Summary:  As his head hit the pavement, he coughed and felt a trickle of blood escape his mouth. That's when he remembered Dean.
Disclaimer:  I own only the 1st Season DVD.

Ten minutes left in class and Dean Winchester was going to go mad. Sitting in the back, listening to his teacher - Johnson? Jackson? Like it’ll matter in two weeks when Dad announces we’re leaving anyways – drone on about the evolution of a capitalist market system was excruciating. Well, not technically listening. Dean was much more involved with one of his favorite past times: scouting. Whether beautiful girls or evil supernatural creatures – sometimes both at the same time – Dean was game. Today, it was just beautiful girls. Actually, just one specific beautiful girl. She sat right in front of him, her long, red hair flowing across his desk and curling at the ends.

Dean couldn’t remember her first name, but he knew that her favorite color was green because it was both the color of her backpack, her notebook and her pencils. He also knew that she used herbal shampoo, because her hair smelled exactly like the same crap Sam uses, every time she flicked it behind her shoulders. Normally he would’ve minded losing his precious nap hours snoozing in class, but being woken up by a girl’s soft strands tickling your cheek? Way better than a bell or a teacher’s ruler tap. Speaking of which, the bell was just about to ring in 30 seconds. Dean leaned over toward his backpack, putting his book away, when suddenly a green pencil landed right in front of his face on the floor. Dean glanced up.

“Oh! Sorry,” the girl whispered uncomfortably, her face a slight shade of pink. But her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Would you mind grabbing that for me?”

“No problem, Mary Jane,” Dean grinned dazzlingly, his hand reaching for the pencil, though he didn’t take his eyes off her face.

Mary Jane smirked back, looking a little more relaxed. “Cute. I thought most boys outgrew comics when they were twelve. Apparently not.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t read comic books just for fun,” Dean retorted. “They’re for research.”

“Like what, how to not get killed when you’re attacked by some unearthly monster?”

“No.” That’s what Latin is for. Dean leaned back in his seat. “I read them so I know how to save pretty girls like you when you’re attacked by some unearthly monster.”

Mary Jane rolled her eyes. “Your pick-up lines could use a little work, y’know,” she said condescendingly, though the teasing, flirting lilt to her voice remained.

“Yeah well, maybe you could give me some pointers while I carry your book bag for you?”

Mary Jane freckled cheeks turned a new shade of red. She smacked the gum in her mouth and replied, “I have to stop at my locker, then by the main office to pick up some college applications. But sure, why not?”

Dean smiled triumphantly.

Sam sat outside Door #6, on the planter ledge, his feet dangling a foot or so above the concrete sidewalk. School had let out nearly twenty minutes ago, and yet Dean hadn’t shown yet. Usually Dean was waiting for him when he got outside, already starting to walk the eight blocks to their apartment before Sam was halfway out the door. Sam had never understood Dean’s hatred of school. Sure, sometimes it was boring if you had a bad teacher, and it could be a lot of work, but at least this way they were doing something safe. Sam knew Dean loved hunting, but sometimes it didn’t add up to him.

Dean’s favorite past time – after scouting (girls or evil supernatural creatures, heck, sometimes both at the same time, Sam annoyingly thought) – was teasing Sam. His favorite topic for the activity? School, of course. Because Dean and Sam agreed on pretty much everything, except for school. Just a month ago, back in August, Dean had begged their father to let him quit early.

“I can hunt full time, Dad! I’ve learned everything I need to from school. It’s not going to help me later on, not with anything important,” Dean had argued.

“No Dean. You need to get your degree, and then you never have to go back if you don’t want to. But for now, you need to finish high school,” John said, without even so much as looking up from his journal.

“But Dad, sitting at school doesn’t save lives. And you know that’s more important,” Dean practically yelled. Sam remembered thinking Dean must really hate school if he was brave enough to almost yell at their dad about it. Either way, his tone got John to look up from his research on the wendigo, his eyes hard.

“It was important to your mother,” he said stiffly, with finality. At this, Dean stepped down, but his eyes still blazed.

And, nearly four weeks later, Sam still caught himself wondering if Dean would find a way to get Dad to let him quit. But today, he’d come to school with Sam. And he wasn’t here yet to walk home. Sam glanced around again, his eyes and ears searching for the familiar face and voice. But the place was empty, except for an older kid standing at the bottom the steps, smoking. The guy looked pissed every time his gaze traveled back to the door from the parking lot. He completely ignored Sam, but Sam didn’t mind. He had a feeling this wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to get noticed by, anyway.

Maybe Dean skipped, Sam thought. But he would still come and get me, right? He wouldn’t just leave me out here to wait. Dean’s lots of things, but cruel isn’t one of them.

Suddenly, Sam heard the door open behind him. He didn’t even have to see Dean to recognize the small chuckle. He turned around, ready to attack Dean with spiteful questions for making him wait, but his voice died on his lips. It wasn’t just Dean who walked out. It was Dean and a girl.

Great, Dean, was all he managed to think before a new, unfamiliar voice latched on to his mind.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with her, you punk?”

Dean had waited patiently while Mary Ja – uh, Sophie – took her time switching books at her locker, then stopping by the office for the college stuff.

“What schools are you applying to?” she’d asked as they wandered out the office and down the hallway.

“Stanford, naturally,” Dean replied smoothly.

“Really?! Me, too,” Sophie said. Actually, Dean had sneaked a glance at her application choices through the office window, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, it just seems like the logical choice, what with the full ride they’re offering me and all,” Dean answered, appreciating the admiration that shown in Sophie’s eyes. “Hey, which way do you live? I gotta stop by door number six and tell my brother he’ll have to walk home by himself today, then we can head out.”

“Okay, no problem,” Sophie said. “I live just three blocks south. If you leave from door number six, you probably walk by my house every day. I’ll just walk with you.”

They carried a conversation all the way to the door, and Dean was just about to ask her if she wanted to go on a date Friday night when they stepped out into the sunlight. The first thing Dean saw was Sammy crouched on the ledge, his backpack in his lap. He saw Sam turn his head, his face accusing, when suddenly it panned out into one of surprise. Dean just smiled, chuckling, when –

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with her, you punk?”

Dean turned to look at to his right, and saw a guy from his government class – a dumb football jock, he vaguely remember thinking to himself once or twice – step up to the top stair. Sophie interrupted any comeback he had, though.

“Greg!” she said, her voice softening. “I thought you’d have left by now.”

“Well, why would I do that, when you said you’d grab a coffee with me after school today?”

Dean had to laugh at that. A football jock who asks girls to go drink coffee with him? He probably spouts poetry too. What a sap. “Dude,” he said, before he could stop himself, “I don’t think a latte is going to get you any action, anyways.”

Sophie’s attention snapped back to Dean. Unfortunately, so did Greg’s. Without a second’s hesitation, Greg took one large step towards Dean, took him by the collar of his t-shirt and rammed him into the door. Behind Greg, Dean saw Sam jump up, ready to attack from behind. Dean barely shook his head in Sam’s direction, but it was enough to get Sam to wait.

“And who do you think you are, you piece of shit?” Greg yelled into Dean’s face. “Who do you think you are, trying to steal my girlfriend and then insulting me?”

Dude, your breath reeks! was Dean’s first thought, but then, an idea occurred to him. A great idea. In the span of second, he had a plan. “If you don’t let go of me right now, you’ll regret it.”

Greg just smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

“No! Wait!” Sophie had finally piped in.

“Greg, just let him go and then we’ll get out of here,” Sophie said, her eyes pleading. Greg glanced over at her, and that was just what Dean was waiting for. He bashed Greg in the head with his right fist, then landed a quick punch to the stomach and Greg was on the ground, moaning.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Sophie screamed at Dean, her face stained with tears and suddenly Dean didn’t care at all what she looked like, he just wanted to have nothing more to do with her.

“He’ll be fine, he gets worse at practice I’m sure,” Dean answered, rubbing his neck where Greg had pinched his Adam’s apple going after his shirt. “Though, if all the rest are wimps like he is, maybe not.”

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” Sophie said, helping Greg to his feet.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea,” Dean remarked, then turned around and walked down the steps to where Sam stood. Sam stared at the ground as Dean came up to him, and refused to meet his eyes.

“Sammy, you all right?” Dean asked, though he knew Sam couldn’t have gotten hurt. Sam continued his stare for a moment, then looked back up at Dean, his face one of surprised anger.

“You didn’t have to hit him, Dean,” Sam said. “He would’ve let you go, he was about to.”

“Yeah well, he shoulda let me go right away, not get the girl to do it for him,” Dean answered coldly, looking back behind him across the parking lot to the jock and Sophie. With the adrenaline running through his veins right now, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t go off on Sam too. He turned his gaze back to Sam, who was looking at him with something close to concern.

“Dean, you don’t have to fight all the time, you know,” Sam said. “Sometimes, it’s like you don’t even know the difference between people and monsters.” A light of epiphany flashed across Sam’s face, then. He stopped walking, and just stared at Dean. “You knew, didn’t you?”

When the thought occurred to Sam, he at first dismissed it. But it all fell into place. Dean had known Sophie had a boyfriend. He had known Greg would attack him. He had planned it, with the hopes that he’d have a reason to kick the crap out of Greg so that he’d get suspended, and then... then Dad would get so fed up, he’d let Dean quit. Sam couldn’t believe Dean, the brother he knew, would ever do it. But Dean, the hunter, he would do whatever it took. The thought scared Sam more than anything. He had to stop this, before Dean took it any further.

Just as Dean turned to Sam, ready to argue, Sam took the risk.

“Dean, you can’t hurt Greg! I know you think he’s stupid and all, but you can’t hurt him!” Sam pleaded. Dean stopped walking after that, already ten paces ahead of Sam, having refused to stop when Sam had. He turned around, his face furious.

His voice barely above a whisper, Dean raged, “Jesus Sam, it’s not like I planned it! I didn’t know she had a boyfriend!”

“But once you found that out, you were quick to go after him! I know what this is about, Dean, I can see it in your face. You just want a reason to get Dad to let you quit. Why, though, Dean? You only have eight months left. Just eight months, and then you don’t ever have to go back. Why beat someone up over eight months?” Sam felt a feeling of dread wash over him when he focused from his words to Dean’s face. Dean looked ready to kick Sam’s ass. And Sam knew it wasn’t because he was wrong.

It was because he was right.

“Let’s go,” Dean said. He was pissed beyond all hell, pissed at Sophie for leading him on when she had a boyfriend. Pissed at Greg for attacking him. Pissed at Sam for figuring out his sudden plan so quick, and worse, making him feel ashamed about it. Pissed at his Dad for forcing him to stay in school when it was all such bullshit. Most of all he was pissed off at himself though, for allowing himself to lose control of reason. Logically, he shouldn’t have hit Greg, he knew Greg was about to let him go. Logically, he should just stay in school and get it done with, for his mom if for nobody else. Logically, Sam was right. But right then Dean hadn’t cared about logic, and now hardly ten minutes later he was already feeling bad about it.

Not knowing what else to do, and with a lack of anything to hit, Dean turned away from Sam and began to walk. Just as he did, though, he heard a car door slam from on the road and something running toward him out of the corner of his eye. Before he could do anything, Dean felt all the air pushed out of his lungs as he landed hard on the ground, Greg straddling his chest.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll show you who’s a wimp now!” Greg seethed, slamming Dean in the face with a fist. Dean bit his tongue and tasted blood, and his ears rang. In the background he heard Sam cry out his name, but before he could even raise his fists to get Greg back, another punch slammed into his temple.

Damn it, Dean had time to think, then a weightless feeling settled over him and he was out for the count.

Sam barely registered what was happening before he saw Greg on top of Dean. Greg, his voice so low Sam couldn’t make it out, whispered something into Dean’s ear before he raised his fist and slammed it down across Dean’s cheekbone.

“Dean!” Sam cried, his voice hitting a pitch he thought he’d ridden himself of six months ago. Sam saw Dean’s face contort in pain and a small trickle of blood escape his mouth. Then he watched in horror as Greg slipped something on his hand. Sam was running at Greg before he even found the name of the object. All he could think was Bad! This is really bad!

Just as Greg slammed the brass knuckles into Dean’s temple, Sam rammed into Greg with all the upper body strength he could muster.

Both Greg and Sam tumbled across the sidewalk, Sam a little farther since he weighed less. Without missing a beat Sam was on his feet and running back toward Greg. Greg had lost the knuckles and whatever he saw in Sam’s face must have scared the shit out of him because suddenly his hands were jammed into one of his pockets, and he was grabbing something as fast as he could.

Sam saw what he was doing, but at the moment he was so angry he wasn’t thinking straight. All that registered in his mind was that Dean, Sam’s protector, Sam’s brother, Sam’s world was lying on the ground, and he wasn’t getting up. And Greg had been the one to do that. For all Sam knew, Greg had killed him. And that thought, Sam could not bear. For that reason, Sam did not care what Greg had in his hand, because Sam would do anything for his brother, and kicking the shit out of dumb football jocks was definitely on that list.

Sam was just about to Greg, a yell of suppressed rage escaping him, when Greg raised his arm up to Sam, as though he was pointing at him. Sam saw the new weapon in Greg’s hand, and at the last minute instinct, not control, forced him to a halt. But not before Greg whipped his arm straight out toward Sam, his face one of grim triumph.

At first, Sam didn’t feel any pain. His scream of rage died to a whimper though, and that he definitely took note of. It was just like in the movies, and as Sam felt his scream die, he stared Greg in the eyes, wanting to ask him a question but not sure what it was. How? or maybe just Why? Before he got the chance another whimper escaped him, and he felt himself slipping toward the ground.

Greg, at least, let go of the knife’s handle and stepped back, his look of grim triumph now one of utter panic. Sam, now on his knees, watched as Greg wiped his hands on his shirt, then they went up to the back of his head as he began to a whispered litany of “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh-“

Greg’s eyes were no longer on Sam’s, they were now on something below Sam, some part of Sam. Sam absently looked down, and Hmmm, that’s not right. Because something was sticking out of him. A handle of some sort? And, Sam noted, coming out from around the handle in spurts, was something warm and sticky.

Sam brought his hands up to the wound, wanting to pull the handle, see if it would open a door to some place where the pain wouldn’t get him. Right when he thought of pain was when he felt it hit him, like a freight train, and Sam groaned and slowly sunk to the ground. His head hit the pavement and he coughed and felt a trickle of blood escape his mouth and that’s when he remembered Dean.

“Dean. Dean,” he cried because he knew Dean was there, Dean was always there when something happened to him and Dean would save him now like he always did. But instead, the only person Sam saw was Greg, who crouched in front of him, now silent, his face a blank.

Greg reached for him, and for a second Sam thought Greg would put pressure on the wound, try to stop the bleeding, but then he felt a coldness seep through him, he felt his insides slide a little, and now Greg was holding something in his hand, and wasn’t it that damn knife? Without a second glance Greg jumped up and ran back to his car, and sped away.

“No. No. Dea-“

Sam’s pleading eyes followed the car, and then rolled down to his stomach, where a puddle of blood had formed around him.

“Dddd...” he tried again, but there was no answer, no touch of comfort to ease the cold that had fallen upon him. From where he was lying, he was facing the street and not the sidewalk where he knew Dean lay. What if he’s dead? Sam felt the dread of hopelessness come over him. But no, Dean’s alive, Dean wouldn’t let some dumb football player kill him.

Sam’s second-to-last thought before the darkness took him was hope for Dean, that Dean wouldn’t blame himself when he woke up to find Sam not just gone, but dead. But he will, Sam knew. He closed his eyes, his vision fading anyway, his last bit of strength nearly vanished.

And though he could see nothing he could somehow see Dean.

He will. He’s my brother.

“Oh, goddamn.”

Dean Winchester was in pain. The first thing he was aware of, upon waking up, was that his head hurt.

Scratch that.

His head was going to explode.

The second thing was that it hurt to open his eyes, and why was it so dark?

Oh, wait. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet. Come on Dean, get yourself together. Slowly, Dean lifted his heavy lids.

The sun was still shining bright. Dean felt the hard heat of concrete beneath him, and his shoulders and back ached from the pressure. I’ll be feeling this for a while. What the hell happened, anyway?

Pulling himself to a sitting position, Dean stared down at his hands and tried to piece it all together. He felt something warm and sticky on his forehead, and lifted his hand to his head as he thought. When he pulled it away, he saw it was covered in blood. Well, that explains the not remembering part. Must have a concussion. Damn.

Dean closed his eyes, more to stop the dizzy feeling that came over him than anything else. That’s when it hit him.

Red hair. Green pencil. Little brother. Sophie. Greg. Sam. Shame. Anger. Pain. Greg. Dean?! Sam. Sammy.

“Sam?” Dean called, on his feet before he realized what a bad idea that was, as the dizziness slammed into him again. He remembered now what had happened. Greg had attacked him a second time.

“Not only with his fists, too, the dumbass,” Dean thought as he bent down and grabbed the brass knuckles lying next to his feet. “What the hell was he thinking?”

And where’s Sam? The question re-entered Dean’s mind, and this time there was no dizziness to distract him. Dean turned away from the sidewalk and looked toward the curb. His heart dropped to his stomach when he found what he was looking for.

“Sammy?”

Sam was lying on the ground, curled in a fetal position, clutching his stomach. Dean couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. From Dean’s vantage point, he looked incredibly small, more like a kicked puppy than a hurt teenage boy.

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean cried as he ran to his brother. The dizziness was starting to come back but Dean ignored it. All he could see was Sam, on the ground, not moving. Not dead... please God, not dead...

Dean reached down to turn his brother over. He nearly passed out when he saw the damage.

It was worse than he could’ve imagined.

Blood was everywhere. It painted a dark brown picture across Sam’s light tan jacket. The previously light blue t-shirt he’d worn to school that day was unrecognizable beneath the darkness that plagued it now. Sam’s lax face was chalk-white, even his lips seemed devoid of color.

“Oh god. Sammy,” Dean whispered as he moved his shaking hands to his brother’s neck. After a few seconds he breathed a sigh of relief. The familiar thump was there – Sam was still alive.

Without taking his right hand off his brother’s neck, Dean reached for the t-shirt, hoping to find the source of all the blood. Slowly he pulled the t-shirt up to his brother’s armpits and then used part of the jacket to wipe at the blood on his stomach.

There it was. A small two-inch cut straight into Sam’s abdomen was slowly spurting blood in time to Sam’s heartbeat. Dean had seen enough wounds like it to know a switchblade was the culprit. Dean had seen enough knife cuts to know something else. The wound was deep, and that meant one thing...

Sam would die if he didn’t get help soon. He could die.

“Oh my god!”

A familiar voice rang in Dean’s ears, momentarily distracting him. He turned his head to see Sophie standing there, her mouth wide open, disgust and terror spelled out plainly on her face.

“Soph-“

“Oh god what happened? Is he dead? Did Greg...? Oh god oh god-“

“Sophie, just shut up!” Dean yelled at her. Right away Sophie silenced herself, though her breath was erratic and her freckles stood out even more as her face further paled.

Dean knew a resource when he saw one though, and as he pressed hard on the would he said urgently, “Sophie, listen to me, you need to grab my cell phone out of my backpack right now and call 911! Please, just grab the phone and get help!”

Despite looking almost as bad as Sam, Sophie promptly ran to Dean’s backpack and fumbled with the zipper, then dug until she found his cell phone. As she called for an ambulance, Dean took a moment to examine Sam closer.

Sam’s face was as white as the sidewalk. Though Dean could still feel Sam’s slow heartbeat, he couldn’t tell if he was breathing and leaned over Sam’s wound to press his ear against Sam’s chest. Barely, he felt it rise and then lower.

“Please Sammy, just hold on. Sammy, if you can hear me, you gotta hang on kiddo,” Dean whispered as he listened to Sam breathe. Dean could feel shock coming over him, whether from the head wound or from seeing Sam’s condition he wasn’t sure. As soon as shivers overtook him, Dean could think of nothing else but holding Sammy.

If I hold Sammy, then nothing can get him. He can’t get hurt when I’m holding him.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s body and pulled him into his lap. Sam’s head rolled across Dean’s shoulder, and Dean felt the familiar but weak puffs of breath against his neck. As the shaking increased, Dean just held Sam tighter, one hand pressing hard against the still-bleeding wound, the other hand wrapped around Sam’s chest.

Though the closeness made Dean feel better, he knew it wouldn’t keep Sammy alive forever. Sam was fading, fast.

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes darted to Sam’s face, and then, realizing it wasn’t his voice, glanced up. Sophie was standing in front of him, her arms at her sides, the cell phone hanging loosely in her hand.

“Dean, they said they’ll be here soon. They said... they said to keep him warm, and put pressure on the wound,” Sophie said. “What... do you need me to help at all?”

Dean stared up at Sophie, and for a second contemplated screaming at her. At that moment, he hated her more then anyone or anything he’d ever hated in his life. This was her fault – if she had just told him she had a boyfriend he would have backed off, and Sam wouldn’t be lying here, hurt.

But wait, hadn’t Sam pointed out to him that he wouldn’t, no he didn’t back off? He had egged Greg on when he knew Sophie was his girlfriend.

In a way, he had wanted this, hadn’t he? He wanted Greg to confront him, to come after him. What he hadn’t counted on was Greg being so furious and out of control. And, Dean thought stupidly to himself, he hadn’t counted on how Sam would react if Dean was attacked and hurt. And look what had happened because of it.

Dean wanted to be done with school – to hunt full-time - but at the expense of Sam’s life? He’d never hurt his baby brother – he’d cut out his own heart and then stomp on it before hurting Sam. Dean had challenged Greg’s pride for his own benefit, and now Sam was lying in his arms dying. Some brother I am. Oh god, Sammy...

This wasn’t Sophie’s fault. Hell, it wasn’t even Greg’s fault. This one was all on Dean.

Suddenly, Dean was overcome with dizziness much worse than the previous episodes. He tried to shake his head out of it, but it only made the spots clouding his vision multiply. He felt himself slumping over, back down to Sam’s chest.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound of Sam’s heartbeat comforted Dean. Soon it was drowned out by the sounds of a siren, but Dean could still feel Sam’s warmth. Though he tried to fight it, he felt himself falling into the darkness.

Maybe I’ll just rest for a second... I’m so tired, after all. Sam’ll be okay, nothing can hurt him when I’m holding him. He’ll be just...

“Kid, are you all right?”

Dean felt himself being lifted up by his shoulders, and then he felt nothing.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Once again, Dean was having trouble with his eyelids. For being so small, they sure were heavy. He grunted in frustration when he couldn’t open them.

“Sam? Sam?” he called out.

“Dean?”

Dad?

“Dean, can you hear me?”

“Dad?” Dean whispered. He felt a hand graze his forehead, then fall to his elbow.

“Yes Dean, it’s me. Can you open your eyes?”

“I’m trying,” Dean said, and then he managed it and there was Dad, standing by him. Though his face was stoic, Dean could feel the repressed concern coming off of him in waves. Or maybe that was just Dean’s own shuddering. “Where’s Sam?”

“How do you feel, son?”

“I’m all right. Where’s Sam? Is he okay?” Dean asked again, the note of worry in his voice rising a notch.

John’s face flickered with worry for a second, before he replaced it with his familiar brand of thoughtful seriousness. “What happened, Dean? I get a call from a nurse from your cell phone, asking me to come to the county hospital because both of my sons are in the ER.”

John paused, gearing up, then added, “And not only that, but one has a serious head injury and the other” John hesitated, as though recalling a bad memory, “critical internal bleeding from a stab wound. This wasn’t something supernatural, was it?”

Dean sat silently for a moment. He knew instinctively this questioning would come, but not so soon. Not before he knew if Sammy was all right. “Dad, I’ll tell you everything, but first, please tell me where Sam is. Is he okay?”

John let out a soft sigh, visibly wilting before Dean’s eyes. This uncharacteristic reaction scared Dean more than anything had since he’d awoken.

“Dad?” he pleaded.

John opened his mouth to answer him, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Before father or son could answer, a doctor walked in. He clambered around to the side of the bed across from John, his gaze intent on Dean’s father.

“Mr. Winchester, I’ve just gotten out of surgery with your son and-“

“Is Sammy okay?”

The doctor jumped. He hadn’t even realized Dean was awake. “You’re the older brother, aren’t you? Well, good to see you awake. We were worried for a while you yourself might slip into a coma, but obviously it was just a bad concussion.”

The doctor, whose name tag indicated he was Dr. Stenehjem, grabbed a light from his pocket and pulled Dean’s eyelids one at a time, checking pupil reactions. Only after Dean had told him his name, age, and the year, did the doctor put the light back and mark his chart.

“Due to the concussion, he’ll have to stay for observation overnight, but after that he’ll be free to go, I think,” Dr. Stenehjem said to John, who merely nodded.

Seeing Dean’s look of impatience, John quickly asked, “What about Sam?”

The doctor’s reassuring smile faded slightly, and he glanced down at Dean. “Mr. Winchester, perhaps it would be better if you stepped outside with me for a moment-“

“No,” Dean said. “Please, tell me what’s wrong with Sam. Is he going to be okay?”

The doctor’s eyes went back and forth from John to Dean, before he relented. “As I was saying before, I just got out of surgery with Sam. And I have to say, as far as stab wounds go, I’ve seen worse.”

Dr. Stenehjem hesitated, then pressed onward, “However, it was still critical. The weapon sliced into the peritoneum, penetrating a section of the viscera. We were able to close up the lacerations, but the bleeding was so severe that we had trouble keeping him.”

“Which means what? What do you mean, trouble keeping him?” Dean interrupted, thought he was fairly sure he knew what the doctor meant.

The doctor was clearly uncomfortable with talking directly to the teen about his brother’s situation. “Son, the weapon, which we think was a knife, sliced directly into your brother’s intestines, and there was so much bleeding before we got to him that... well, we nearly lost him.”

Dean stopped breathing.

“He’s not... not dead, is he?” John asked, his face ashen.

“No, we managed to get him stabilized. But his heart stopped on the table, and it took a while to get him back. Right now, he’s in the ICU, and we’re pumping fluids.”

One look at the father and brother’s faces, and the doctor knew he had to add some hope to the bleak outlook he was painting. “Frankly, Mr. Winchester, with the amount of time that passed between when we think Sam was stabbed and when we got him into surgery, it’s a miracle he held on that long.

“Your boy is made of tough stuff,” Dr. Stenehjem added as an encouraging afterthought.

John’s hardened features lightened considerably.

“He’s a Winchester,” he replied simply, as though their last name and nothing else was the reason for Sam’s recovery.

“Is he going to be all right, though?” Dean prodded. Somehow, though he couldn’t explain it, he just knew this wasn’t it – something else was going on that the doctor had yet to tell them.

Dr. Stenehjem sighed, and rubbed his face. When he looked up again, his face held a look that Dean knew well. It was the look people get before they have to deliver bad news.

“Mr. Winchester, and Dean, I’m going to be straight with you. When Sam crashed, he’d already lost a considerable amount of blood. He was losing it faster than we could pump it back into him. Even after we managed to get him breathing again, and his heart pumping again, it was still sluggish at best. And with his heart stopping, his brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen for a considerable amount of time. Right now we think it’s light, but...”

The doctor paused.

“Sam’s in a coma.”

There was only silence after the doctor retreated. John had gone with him, to see Sam. He’d told Dean he’d be back soon, and then they’d talk about what happened.

Dean sat in bed, staring at his hands. Though he knew he should be worried, or feeling guilty, his mind was drawing a blank. With nothing solid to cling onto, Dean felt as though he were a passenger in his own life.

This isn’t happening to me. I’m going to wake up in my bed, Sam sleeping in the twin across from me, and this’ll all be a bad dream. This isn’t happening. Sam’s okay. Sam’s all right. SammySamSam-

“Dean!”

Dean felt a pair of arms encompass him, and realized he’d been speaking Sam’s name aloud.

“Dean,” John said quieter, his mouth pressed against Dean’s ear. “It’s going to be all right, son. Just calm down. Everything is going to be okay. Sammy is going to be okay. Listen to me, Dean. Your brother will be all right.”

Dean tried to calm himself, and gradually got his breathing under control. But he couldn’t suppress the small “Dad?” that escaped his lips. It sounded horrendously young and weak even to him, and he couldn’t imagine the feelings of shame it dredged up in his father.

“Oh god, Dad, this is all my fault,” he whimpered into his father’s shoulder. John pulled away, and looked disconcertingly at Dean.

“How, son? What happened?”

“We were attacked by a kid from school, a kid who had a beef with me. He thought I was trying to steal his girlfriend-“

“Was that the girl who found you two?” John asked. “Sarah or Sandra or something?”

“Yeah, her name’s Sophie.”

“She already talked to the police, Dean. And I spoke with them just now. They’re looking for the boy, but they haven’t found him yet.”

Dean said nothing, so John went on. “Dean, why would this boy want to get himself into all this trouble over a girl? The cops told me he had no previous problems, that he’s a star football player for gods’ sake. What happened?”

Dean gulped. “I hurt his pride.”

“What do you mean?” John prodded.

“I...” Dean searched for the right words. “I wanted to get you to let me quit school.”

John just stared at him, confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Dean knew the time had come to come clean. He’d never been so frightened to tell his father anything more in his life before, but he knew he had to tell him.

He’d never be able to look Sammy in the face again if he didn’t.

“I was going to beat him up, Dad. Back at the school, he came after me, but was going to let me go, and I knew it, but I just beat him up instead. Not enough to seriously hurt him, but just enough to made him feel embarrassed. I was hoping he’d come after me, and then I’d have a real reason to kick the crap out of him. I wanted to get suspended.”

“Why the hell would you want that, Dean?” John’s voice was raised, and his eyes blazed.

“Because,” Dean said simply, “I wanted you to get so fed up, that... that you’d let me quit. I thought if I got suspended, you’d let me come on a couple hunts with you, see how well I was doing hunting full-time, and... and let me quit school.”

John exploded. “What the fuck were you thinking Dean? You know better than to... to draw out a predator like that!”

John couldn’t help but assess the situation as though it were a hunt. An attack by a human seemed too normal for the Winchesters. But if he thought of it as a hunt, it seemed more plausible.

Or maybe it was just because he didn’t know how to speak to his sons about anything that didn’t pertain to a hunt anymore.

“And so he came after you, did he?”

“I didn’t think he’d have brass knuckles and a knife on him,” Dean mumbled, though it sounded weak even to him. “He’s just a football player, and he takes girls out for coffee.”

John’s eyes were hard. “Goddamn, Dean, you know better than to underestimate your enemy! But, you wanted to draw him out. Well, tell me, did you even think about Sammy?”

Dean clammed up. No excuse, of any kind, would justify Sammy getting hurt. Not when it was Dean’s job to protect him. He stared at his hands as they worried a corner of the hospital blanket, and said nothing.

John opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he promptly stood and walked to the door.

“Get some rest,” Dean heard him mutter as he silently left the room, his tense shoulders the only outward sign that anything was amiss.

“Yes, Sir,” Dean answered to nobody but his own demons, and soon obeyed orders.

Dean woke to see John sitting before him, a cup of coffee in his hand, and looking so old Dean hardly recognized him.

“Dad?” he questioned, and when John barely looked up, “Sammy?”

“Sammy’s holding his own, Dean,” John answered. Dean watched as his father sighed and then rubbed his temples. Something’s up. But if it’s not Sammy...

“Dad, what is it?”

John was quiet for a moment, then –

“You really want to quit school that much?”

Of all the things John could have said, Dean didn’t expect that. Dean swallowed hard before replying.

“Yes Sir, I thought I did.”

“Do you still?”

Whatever Dean would have said was interrupted by the door bursting open. Dr. Stenehjem walked quickly in, and came to stand next to John. He looked hurried and upset.

“Mr. Winchester, Sam-”

“Sammy?” Dean asked, the name catching in his throat. Only one word – one person – could cause that to happen, and Dean had uttered it before he could think not to.

Once again, the doctor sent a concerned glance from John to Dean and back again. But this time John turned away from Dean and followed the doctor out into the hall without so much as a grunt in Dean’s direction.

The door closed softly behind his father, and Dean, for the third time that day, was left alone.

Dean was going crazy.

It’d been nearly an hour since the doctor and had rushed in and collected John. In that time, Dean had heard and seen nothing from either of them.

After fifteen minutes, he’d tried to sit up, determined to find out what happened himself, since nobody seemed to care if he knew what was going on or not. However, within seconds of raising himself on the bed, he’d been so overcome with a wave of dizziness that he’d had to lie flat on his back again for over ten minutes before he felt better.

That plan scratched, he’d reluctantly hit the call button, with the hope that a nurse would come in who knew what was going on.

Within a minute the door clicked open and a young, pretty blonde with a small smile strutted in. “Yes?”

Dean took a moment to appreciate his luck before returning to the more pressing matter. “I was wondering if you knew what was going on with my brother.”

The nurse frowned slightly. “I’m sorry... but I don’t know if it’s really my place to share that with you. You should wait for Dr. Stenehjem to return, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

Dean, not above doing his best impression of Sam’s puppy dog eyes, pleaded, “Please, I just want to know he’s all right.”

“I’m sorry, young man, but you have to wait for Dr. Stenehjem. I’m sure he and your father will be back soon,” the nurse answered, her voice getting quieter with every word. Quickly, she turned on her heels and began to open the door.

Dean panicked. “No, please, it’s already been almost an hour, can’t you just go find out, and then-“

The nurse turned her face, and even in the dark Dean could see the pity in her bright eyes. Looking about to cry, she whispered, “I’m sorry,” before darting out the door.

Dean stared. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. The words kept replaying themselves in his head. The girl’s agonized features twisted back into his vision, and he knew without a doubt.

The nurse hadn’t been apologizing because she wasn’t allowed to tell him about his brother. It was because she couldn’t bear to.

Sammy.

Dean didn’t know how long he stared at the door, before he once again heard the soft click. Instead of the nurse, though, it was his father who stepped into the room.

John’s face was downcast, and as he walked toward Dean’s bed he didn’t look up. He reminded Dean of a brittle, old man the way he walked to the chair. Dean could think of only one word to describe his father right then, and it was like a punch to his gut.

John looked broken.

“Dad?” Dean softly asked after John had sat down. John didn’t answer; instead, he put his elbows on his knees, and rested his face in his hands, his eyes closed. He still hadn’t looked at Dean.

Dean was once again starting to panic.

“Dad, is Sammy okay?”

No response.

“Dad, please... where’s Sammy? Is he all right?”

John, keeping his eyes closed, pulled one hand from his cheek and softly rested it on Dean’s arm. Then, suddenly, his grip tightened. Dean gasped, but didn’t pull away. He watched in terrified fascination as John’s stoic expression crumbled in on itself, turning to one of despair. He was still silent, but Dean didn’t miss the parallel tears that escaped from the outer corners of his eyes.

Just as Dean was about to implode with worry, John finally opened his eyes. He looked straight at Dean, and Dean nearly whimpered at the agony he could see imprinted in them. He hadn’t seen that look on his Dad’s face since the night his mother died. He closed his own eyes to shut out the image.

Oh god oh no not Sammy please not Sammy-

“Dean. Son, you have to listen to me right now.”

Dean tried to calm himself down, and once he had regained control opened his eyes again. John’s face was back to the determined stoicism, but his eyes betrayed him.

Once John was assured that Dean was in control, he began again. “Dean, you have to listen to me right now. A little over an hour ago, your brother’s heart gave out. The doctor’s aren’t sure why, exactly-“ John’s face distorted for a moment “- but it did. Dr. Stenehjem was first there, and was able to restart Sam’s heart.”

Dean let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“So, Sam’s okay now?”

John’s eyes averted to the floor, then back up to Dean. He sighed.

“Dean, before I say anything more, I need to tell you right now: this is not your fault.”

Dean couldn’t have been more surprised, or more scared. John stared hard at him.

“Do you understand me, Dean? None of this is your fault.”

Dean merely nodded, then whispered, “Dad?”

“Dean, it took eleven minutes for Dr. Stenehjem to restart Sam’s heart. As you know, after only three minutes without oxygen, there is a chance of brain damage. And with eleven minutes...” John trailed off, than steeled himself.

“Dean, Dr. Stenehjem immediately ordered scans for Sam, and...”

John stopped, his voice about to break.

“They can’t find any brain activity. Dean, they think... they think Sammy is brain-dead.”

Without warning, Dean’s world collapsed. His chest felt so small, and he was having trouble getting breath in. But none of this concerned him. All he could think about was Sam.

Sammy, his too-smart, vibrant little brother.

Sammy, who only hours ago had sat outside the school, waiting for his older brother who he idolized to walk home with him.

Sammy lying on the ground, blood pooling around him.

Sammy in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors who were desperately trying to save his life.

Sammy in a coffin –

No. No. Sam. God no. Nononononono-

“Dean? Dean!”

Dean couldn’t breathe. He felt a flurry of activity around him, and looked up to see John’s panicked face and then Dr. Stenehjem took his place.

“Dean? Can you hear me? Calm down, Dean...”

Dean found his voice.

“No. Where’s Sammy? I have to find Sammy.” Dean struggled to get out of the tight hold the doctor had on his arms. “Let me go, I have to get to Sammy, please I have to find him, I have to make sure he’s okay-“

By this time, two nurses had run into the room, neither the girl from earlier. Dean continued trying to get out of the doctor’s hold.

“Let me go, damn it! I have to get to Sam! I have to – ouch!”

Dean felt the pinprick in his arm, and looked around at both of the nurses accusingly. Before he could manage to come up with something suitably nasty, the dizziness returned with a vengeance. Dean’s vision was clouding, and he felt himself being gently lowered back onto his pillow.

“Sammy. Gotta get to... Sammy.”

“That’s right, Dean. Just rest now.”

The last thing Dean saw was his father’s worried eyes above him, than everything faded out.

Dean was sitting on his bed back at their shabby apartment by the school. He had no idea how he’d gotten back here, but somehow he had.

It was daytime, and the window was open, the ragged curtains blowing in the breeze. A pale patch of sunlight met the floor close to his feet, and he had the sudden urge to stretch his legs and let the sunlight warm his toes.

“Dean,” a voice said softly.

Dean glanced up from his own bed, to its twin across from him. There he saw – but no, it couldn’t be.

Sam sat directly across from him, his legs curled up Indian-style beneath him. He was dressed in his clothes from earlier that day. He looked just as he normally did, before Greg and the knife and the blood.

“Sammy?” Dean asked disbelievingly.

Sam only smiled, one corner of his mouth turning slightly more up than the other.

Dean immediately moved, and in one swift movement was kneeling in front of Sam, his arms wrapped around Sam’s shoulders, his head buried under Sam’s neck. He had no idea how this had happened, but somehow... somehow Sam was okay, and Dean wasn’t going to let him go ever again.

Sam sat quietly, letting Dean have his moment, before squirming. Dean let go of the embrace, but unable to let go of Sam, let his hands rest on each of his little brother’s knees.

“Sam? Kiddo? Talk to me.”

Sam merely said, “Dean,” again, his voice louder and more serious. The wind outside picked up, and Dean heard the curtains flutter. He would have hardly noticed it, had Sam not gasped slightly and looked at the window, his eyes panicked.

Dean, worry creeping up on him again, asked, “Sam? What’s wrong?”

Sam’s eyes darted back to Dean, and this time he looked upset. Dean could see in his eyes that there was something he desperately wanted to share, but it was as if he was afraid to, or maybe he didn’t know how.

“It’s okay, kiddo, you can tell me.”

Sam opened his mouth uncertainly. “Dean,” he began, then, “Nineteen-five-five.”

Dean stared. “Sammy, do you mean nineteen-fifty-five? As in the year?”

Sam shook his head vehemently. “Nineteen-five-five,” he said confidently, then, “Ten-five-eighteen-eleven.”

Dean was really worried now. “Sam, what do these numbers mean? Why are you...?”

Suddenly, a sound like a freight train rumbling past came through the curtains, and everything began to shake. Dean looked to the windows and could see that where outside it had been pleasant and sunny only minutes ago, it was now pitch black and thundering, the wind picking up with the force of a tornado.

“Sam?!” he called to his brother, but Sam looked even more panicked and Dean slipped instantly into big brother mode. But before he could reassure Sam, Sammy was on his feet and rushing to the window.

He hooked one foot out the side of the house, and that’s when Dean freaked. “SAM!” he called above the roaring of the wind. “No!”

Dean made a move to stand, but found himself pinned to the bed, unable to move.

“Sam!” he called again desperately.

Sam looked just about ready to jump, and then turned back to the bed. To Dean’s complete surprise, he had a smile. It was the smile that was on his face every time he thanked Dean for once again, getting his butt out of trouble.

The smile he possessed every time he knew Dean had or was going to fix everything, was going to make things okay.

“Dean,” Sam yelled. “Nineteen-five-five!”

Sam climbed out the window, and then disappeared.

ooooooooooooo

Dean jumped up straight in bed. “Sam!” he cried, but Sam wasn’t there. In fact, nobody was there. His room was empty, but for himself. Dean wondered how long he’d been out.

Pushing himself up on his bed, he looked around. He was back in the hospital. No, he was still in the hospital.

It had been a dream. But then why did it feel so real?

Dean had barely had time to ponder the dream when the door opened and John walked in.

“Dean, son,” he said softly, his face looking relieved. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I knocked out for?” Dean asked, rubbing his neck.

“Six hours or so, long enough for you to get some real sleep,” John said, than paused. “Listen, son, we have to talk.”

“What is there to talk about?” Dean spat, surprised at himself. “I’m the reason Sam’s lying in a bed... hurt.”

Dean couldn’t get himself to say Sam’s real state aloud.

“Dean, don’t talk like that,” John said swiftly, his voice stern. “You didn’t know what... what was going to happen.”

“But it’s still my fault!” Dean exploded. “If I had just let it go, if I hadn’t been so determined, if I had just listened to my gut, this would never have happened. Face it, Dad, I’m the reason Sam’s lying in this hospital somewhere dying. It’s my fault! I never should have...”

Dean started to sob, unable to go on. Despite what had happened he still felt ashamed to cry in front of his father, and turned away.

John said nothing, only leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean. Dean stilled, than turned into the embrace. Father and son sat like that for a long time, both grieving, both holding on to the only good thing left in their lives.

Finally, Dean began to pull away and John sat back in his chair.

“Dean, there’s something we need... that we need to discuss,” John said.

Dean rubbed his eyes, than nodded for him to continue.

“I spoke again with Dr. Stenehjem, and he said Sam’s body... he said Sam is starting to shut down. His heart and lungs just can’t cope anymore, and he’s getting tired.”

John hesitated, shooting a glance to Dean, who only stared hard at his hands. “Dean, Dr. Stenehjem thinks it’d be best if we... if we let Sammy go. Right now, it’s just machines keeping him breathing, keeping his heart beating. Sam isn’t in there anymore. Do you understand, Dean?”

Dean felt his eyes tear up. Though he was more in control than before, this somehow felt worse than when he’d found out Sam was brain-dead. Because this wasn’t just letting go.

This was letting Sam, or what was left of him, die. This was giving in.

“Can... can I see him first?” Dean asked quietly.

“And this monitor is for your brother’s heart. Right now, we’re keeping it at 60 beats per minute,” Dr. Stenehjem explained, gesturing to the umpteenth machine.

“Right,” Dean replied, hardly looking up. Dr. Stenehjem sighed, than walked back from Sam’s side over to where Dean sat in a wheelchair by the doorway.

“Dean, I know this has been really hard on you, but I need you to listen to me now.”

Dean was getting really sick of people saying that to him. “Right,” he said again, and looked back at the ground.

Dr. Stenehjem answered, “Okay.” He walked away from Dean and over to the final monitor on the left side of Sam’s bed.

“Dean, normally I don’t keep these in here this long, but I want you to see this. This is the monitor that records brain activity.”

Dr. Stenehjem motioned to the three solid lines on the screen. “As you can see, Sam is showing no brain activity. I kept this here, because I wanted you to know for sure that your brother is gone. That it wouldn’t be killing him if you and your father let him go.”

Dean hesitated. He didn’t know whether he wanted to scream at the doctor or thank him.

“Your dad thought it would be good for you to see,” Dr. Stenehjem said.

Dean knew then it was a good thing. Now he knew, beyond a doubt, that Sam was gone. Didn’t he?

“I’ll leave you now,” Dr. Stenehjem said, and exited.

And Dean was alone with Sam again, for the first time since he’d held his bloody mess of a brother on the sidewalk, desperately trying to save his life.

Dean rolled the chair forward slowly, almost afraid. He kept going, though, until he was on Sam’s right side. For a minute or two, he just stared at Sam’s heart monitor.

Finally, he steeled himself, and forced himself to look at Sam.

Oh Sammy, what have I done?

Sam’s face was still pale. He had a tube down his throat, and Dean didn’t know how many machines hooked up to him. However many it took to keep a human body alive, he supposed. Apparently, that was a lot.

Ignoring all this, Dean grabbed up Sam’s hand in his own. Even knowing Sam wasn’t there, that he was probably already with Mom, Dean couldn’t let go of the only job he knew. Protecting Sammy.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “I... I had to come and see you, before...”

Dean couldn’t finish the sentence. He felt tears roll down his cheeks again, and goddamn it he was tired of crying. But Sam was dead, and he no longer cared. There was no reason not to cry anymore – no reason to pretend to be brave when he wasn’t, no reason to hide his worry or his pain. The days of protecting Sammy were gone, forever.

Dean broke down.

“Oh god, Sammy... this is all my fault...”

Dean leaned down, laying his head on his brother’s chest, this time taking no comfort in the mechanical breathing he could feel beneath his ears.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy, God I’m sorry... forgive me Sammy, please...”

Dean continued to sob quietly, until he had nothing left.

“Sammy...”

Dean was sitting at an old kitchen table. In close proximity he could hear a television on, some random cartoon song from his childhood blaring.

In this dream, though, the windows were closed.

How do I know I’m dreaming? Dean asked himself. He looked around.

Wait, Dean thought. I recognize this place.

Dean was back in Fort Douglas, in the motel room where Sam had been attacked by the Shtriga. But if Dean was back here, then –

Dean sat up and raced into the bedroom. No Sam. No Shtriga either.

Hurriedly, Dean turned around and went into the bathroom. Sam wasn’t in there, either, but Dean took a moment to examine himself in the mirror.

He was nine years old again.

“What the hell?” he said aloud, and boy did that sound weird coming from a nine-year-old, even if it was Dean.

Confused, Dean walked back out into the main room. And saw the best sight ever.

Five-year-old Sammy sat in the same chair Dean had woken up in, busily coloring in a notebook.

“Sammy!” Dean said excitedly.

Sam turned around, and gave Dean a generously wide smile.

“Dean!” he cried, jumping out of his chair and leaping into Dean’s arms.

Dean knew then what heaven must feel like.

After taking a couple moments, Dean put Sammy back on the ground.

“Sammy, what’s going on?” he asked his brother. “Am I dreaming?”

Sam shook his head yes.

“Do you know why I’m dreaming?”

Another affirmative nod.

“Did you bring me here?”

Sam smiled even wider, then took his brother’s hand and led him to the table, where the notebook lay.

“Sam-“ Dean started, but Sammy pulled until Dean sat down, then pointed at his drawing. In wobbly crayon writing, Dean saw-

DEAN

19 5 5

10 5 18 11

19 5 5

Dean shook his head, and looked back up at Sam, who was staring pointedly at him.

“Sammy, I don’t understand. Please, just tell me,” Dean pleaded.

Sam’s little boy chin trembled. Dean held out his arms, and Sam crawled into his lap.

“Sammy, why are you so scared?” Dean asked his brother. Sam’s body shook in response.

Suddenly, Dean came up with a horrible, but all too realistic idea.

“Sammy, is this your ghost?”

Sam jumped up, shaking his head back and forth, his eyes wide and sharp. Dean only sighed – he knew that many spirits didn’t want to believe, or didn’t even realize the truth.

“But Sammy, you’re dead.”

Again, Sam shook his head, and then pointed again to the message he’d written.

“But Sammy, I don’t know what that means! You have to tell me what that means!” Dean yelled, desperate.

All of a sudden, Dean felt the room grow colder considerably. The lights began to flicker, and outside Dean could hear the wind speeding up. He knew he didn’t have much time.

“Sam, just tell me, please,” he begged his brother.

Sam stared hard at him, his face questioning. Dean wanted desperately to give him an answer.

Sam leaned down toward Dean’s ear, and cupped his hands around it.

“Remember, Dean,” Sam’s small voice whispered. “Remember.”

The window shattered, and-

“...get another bag in here...”

“Doctor, his blood pressure’s low...”

“...bpm’s at 44... still dropping...”

Sam could hear voices coming in and out all round him, like static on a radio. Dean?, he wondered. He couldn’t understand what the voices were saying, which usually meant it was Dean who was talking.

“Fuck... we’re losing him...”

Losing who? Dean? What’s...? Sam couldn’t remember what had happened. The last thing he remembered was being on his way home with Dean, when –

Bad! This is really bad!

“Oh, god,” Sam managed to mumble. In a flash he recalled everything with stunning clarity.

Greg had attacked Dean, and hurt him. And then he’d stabbed Sam. The last thing Sam could remember was facing the street, wondering if Dean was all right on the sidewalk behind him.

“Dean?” Sam asked, worry catching in his voice. He tried to look around, but then realized he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. Come on Sam, get yourself together.

The first thing Sam was aware of once the dots in his vision cleared was a bright lamp far above his head. Surrounding him were doctors and nurses, all staring down at him, though they didn’t look into his eyes.

Well, I did get stabbed. Sam thought. But something still didn’t feel right. Where’s Dean?

“Dean?” Sam looked at the doctor above him expectantly, but the doctor didn’t even glance at his face – he was staring down at Sam’s chest. Sam could feel something metal on top of it, and presumed that the doctor must be hooking something up.

Huh. Weird. Doesn’t hardly hurt.

Sam turned his attention the nurse at his side. She stood there, her eyes darting between Sam’s face, the doctor and a monitor by Sam’s side. “Excuse me,” Sam whispered politely, “do you know where my brother is, Dean? Is he okay?”

The nurse, too, didn’t glance at him. Instead, she turned to the doctor. “Dr. Stenehjem, he’s bottoming out,” was all she managed before Sam heard a high, annoying pitch fill the stale air.

“Damn it!” Dr. Stenehjem muttered to himself. “We’re not losing him. Another round of Epi.”

Within seconds, Sam felt a tingling sensation run up his arm. He didn’t understand what was going on. Bottoming out? Losing him? They couldn’t be talking about Sam, could they? Besides a dull pain in his stomach, and some slight grogginess, Sam felt fine.

“Hey!” he tried. Nobody answered. Nobody even looked at him. “Hey! Will someone talk to me? What’s going on?”

“Okay. Everyone clear,” the doctor said, and Sam felt him raise the metal things off his chest.

He’s going to shock me.

“Hey! Don’t-“ was all Sam managed before he felt a jolt run through his body and he lifted slightly off the bed.

“Aw!” Sam cried, though in all honesty the sensation hadn’t hurt him, more like an unpleasant ache then anything else. But it had still scared him, and he couldn’t stop the slight whimper of disapproval that escaped. Not that it really mattered, because nobody even seemed to be able to notice him.

I notice you, young one.

“Hey, who is that?” Sam yelled. Again, nobody looked at him. The doctor was busy with the shock instrument again, the nurses shuffling back and forth with various bags and needles.

Don’t be frightened, you will find out soon. Just close your eyes.

“No! Who are you?” Sam yelled. He tried desperately to sit up, but it was as though some invisible force had him pinned. He realized he couldn’t even move his fingers.

No, no. We can’t have you ruining my plan now, can we?

“Let me go!” Sam cried, and then looking at the nurse next to him, “Please, listen to me! Help me... please...”

She is too weak to see you, boy. They all are. I have you trapped beneath the veil. But this is not the place for such conversations. Best if I take you where you belong, for the time being.

“What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” Sam tried. He didn’t know what this thing was, only that it was supernatural and evil. The more information he got out of it, the easier it would be to help himself.

You are beneath a veil, one not transparent enough for their weak human minds. Do you know what they see right now, boy?

At this moment Sam’s body jumped again as another jolt took hold. He had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

They see you dying. They see your heart has stopped, and they are desperately trying to save you. But do you want to know a secret?

Sam gulped. “Be quiet. Get away from me,” he growled. The voice laughed quietly, then whispered –

You’re not dying. Your heart is still beating, your body still warm. However, all they see is a young boy, his eyes closed, his face pale. All they hear is one of their machines wailing the pitch that signifies death. And all they feel is a body rapidly cooling beneath them.

Sam’s pumping heart increased dramatically right then, and wasn’t that just ironic? In a moment of panic, he let out a sob and tried with all his might to move again. When not once muscle vibrated, he felt himself begin to shiver.

Yeah, irony’s a bitch.

However, he knew he had to stay strong, not show he was scared. But he was. He was fucking terrified.

Suddenly, Sam felt himself falling away from the table. It was a weightless feeling, as though he was both floating off the surface and sinking into the floor simultaneously. He watched in despair as the faces around him became less clear and indistinct, the desperate voices and screaming machines fading.

“No! Stop!” Sam whimpered. “Dean!”

All turned to darkness, and Sam was nowhere.

This time when he woke up, Sam had no trouble recalling what had happened. At first he wished it a bad dream, hoping that he would wake up on his bed at home to see Dean snoring in the twin across from him.

With a small kernel of hope still there, Sam opened his eyes. No such luck.

He was on his back, and was looking at nothing. Or, at least, that was the only way he could describe it.

Sam scrambled to his feet and looked around. Everything was a bright shade of white, for as far as he could see. There was no horizon line, or if there was, Sam couldn’t see it. It was as though the white went on for forever.

Sam closed his eyes to block it out. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down. And opened his eyes again.

What the hell?

Directly in front of Sam stood a man. Well, he was shaped like a man. He stood on two legs, had two arms, but his face... Sam had never seen eyes like that. Two deep, soulless pupils stared into his own. One iris was a vibrant, violent shade of indigo. But the man’s – No, It’s – other eye, the right eye, was not indigo but instead a dark, sharp blood red. It was that eye that seemed especially to slice into Sam.

Staring into that eye, Sam felt as though the thing was looking right into him, seeing his most private thoughts, taking them apart and examining them. But not like one appraises a car, or an antique. No, this was like watching someone take out your organs while you were still alive, and holding them up to be displayed, to their awe and your horror.

The thing just smiled, as though it knew what Sam had just been thinking. Sam shuddered, but didn’t look away.

Boy, do you know what I am?

It’s wiry, chapped lips hadn’t moved, but Sam still heard.

“You’re evil,” Sam said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Sam heard a chuckle in his ear, and then, I suppose I am what you would call evil. However, that is all in the eye of the beholder, is it not?

“What do you want with me?” Sam asked, ignoring the thing’s question. He assumed it was a demon, but beyond that he wasn’t sure.

The demon’s lips twitched. It is not what I want, but what I will have, boy. And that is your soul.

Sam first thought was, Why?, but if Sam had learned anything it was that there was no point in asking questions like ‘Why?’ to evil entities. They didn’t need a reason, and even if they did have one, chances are you didn’t want to know what that reason was.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Sam said as nonchalantly as possible. When in doubt, he snickered to himself, act like Dean.

The eyes stared at him even more pointedly, and then the lips outright smiled, revealing a toothless mouth, a black hole of death.

Sam recoiled despite himself.

I’m afraid you don’t get a choice, young one. I choose the souls, and the souls are given to me.

“They’re not given! You take them,” Sam yelled, his courage once again mounting once the mouth closed again.

You are wrong there, boy. They are given freely. Offered on a silver platter by the soul’s loved ones.

Sam rolled his eyes and smirked.

“You obvious don’t know my dad and brother - they would never do that,” Sam retorted.

You think you know everything, young one, but you know nothing. I know what you and your family do – what you have done. I have prepared for that. Trust me, when I say that all your father and brother are going to do is shatter when they find out their precious young one is damaged beyond remembrance.

“So, you’re going to kill me then?” Sam said defiantly, though his voice squeaked.

Ah, you humans. You equate killing with the end. But you of all should know that is not what happens when one passes on. No, I will not kill you, boy. I will enslave you – make you suffer beyond all endurance. You think you are strong now, but you will beg for death before long.

“Is that so? Well, if I were you, I’d be running back to whatever dark place you crawled out from. You know why? Because when my brother finds out what you’re trying to do, he’s going to kill you,” Sam seethed.

I wouldn’t be too sure of that, young one.

The demon stared hard into Sam’s eyes, and Sam felt an agony tear through his skin – like having a ghost walk through you, only a thousand times worse.

“God,” he panted, falling to his knees.

I leave you now, young one, behind the veil. Here you will dream until I return.

Sam looked up to see the demon start to fade away.

In a last ditch effort, Sam called, “They won’t let you do this, I won’t let you do this!”

The demon froze, mid-fade. Its lips turned up grotesquely, though it’s mouth did not open again.

No matter what you do, they will not see.

Then the demon was gone, and Sam was on his own.

Sam paced around what he estimated to be a twenty foot area. He doubted it was possible to get lost, since he already was in the middle of a blinding white nothingness, but for some reason he felt compelled not to stray far from where he had awakened.

It had been nearly an hour, he guessed, since the demon had left him. Since he’d been left alone, Sam had been theorizing on ways to get out. However, in all his years of training, watching his father hunt, he didn’t think they’d ever encountered something like this before. Whatever this thing was, it was powerful. More powerful than any demon Sam had ever heard of, except maybe the one that had killed his Mom.

Most demons were able to manipulate some things, but to alter any human’s perception of reality? Sam didn’t know how far that power stretched, but he was pretty sure that right now, there was nobody on earth who would be able to tell that Samuel Winchester was, in fact, not dead, or ‘damaged beyond remembrance’, or whatever-the-hell illusion the demon had created around him.

Sam also didn’t know where he was right now. The demon had called it ‘beneath the veil’, but what did that mean? Sam could only guess it was somewhere below a normal state of consciousness. Suddenly an idea popped into Sam’s mind.

‘Here you will dream until I return.’

Wait, if I can dream here, then maybe I contact others who are dreaming as well?

The idea seemed far out there, but if Sam knew anything then he knew that he had to try something. It was worth a shot, at least.

Sam stopped pacing and sat down, tucking his legs underneath him Indian-style. For a moment, his body hovered in place. He was unsure what to do. How does one go about invading another’s dreams, after all?

Somehow, though Sam wasn’t sure how to explain it, he suddenly knew exactly what to do. Though all he heard was silence, it was as though a voice from the past was whispering in his ear the secrets of this world.

Sam closed his eyes, putting his hands at his sides.

There was no question who Sam wished to contact.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

Sam waited, calling out to his brother. He felt a jerk in his navel, then a sudden settling feeling.

Sam opened his eyes.

Sam was back at their apartment. He was in the same position as before, only now he sat on his bed. Sam looked around the room, and then settled on staring at the window. Outside it was sunny, and a slight breeze whistled through the curtains.

Only hours ago I had wished to be back here, and now here I am.

Sam heard a shuffling, and turned to look across from him. What he saw nearly made him sob.

Dean sat on the other bed facing Sam, his legs over the side, his gaze resting on his toes. The sight of him was calm and reassuring to Sam, and Sam held back the tears he could feel coming.

“Dean?” he called softly.

Dean looked up, and if the situation hadn’t been so serious Sam would have laughed at the look on his face. He was, literally, shocked.

“Sammy?” Dean whispered.

His voice sounded so broken, but Sam could only smile.

In a flash, Dean was kneeling before Sam, his arms wrapped around his brother in a quasi-bear hug. Sam sighed in relief. Dean was here. Dean would make things okay again.

Young one. Where are you?

Sam glanced up at the window, fear boiling in the pit of his stomach. Dean must have felt him tense, because he pulled back from the embrace, eyes concerned.

“Sam? Kiddo? Talk to me.”

“Dean,” was all Sam could croak, before –

I can hear you, young one. I am coming for you. You and your brother.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

The wind outside was picking up, and Sam could feel the demon coming closer with every breath. He glanced back at Dean. Dean was worried, but he looked a lot less worried than he should have.

Sam was frozen again, though this time it was due to his own uncertainty. The demon was going to come at any moment. Outside thunder was starting to rumble, and Sam knew he was nearly out of time.

He had to let Dean know what was going on, but how could he without the demon finding out?

Sam racked his brain, but nothing was coming. Whenever he had had trouble telling Dean something, he’d just opted not to tell him until it would be easier. There had never been another way, right?

“It’s okay, kiddo. You can tell me.”

And from Dean’s voice a memory, unbidden, came out of the woodwork of Sam’s mind.

“This is a code. If you follow this code, you can write me messages that only I’ll be able to understand. That way, nobody else will know what we’re saying to each other.”

Once again, the voice from the past was back, and Sam knew what he had to say.

“Dean. Nineteen-five-five.”

Dean just stared at Sam, his mouth slightly open.

“Sam, do you mean nineteen-fifty-five? As in the year?”

Sam shook his head. “Nineteen-five-five,” then, for Dean’s personal benefit, he added, “Ten-five-eighteen-eleven.”

Dean looked really confused, and Sam worried that maybe he should have listened to the voice from the past.

“Sam, what do these numbers mean? Why are you...?”

I’m here, young one. You cannot hide.

Sam sat in horror as a horrible sound entered through the window. Looking out, he saw to his absolute terror that the black hole encompassed the whole of outside. The demon was here, and it was mocking him, creating a grotesque parody of its mouth for Sam to see.

“Sam?”

And despite his terror, Sam could think only one thing.

I can’t let it get Dean. It doesn’t have Dean yet, I have to save him.

Sam stood up abruptly, and without even a pause ran to the window. It was the worst nightmare he could ever have imagined, but he would face it – for his brother he would do anything.

Sam could feel the pull on him. The thing was trying to freeze him, but for some reason it was unable to. He placed one leg out the window, prepared to jump.

“SAM! No!”

As Sam turned and looked at his brother, he felt the fear recede. Dean was planted on the bed by the demon, but Sam knew that if he left now, the demon would not be able to keep Dean in its clutches. At this moment, Sam could only feel triumph.

Giving his brother the most reassuring, most trusting look he could, Sam called above the roar, “Dean! Nineteen-five-five!”

Dean’s eyes widened in some form of recognition, but before he could say anything more Sam turned towards the window and leaped.

Wherever he was going, it didn’t matter. Dean was still safe.

Sam was on his back, and instantly knew he was back in the white place again.

That was unwise, young one.

The demon was back too.

Sam stood up, brushed off his back. “Yeah well, never underestimate a Winchester. Not in strength or stupidity,” he said nonchalantly.

You think you have accomplished anything? You have changed nothing. I will still have you.

“We’ll see about that,” Sam said.

Suddenly, a pain like none Sam had ever experienced before sliced through him. It was worse than the knife wound, worse than the demon’s first attack. It was the worst thing he’d ever experience in his life. Sam was surrounded by so much pain he couldn’t even scream. His vision clouded, the white fading to gray.

Yes, boy, we will see.

And from gray, to black.

When Sam woke up, he was still in the white space. This time, however, he was curled in a fetal position, his arms wrapped as tight as possible around his legs. He could still feel the remnants of a grimace on his face, though the pain was gone.

However, along with the pain, the reassuring presence that had helped him earlier had disappeared to. Sam wondered if it, too, had been tortured by the demon.

Since the demon was gone, Sam took to worrying again. He wasn’t sure if Dean had understood – he didn’t seem to remember their code from so many years before. And Sam didn’t know how to make him remember without the demon finding out what he was up to. He knew, though, that he had to make Dean remember. Somehow, he had to find a way.

Sam thought back to when he had appeared at the bedroom. He was pretty sure the reason he had gone back there was because earlier, in the emergency room, it was where he most wished to be; to wake up in his bed, across from Dean – to discover it was only a nightmare. Sam wasn’t altogether certain, but maybe if he wished again to go somewhere, he could make it happen?

But how would he bring Dean with him again? He could never know for sure if Dean was sleeping. It had only been a fluke the first time, hadn’t it?

Suddenly, Sam’s pensive silence was disrupted.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy, God I’m sorry... forgive me Sammy, please...”

The voice from the past was gone, but in its place an even better one had come.

“DEAN!” Sam stood and shouted as loud as he could. Dean was here. Sam didn’t know whether he was relieved or terrified. Had Dean escaped? Or were they both stuck here?

“Sammy...”

It didn’t sound like an answering call, but one of hopelessness. Sam realized that he was less ‘beneath the veil’. Somehow, he had managed to pull back the curtain a bit.

Dean was not here. He was hearing Dean from the real world – from across the veil.

Sam felt a peacefulness wash over him, and he knew that Dean had fallen asleep. The voice from the past had returned. Sam was too thankful to wonder much about it.

He had no time to lose. The demon might be back at any time.

He sat down again, and closing his eyes, thought as hard as he could, Dean. Take me to Dean. Take me to where he’ll remember.

Sam was sitting in a parking lot, facing a motel door. It was an old rickety place, probably one that would be torn down in not long. Sam didn’t recognize it, but the voice from the past was there, and it was telling him to go inside the door.

Things seem a lot bigger, Sam thought to himself as he got to feet. He wasn’t even close to being taller than the cars. Weird.

Sam took a few tentative steps, as if to check the ground was solid beneath him. Once he was sure, he made a mad dash for the hotel room. Already he could feel a disquiet coming over the motel.

“Dean?” Sam whispered as he opened the motel room door. Funny how it wasn’t locked – they always locked the doors.

There was no answer. But Sam recognized the place, and simultaneously why he had been brought here. It was the motel from Fort Douglas – the motel where he and Dean had started the code.

The cold that was starting to drench the place was getting worse, and five-year-old Sam hurried across the room over to the table. He knew Dean would remember if Sam spelled it out for him.

Sometimes Dean’s slow like that, Sam snickered to himself. He knew it was stupid, but he needed to somehow suppress the fear tingling up his spine before panic overtook. Because Dean wasn’t here yet, and if he didn’t come soon, the demon would get there first.

Sam was nearly done with his message when he heard the most beautiful sound in the dream world.

“Sammy!” the high voice of nine-year-old Dean cried.

Sam turned around to see Dean standing in the doorway of the bathroom – the voice from the past let Sam know that’s where he’d been all along.

“Dean!” Sam cried in return and ran to hug his brother. He’d never been so happy to see him, and the freedom he felt to gather his brother in his arms was both from his need to quench his fear and the allowance being a five-year-old again garnered. As they embraced, Sam was certain he didn’t remember ever receiving such an enthusiastic hug from Dean. Maybe Dean was just as scared as he was.

“Sammy what’s going on? Am I dreaming?”

Sam could only nod – he was too frightened the demon would hear if he said anything.

“Do you know why I’m dreaming?”

Yup, Sam nodded again.

“Did you bring me here?” Dean asked patiently.

Sam only grinned, than felt it slightly falter as he realized time was running out. Quickly he grabbed Dean’s hand and led him to the table, eager to show him the message.

“Sam-“ Dean started, but Sam wouldn’t let go until he had Dean sitting down, just as he had been over eight years ago when this memory had actually occurred.

Sam watched as Dean stared down at the message.

Young one, you have made a grave mistake.

Sam turned to look at the window. He could see the trees outside were swaying to the point he was sure they would fall. The sky was thick with massive black clouds, and at any other time Sam wouldn’t hesitate to run. But Dean was here, and he couldn’t leave until Dean understood.

But Dean only shook his head. “Sammy, I don’t understand. Please, just tell me!” he pleaded.

Your brother is going to die now, because of you. I will make sure of that.

Sam’s lip began to tremble, and the tears were coming before he could stop them. The demon was hurting him so much, and he only felt more vulnerable now that he was five years old again.

Dean looked incredibly worried as well. He held open his arms, and Sam couldn’t resist running to him. Dean would protect him, of that he was certain.

“Sammy, why are you so scared?” Dean asked him.

Boy, stop this foolishness. You are mine. No one can help you.

Sam let out a giant sob and felt his whole body quake.

“Sammy, is this your ghost?”

Sam jumped back at Dean’s comment. NO!, he wanted to shout, but that would only make the demon find them faster. He could only shake his head back and forth. Dean, though, only looked more depressed at Sam’s insistence.

“But Sammy, you’re dead.”

Sam’s eyes widened, and once again, he shook his head. Then, he pointed at the message, willing Dean to remember. But Dean was only growing more agitated.

“But Sammy, I don’t know what that means! You have to tell me what it means!”

You have no idea how much I want to, big brother. No idea.

Dean, for his part, had looked out the window himself now, and was starting to realize what was going to happen. Sam felt Dean grab his shoulders, and then ask softly, “Sammy, just tell me, please.”

Sam thought for a moment. Was it worth the risk? No matter what, he knew he couldn’t stand the sadness on Dean’s face. He had to give him something.

Sam leaned down, and softly cupped his little boy fingers around Dean’s right ear. Dean stood as still as the grave when Sam delivered the message he hoped would save both of them.

“Remember, Dean. Remember.”

I found you, young one. You will not be escaping my grasp again. Ever..

Without warning, the window shattered, and Sam felt a giant tug pull him to the window. He looked desperately to Dean to hold him, maybe even bring him back to the real world, but all he saw was an empty chair where Dean had sat.

Just before he was pulled from the hotel, Sam looked through the flailing kitchen curtains to see the black hole before him. This time, he wasn’t so sure he would wake up in the white space again.

At least Dean is still safe. I love Dean.

Sam was tossed into the dark oblivion, and he thought no more.