official start to Spring. The time of rebirth. For some reason, thinking on these things depressed him. Everything would be coming to life around him but he would be left alone in the darkness. He kept trying to move on, forget about his experience at the hands of JT, but nothing seemed to work. Sometimes it all felt so hopeless.

Cringing against his bleak thoughts, Sam rolled onto his side and pulled the covers over his head.

Dean halted outside the bedroom he shared with Sam to compose himself. His dad had his mind set on leaving Sam alone while they hared off on some job. He could understand his dad’s position, and even believed his Dad was doing it out of love, but Dean couldn’t sanction leaving his younger brother alone at this stage of the game.

Dean opened the door, hoping he’d find Sam deeply asleep, but, as usual, he watched as Sam jumped beneath the covers. He also didn’t miss Sam’s startled intake of breath.

Dean noticed the way Sam was swaddled up to his head in blankets so that only his nose and eyes were visible. Dean knew his brother was more sensitive to the cold now, perhaps due to the exposure he’d experienced. Every little draft in the rented house seemed to find its way into Sam’s bones setting off a bout of shivers. Sam had always been a restless sleeper, arms and legs thrust outside the bedclothes in a bid for freedom. That was no longer the case.

Dean also suspected that Sam bundled himself so tightly to ward off his nightmares, as if the blankets protected him from what lurked in the dark. Not that he thought his little brother got much sleep these days. The shadows under his eyes got darker with each passing day and his face became more gaunt.

“Sam, you awake?” Dean asked quietly as he perched on his single bed. Sometimes Sam played possum and sometimes he talked to Dean. It was hard to gage his mood these days so Dean tried not to take it personally if Sam ignored him.

Dean watched in satisfaction as Mummy Sam peeled back the layers of blankets to once again become his mop headed brother.

“What’s up?” Sam asked in concern. Despite his recent decline,Sam was still attuned to Dean and could sense when something was bothering him.

“There’s this job…Dad says…we’d be back…” Dean trailed off as he searched for the best way to tell Sam they were going on a job and leaving him alone over night.

“Dean, you’re scaring me. Could you please spit it out?” Sam asked in earnest. He couldn’t fathom what Dean was trying to tell him but it sure had his brother in a tizzy. He’d do anything, say anything, to make Dean feel better.

“Dad’s making me go on a job with him tomorrow night and he wants you to stay here,” Dean finished in a rush. Initially he kept his eyes down but as the silence stretched on he looked up at Sam.

Sam felt like he’d been punched in the solar plexus. Like his whole world was collapsing. Left alone. At night. All night. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

“Well aren’t you going to say something?” Dean demanded. He didn’t like the lost look in Sam’s eyes. And he saw a tremor shake Sam’s body. The whole plan had bad idea written all over it.

“There’s nothing to say. Goodnight Dean,” Sam whispered before re-wrapping the blankets around himself and curling down on the bed. Maybe things would look better in the morning. He doubted the platitude would be true, but he wasn’t above grasping at anything to retain his sanity.

It was 6:00 p.m. and dusk was beginning to settle in. John and Dean were outside on the porch while Sam leaned against the front door propping it open with his hip. Sam tried to suppress a shiver and plastered a smile on his face to cover it. It was in vain because Dean and John saw right through him.

The two older Winchesters had already packed the car up and were bidding Sam farewell.

Dean told Sam to hold his hand out and slapped a cell phone into it. “Now don’t lose this. Call me whenever you want,” Dean said as he settled a hand on Sam’s boney shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

“Actually, you shouldn’t call us,” John said with finality, causing Sam’s anxiety to spiral higher. “Our cells will probably be turned off until we’ve dealt with the problem. We can’t afford any distractions.”

John took in the sickly look on Sam’s face and tried to soften the blow. “You’ll be fine, son. We’ll be back in twelve or so hours. You won’t even notice we were gone,” John tried to boost Sam’s flagging morale. He could see Sam was valiantly trying to hold himself together. If they stayed any longer John wouldn’t be able to go through with his plan. He wasn’t immune to Sammy’s distress; it was breaking his heart

“Dean, let’s hit it. Sam, see you in the morning,” John said as he shouldered his bag before heading out the door.

Dean gave Sam’s shoulder one more squeeze before holding his hand up to his ear and making the universal sign for ‘call me’ while mouthing those same words. Dean then winked, forcing a cocky grin on his face, and followed John down the stairs.

Sam was left standing there bereft. After locking the door he went to the window and watched first his Dad, in his shiny new truck, pull out followed by Dean in the Impala. He wrapped his arms around his middle and placed his forehead against the window.

Catching a slight movement in the reflection of the window, Sam spun around only to find the room empty. His heart began to race. There was nothing there. He forced himself to take some slow, deep breaths to calm down. Things were not off to a good start.

Sam made himself move across the room and sink down on the couch. He plucked a book off of the coffee table and tried to concentrate. He sure hoped the antics of Tom, Becky and Huck would keep him occupied. At least for a while. He had twelve long hours to kill.

Sam moved off of the couch and wandered into the kitchen. He grabbed a container out of the fridge and thought about chugging right out of the carton but decided that was gross. Scrounging around the cupboard he located a glass and helped himself to some milk. He thought about making a sandwich but he was feeling a little jittery and decided to pass on food for now. After rinsing his glass he drifted back out of the kitchen and looked out the window. The book was good company but it wasn’t the same as having Dean there with him. He missed Dean.

Sam had settled in his bed after his impromptu visit to the kitchen. For a while he was able to immerse himself in his book but right now, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t get comfortable. Head propped on hand, leaning against the headboard…it didn’t matter what he did because his attention kept wandering toward the clock while he shifted around. It was fast approaching midnight.

In the midst of turning a page the lights flickered off, flared back on momentarily, and then plunged Sam into darkness. Sam was so petrified he couldn’t move.

What was that noise? Was someone in the house with him? Sam felt vulnerable and thought of JT and the kidnapping debacle. At least JT couldn’t hurt him anymore. But what if someone else had broken into the house?

Sam gathered his courage before reaching across the bed toward the night stand where he grabbed his prize -- a Maglite. He quickly turned it on and felt relief pour through him as it burned brightly. Before his heart rate could slow back down the Maglite started to fade.

“No, th-this can’t be happening,” Sam stuttered out. “Think!”

Yes! There was a hurricane lamp in the kitchen. Sam grasped the wavering Maglite and bracing his hand against the wall moved carefully toward the kitchen. He remembered to avert his eyes as he passed the mirror in the hallway. Now was not the time to get caught up in a game of hide and seek with something that wasn’t there.

Sam pulled the hurricane lamp off of the counter and grabbed matches out of the utility drawer. He started to breathe easier as soft light filtered through the kitchen.

He knew he was breaking the rules but he wanted to hear a friendly voice. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cell phone and yelped in surprise as it began to ring. Pausing a moment, his heart in his throat, he tried to normalize his breathing before fumbling to answer the call.

“Sammy? What took you so long to answer?” Dean’s concerned voice echoed in Sam’s ear.

“Sorry. I’m having some technical difficulties. The power’s out,” Sam explained as he tried to hide the tremors in his voice. His eyes continued to flit around the kitchen. The hurricane light was better than nothing, but it still cast creepy shadows on the wall.

“Sam, I know you’re not going to like this, but you need to go into the basement and flip the breaker switch in the fuse box,” Dean said as calmly as he could. The wiring in the house was old and the power periodically went out, but it was easily fixed by the flip of a breaker.

“You’re right. I don’t like it,” Sam said softly. But going into the basement to reset a breaker on the fuse box was something that wouldn’t have bothered him before his kidnapping and he was determined to get back to that point. Even if it killed him.

“Relax Sammy. I’ll stay on the line while you take care of this. It’ll be a piece of cake. You’ll see,” Dean encouraged Sam. Dean was finally alone in the kitchen of another hunter’s house, bored out of his mind. The hunt had been a bust.

When Sam didn’t immediately respond to Dean’s inspirational pep talk, he continued on in the same vain, “I’m telling you, kid. It’s a can of corn.” Both boys had become enamored of the phrase while watching baseball games since some of the announcers uttered it when an easy fly ball was hit into the outfield. It made absolutely no sense to them but they loved it nonetheless. Dean was just trying to inject some levity into the situation and ‘a can of corn’ never failed to elicit a smile.

“Thanks Dean. It’s easy and I can handle it. Got it,” Sam said as a smile reluctantly twitched across his face. “I’m heading for the basement door right now,’ Sam intoned.

“Good. That’s really good. Give me a play by play description here,” Dean cajoled. For some reason he felt nervous as his little brother prepared to go into the basement. He knew he was just picking up on Sam’s anxiety, but he’d feel better hearing Sam’s voice. And he could have sworn he’d heard his brother smile. He wished he could have been there to see it because Sam’s smiles were few and far between lately.

“Turning the knob, pulling the door open, stepping down…hang on a sec, I need to adjust the phone and the candle so I can grab the railing…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he heard a noise behind him. He drew in a breath sharply and whirled partially around.

“Sammy…” an icy whisper echoed from within the kitchen

Sam stopped in his tracks. Afraid to return to the kitchen and afraid to continue into the basement he hovered frozen on the first step.

“Sammy? What was that? I heard something,” Dean demanded on the cell phone. The phone was suddenly filled with static but he thought he heard another voice. Dean stormed out of the kitchen and signaled to his Dad before he started moving toward the door. He had to get home. He had to get to his brother.

The Winchesters had finished up their business – a pack of wild dogs were at the root of the problem instead of werewolves – by calling in the humane society. They’d waited around in the shadows until the police and animal control had shown up with tranquilizers and carted the troublesome mutts off. Dean had been able to talk John into heading home before dawn but John wanted to wait at least another couple of hours. He had some catching up to do with an old acquaintance and thought the wait would do Sam some good.

John intercepted Dean before he could make a break for it. “Dean, you’re on the phone with Sam, aren’t you? I can’t believe you’d disobey me like that. Sam’s never going to get…” John was shocked into silence as Dean breezed by him.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” John demanded as he followed Dean out into the street.

“Something’s wrong. I was on the phone with him and then nothing,” Dean responded as he rushed over to the Impala.

“Just wait. Tell me what’s going on. We’ll figure it out together,” John reasoned as he followed Dean to the car. He could sense something was wrong.

“There isn’t time,” Dean responded as he gunned the engine and tore out onto the hard road. He would deal with his Dad later. After he knew Sam was okay.

Sam, phone clutched in one hand and hurricane lamp in the other, felt the whisper of breath on the nape of his neck. Gathering his courage he finished turning around and gasped. The pale face of John Thompson was maliciously shadowed by the light of the hurricane lamp.

But John Thompson was dead, his spine crushed by a speeding vehicle as he fled the Winchesters. The ghost of John Thompson?

Everything coalesced in Sam’s mind. The feeling of being watched, the cold drafts, the movement in the mirror. John Thompson, the ghost, had been stalking him for weeks now. So that was why he’d been so emotionally off balance. It wasn't all in his mind.

At least Sam knew what he was dealing with now and he knew how to protect himself. Stepping up and forward Sam’s left foot touched the kitchen floor. He had to get to the salt.

Sam didn’t have a chance to go any further before the kitchen door, which Sam had left ajar, rapidly slammed shut. It painfully collided with the center of Sam’s forehead in the process.

Sam literally saw stars and swayed back. His foot met air as he fought for purchase and he barely had time to cry out, “Dean!” before he tumbled backward, ass over teakettle, striking each basement stair before landing awkwardly on the concrete floor.

The cell phone and hurricane lamp tumbled through the railing. The cell phone shattered as it made contact with the unforgiving cement but the hurricane lamp landed on a pile of rags. The rags, soaked in turpentine by a previous tenant, ignited in a soft whoosh. Smoke lazily drifted upward.

Unconscious as soon as the back of his head struck the first step, Sam lay partially on his right side and partially on his back. His left arm was stretched out toward the stairs as if in casual greeting. Sam wasn’t awake to hear the chilling laughter lilting down from the kitchen.

The Impala screeched to a halt outside of the house. Dean noticed the house was shrouded in darkness and grabbed a flashlight out of the backseat before he sprinted for the door. As he jammed the key into the lock dread burned in the pit of hisstomach.

Bursting into the living room he bellowed at the top of his lungs for his brother. Silence greeted him. As did the smell of smoke.

Dean pulled out his phone and punched in 911. Moving toward the kitchen, he could see the way the smoke thickened in the beam of his flashlight and he felt tightness in his chest.

“911. What’s your emergency?” a young woman’s calm voice queried.

“There’s smoke, I think a fire, and I can’t find my brother. I’m checking the basement now,” Dean responded as calmly as he could.

“Sir, please stay on the line. What’s your address?” He frantically gave the address before disconnecting the call. Staying on the line wasn’t going to help him find Sammy.

Dean snatched a dish cloth up on his way to the sink and ran it under cold water. The smoke was really beginning to tickle his nose and throat. He couldn’t even imagine how Sam felt now. No, don’t go there. You’ve got to hold it together.

Dean cautiously reached out and touched the doorknob. It wasn’t blistering hot like he’d anticipated so he whipped the door open. Heavy smoke billowed out and he held the wet cloth over his nose and mouth.

“SAMMY! Answer me!” Dean screamed before succumbing to an attack of coughing. He couldn’t see anything and grasping the flashlight tightly with one hand and the railing with the other he started to descend into the basement.

He could hear crackling off to his left but the stairs seemed to be holding up under his weight so he pressed on. He had to find his brother.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs his foot nudged something. Dropping to his knees he thrust his hands out and felt a leg.

The smoke was so thick now he couldn’t halt the harsh coughs erupting from his body.

Dean was out of his mind with worry. Sam was ominously still.

Although he was unsure of Sam’s condition,Dean realized he couldn’t wait another second or both of them would be trapped in the basement. The smoke was so thick it wouldn’t be long before he passed out. Discarding the flashlight, he reached forward and found the bend in Sam’s legs and then his torso. Pulling Sam up as gently as he could by the arms,he leaned forward and allowed Sam’s weight to carry him over Dean’s shoulder. Grasping Sam around the back of his legs, Dean unevenly rose and staggered up the stairs.

Dean tried to hold the wet cloth over his nose and mouth to filter out the smoke, but the harmful smoke continued to seep through. His lungs were burning and he couldn’t stop the coughs wracking his body. He lunged into the kitchen as if crossing the finish line and was startled when he bumped into someone.

“I’ve got him, Dean. Come on,” John Winchester’s voice rumbled in his ear. Dean felt Sam’s weight shifted off his shoulder and then someone, his dad grabbed him by the elbow and lead him out of the house.

An onslaught of hacking overcame Dean and he dropped to his knees as he sucked the cool air into his heated lungs. But his thoughts were elsewhere. Sammy. How is he?

“Easy Dean. Conserve your energy. The paramedics are here and they’re going to give you some oxygen. Then we’re going to go to the hospital with Sam,” John said, his voice gentle as he rubbed Dean’s back. Dean’s panic over getting to Sam coupled with his own reservations about leaving his youngest alone had culminated in John hitting the road right after Dean’s exit.

Dean’s harsh barking as he tried to clear his lungs of the thick smoke was a sharp contrast to the way Sam had lain in John’s arm with complete stillness, in utter silence.

Dean frantically grabbed his Dad’s arms and stared wildly into his eyes. John wanted to give him something to hold onto, something positive, but he was at a loss for words.

Dean was scrunched down low in the plastic chair, his bloodshot eyes widening in anticipation each time the ER doors swung open only to have his hopes dashed. They’d been waiting for news about Sam for over an hour. Dean had repeatedly shaken off the staff’s attempts to treat him as he awaited news about his brother. John had given up trying to get him to see a doctor.

John sat next to Dean and clumsily patted his knee every few minutes. Words had been very sparse between the two of them since they entered the hospital – Dean because he was suffering the effects of smoke inhalation and John because he couldn’t believe his pig headedness had almost killed his youngest. Not that he was out of the woods. Actually, they didn’t know what kind of shape Sam was in because no one had told them anything.

“Dean Winchester?” a female clad in white scrubs asked from the doorway.

Dean bounded to his feet and wavered as dizziness hammered him. He felt John’s steadying hand at his back and drew comfort from it. He thought his name had been called because there was news about his brother but the staff just wanted to take him back and examine him.

A coughing fit shook his slim frame and before he could protest John was hustling him after the nurse against his wishes.

Dean lost track of what was going on as he was lead back and sat on an exam table. He didn’t want to be treated. All he wanted to know was how Sammy was doing and people kept poking and prodding him and wouldn’t leave him alone. As an oxygen mask was strapped over his nose, he found it constrictive and kept trying to remove it. He finally felt a needle prick in his bicep and then everything went muzzy as he relaxed back.

John watched as if from the sidelines as the medical staff tried to treat Dean. He wanted to intervene but Dean batted him away as well as the staff. It seemed he was just confusing things further so he forced himself to step back.

Dean was suffering from smoke inhalation, but the pure oxygen they were pumping into him should make for a full recovery. The combativeness was a by product of Dean’s anxiety over Sam and the doctor had ordered a sedative to calm him. Dean really needed the rest so John knew the sedative was a good idea anyway. There was no news of Sam yet so Dean might as well rest.

John found himself wishing he could turn back the clock. Sam shouldn’t be lying sick and hurt, without his family, in who knew what condition. Dean shouldn’t be strung out on worry, hocking up a lung, victim to some crazy fire. And John felt responsible for the condition of both of his sons. If only he’d listened to Dean. If only he’d paid more attention to what was going on with Sam. If only, if only, if only.

Dean’s face was still streaked with soot and his eyes were a terrible red. At least the horrible coughing had finally subsided a bit. The doctors had wanted to admit Dean over night for observation but Dean refused. He insisted that being allowed in to see Sam was the best medicine. The staff finally relented. He’d be in the ICU so should he suffer a setback at least he would get the help he needed.

Now if only Sam would wake up.

Sam had a whopper of a deep bruise across his forehead and his eyes were deeply colored as well. He had fifteen stitches in the back of his head and a severe concussion but, shockingly, no other damage to his back or limbs except for more bruising.

The main problem was that Sam was suffering from a severe case of smoke inhalation, his throat and lungs actually blistered from the heat and toxins, and his breathing was labored. The doctors felt as long as he was breathing under his own steam and his oxygen saturation levels were acceptable there was no need to put him on a ventilator.

John and Dean only cared about two things. They wanted Sam to wake up and they didn’t want him to be in pain.

No one was more thrilled than father and brother when Sam started to rouse.

One moment Sam was lazily blinking his eyes open, and the next he was trying to sit up. He grasped at the mask across his nose and muttered in short, staccato phrases.

“JT,” Sam gasped in a broken voice that would have made Marge Simpson’s chain smoking sisters proud. Gravelly and rough, Sam tried to wheeze out more but his body was shaken by deep, rattling coughs.

“It’s okay, Sammy. You’re going to be fine,” Dean said as he moved up close to Sam in an effort to catch his eye. He didn’t like the way Sam’s eyes were rolling around in a panic.

“SSS-Saw JT…haunting m-me,” Sam stuttered out between more coughing fits that caused water to leak from the outer corner of his eyes.

“No, Sammy. JT’s dead. He can’t hurt you,” Dean tried to set Sam’s mind at ease but if anything he became more agitated.

John felt the proverbial light bulb go on in his head. JT had died in front of John but John hadn’t bothered to salt and burn him. What the hell was I thinking? He died a violent death with unfinished business. The perfect recipe for a haunting. I put my family at risk.

Sam’s skittishness, his seeming decline – it all made sense now. He hadn’t taken the time to read the signs before, preferring to think that his sensitive son had given in to the trauma of his ordeal instead of digging deeper. He had let Sam down before, but he could fix things for his son now.

“It’s okay. I understand. One salt and burn coming up,” John said as he gently squeezed Sam’s shoulder as yet another coughing fit shook his frail frame.

Sam finally seemed to relax. His father understood. His father wouldn’t let him down. He closed his eyes and gave in to the pull of unconsciousness.

John aimed one more concerned look at Sam before stepping out into the hallway.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Dean rasped out as he followed John out of the room. He didn’t want to leave Sam for a moment,but he wanted to know what was so important that John would abandon his youngest son.

“It was JT all along. Haunting Sam. I’m going down to Illinois, dig up his body, and perform a little old fashioned salt and burn on his wicked, bony ass,” John explained with a gleam in his eye. He might not excel at comforting his boys,but this was something he could do for them. For Sam.

The smoke must have really done a number on me was all Dean could think. He should have figured it out a long time ago. JT. Haunting. Sam.

“Take care of your brother. And yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” John said as he pulled Dean into a brief hug before striding down the hall and around the corner.

Dean was stunned. John rarely touched his sons unless he was showing them a defensive move. And hugging? Unheard of since the boys had reached adolescence. Dean finally understood how scared John had been of losing his youngest.

A couple of hours had passed since John set off to deal with JT and Dean was scared. Sammy was struggling to pull in each breath, his body taut with exertion, sweat coating his skin. Dean’s concern was mitigated by the fact that his younger brother was conscious and occasionally clasped Dean’s hand in his own, but then he would quickly twist away as he fought to suck oxygen into his battered lungs.

Dean could see Sam was tiring of the fight. Hell, Dean was exhausted just from watching him. And it was damn frustrating because aside from holding on to Sam’s hand when he allowed and wiping his face with a cool cloth which Sam tended to bat away, there wasn’t a thing Dean could do to help Sam.

Dean’s nerves were already stretched taut when one of the machines attached to Sam started bleating out a warning, practically sending Dean through the ceiling. Someone hustled into the room to make a moue of concern and then quickly disappeared. Dean was going to lose it soon. Did the never ending alarm mean Sam was losing the fight? Or simply that the machine needed a new battery? The sound certainly wasn’t going to relax Sam any as he continued to struggle for oxygen.

“Hey, honey. I need you step back. I’m going to give your brother a breathing treatment,” a capable looking older woman said as she bustled into the room.

The nurse leaned forward and removed the oxygen mask from Sam’s face which startled Dean out of his inactivity. “What the hell are you doing? He needs that!”

“Relax. This is a bronchodilator. It’s going to open up Sam’s air passages so that he can breathe easier,” she explained as she positioned the head of Sam’s bed higher before inserting a tube into his mouth. She whispered instructions in Sam’s ear and then depressed a button that released the medication.

The nurse stroked Sam’s arm and murmured words of encouragement as her attention switched between Sam’s face and the monitors next to him.

Dean anxiously watched as Sam’s chest continued to heave at a fast pace. His eyes were wide and staring, his face etched in lines of exhaustion. .

“There you go, Sam. Things should start easing up for you. Don’t fight it, try to go with the flow,” she counseled before slipping out of the room.

Dean moved forward and took up the position the nurse had abandoned. Stroking Sam’s wrist, his eyes glued to his face, Dean found himself wishing he could switch places with his brother. Watching him suffer like this, flopping around like a fish out of water, was killing him.

Dean noticed a change in Sam’s condition in small increments. The frantic wheezing was giving way to longer gasps and Sam was no long arching on the bed in an effort to maximize the air flow. Instead he was splayed across the bed, arms akimbo, while his eyes relaxed at half mast.

Dean wanted to tell Sam he was so proud of him and apologize for leaving him alone, but he didn’t want to upset the fragile balance of Sam’s condition. He resolved to be patient and wait this thing out. He vowed he would have a chance to speak his mind. He refused to let Sam go.

Sam’s condition continued to teeter between stable and serious as his body fought the effects of the smoke. He’d had another puff of the bronchodilator and a nebulizer treatment. They worked for a while but then Sam would crash again, straining with every muscle in his body to drag air into his damaged lungs.

Dean watched on helplessly as Sam began to thrash restlessly again, muttering under his breath. The nurses said Sam was holding his own, but Dean knew he couldn’t take much more.

As if a light had been switched on, Sam immediately began to calm. His breathing, still ragged, was no longer so tortured. Dean was amazed. He collapsed in a chair next to Sammy.

Dean never got the chance to relax as his cell phone started trilling. Reaching into his pocket he saw that his Dad was calling.

“It’s over. I’m on my way. How’s Sammy?” John asked, out of breath. He was getting too old for this shit, digging up graves and then torching the remains, but he would never admit it aloud.

“It’s been touch and go, but I think he’s finally resting,” Dean said before a heartfelt sigh escaped his lips.

John looked up to the heavens in silent thanks. That’s twice in three months that he’d almost lost his baby. He needed to slow down and pay more attention to his boys otherwise he might not be so lucky next time.

“How’s he doing?” John asked as Dean came down the hallway. The smoke damage had been too much for the rented house, so the Winchesters had decided to move on as soon as Sam was released from the hospital. Mindful of Sam’s condition John decided to move them about an hour’s time from their last house. They could regroup and come up with a plan once Sam was better.

Sam had conked out as soon as they got him settled in the Impala’s passenger seat. He was bundled under several blankets and the seat was tilted back so that he could rest more comfortably. They needn’t have worried on that score as Sam tumbled into a deep sleep as soon as the car left park.

In fact, Sam had been so exhausted that Dean couldn’t rouse him long enough to get him into their new place. Instead, John had swept him up into his arms and carried him indoors.

John was trying hard not to show how worried he was about his youngest. The doctors had assured him that Sam could be discharged and had even armed them with inhalers to help Sam’s breathing. Sam continually slept, which the staff had told him was normal, but it just didn’t suit his youngest. Since John couldn’t order Sam to feel better, he resigned himself to being patient. They had endured five long days while Sam recuperated in the hospital. He could wait a little longer.

Dean ran a hand through his spiky blond hair before answering, “He’s out. We’ll have to wake him up in an hour to give him a breathing treatment.” Dean didn’t like how compliant Sam was at the moment. He missed his feisty little brother. The way Sam was before the fire and before the kidnapping. But he was alive and breathing. No thanks to their Dad.

Resentment still simmered deep within Dean. Their Dad had decided on the best course of action in regards to Sam, irregardless of Dean’s input, and it had almost cost him his little brother. It was the first time that Dean could remember thinking John Winchester had made a mistake. The disillusionment was fierce, but he consoled himself that nobody was perfect.

John knew his blunder had almost resulted in Sam forfeiting his life and he was deeply sorry. Sam had waved off his attempted apology in the hospital since John had managed the salt and burn thus getting JT out of their lives for good, but Dean wouldn’t even stay in the same room long enough with John to hear him out.

Taking a deep breath, John took the plunge despite the chilly environment, “I should have listened to you. You know your brother inside and out, you’ve always taken care of him, so I should have trusted in your judgment. I’m sorry.”

Dean was stunned. His father had never, ever apologized to him before. It was hard to maintain his icy demeanor in the face of John’s regret.

Dean silently nodded and was on the verge of speaking when a crash was heard from Sam’s room. John and Dean both sprinted in, afraid of what they would find.

"Sam! You okay?" John barked as he crossed the threshold of the room, Dean close on his heels. Both men were relieved to see Sam wasn't sprawled on the floor.

Instead, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed with a sheepish grin on his face. "Sorry," he croaked out through his still raw throat. It no longer hurt to talk, but it sounded like hell. "I kind of lost my balance and knocked over the glass of water."

"What are you doing up? You're supposed to be resting," Dean scolded as he looked Sam over. He was pale and shaky, but for the first time in a long time there was a gleam of hope in his eye.

"The doctor said I could go back to school as soon as I built up my strength. I wanted to get up and start moving around. Do you think we could see about registering me for school on Monday?" he asked with a mild wheeze in his voice. The effects of the smoke were dissipating slowly,but he was eager for things to get back to normal.

John took in Sam's flash of spirit. Despite his residual problems, Sam seemed to be on the road to recovery. John chastised himself over not noticing that there was more to Sam's withdrawal and skittishness then what had happened to him in December. If he hadn't taken things at face value, something he knew better than to do, then Sam might not have faced this most recent trauma alone. And he should have trusted in Dean when his oldest son told him they shouldn't leave Sam alone. Dean had always known what was best for Sam. John couldn't believe how close he'd been to losing his baby. To losing both of his sons.

Dean could see that Sam was chomping at the bit to get better. It had been so long since he'd shown a spark of energy or enthusiasm about anything that he felt giddy with relief. It had been torture watching Sam pull into himself these last couple of months. He didn't care about anything. And the way he jumped at any little noise broke his heart. Sam might be a geek but he was a fighter, sure and strong, and to watch him dragging around had been hell.

It had been too long, but his Sammy was finally on the mend.

Finis

A/N:  I cannot thank Annonie enough for the beta on this fic. Not only did she consent to help me out on the spur of the moment, and did a fantastic job, but she did so while in the midst of a life altering event (congratulations kiddo!).
Thank you for reading this story!