Summary:  Dean always thought of himself as ‘slightly stupid’ just smart enough to get the job done, just dumb enough to have to work at it.
Disclaimer:  All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Dean’s back banged with a thudding noise into the side of the truck, his shaky legs weaving back and forth. He hastily brought his hand up to his pocket, dropping his ‘stick’ to the ground, jumping around on his good leg. He rummaged his fingers through his jacket pocket, shaking the dangling keys, attempting to grasp a hold of them. He cautiously grasped his handgun from the back of his jeans, pulling it up to his chest, his fingers clenching securely around it. Leaning his head down, he rested a shoulder on the passenger window, struggling to gain control of his feeble body, fingers visibly shaking. Shit, come on, get a grip Winchester, unlock the door.

He had not glanced up yet, fear of what his eyes might show him pulsing through his veins. As the key fell into place, the lock clicked, the passenger door swinging open with a loud swish. He leaned in just enough, tossing the keys on the driver’s seat. Turning back quickly, his eyes looked out, spanning the area, taking in his brother, still leaning, almost falling over, against the side of the tree. His eyes rose promptly to Tom Baldwin. Tom acknowledged him with a quick bob of his head. Dean raised his gun, pointing it at their surroundings, sweat growing on his forehead, he mouthed “Go” to Tom.

Tom Baldwin did not have to be told twice to move it. He had grown accustom to fast action, no question responses, when he was in Iraq. The word ‘Go’ was all he needed, and he shuffled the gun up under his arm, grabbed up Sam Winchester, hoisted him over his shoulder, and took off running. Sam’s head bobbled up and down with each step, little winces of pain broaching his lips. Tom began whispering a little mantra as he ran.

“Sorry, breathe...just keep breathing. Sorry, breathe through it, breath”.

Sam felt the hands grab him with such force that he swayed unknowingly toward the ground, backpack tumbling from his grasp. He heard the voice. Was that his Dad again? His breath choked in his throat, his chest blooming into a crushing pain, he heard the voice telling him to breathe. He hacked heavily as the air was denied entrance into his lips. He felt like he was hanging upside down, yes, his mind determined blearily, he was precariously hanging over someone’s shoulder. The blood was rushing into his mouth; his ears were ringing, his head was throbbing, as he bounced along indistinctly watching the ground go by.

Dean watched keenly as Tom grabbed his brother in one large lunge, positioned him over his shoulder, and took out running. He knew Sammy was heavy, but this guy, he did not seem to notice; his body stumbling forward, intent glinting in his eyes, Sam hanging over his shoulder, piercing a look directly at Dean. Tom’s feet never faltered, his arms never loosened as he lunged full force toward the truck. Dean’s eyes glanced back up from Tom to the tree line, the brush, and then back to Tom. This dude was frick’n awesome, just frick’n awesome.

Dean’s eyes shifted toward the right, he thought he saw a slight movement just behind Sam’s bobbing head. He gripped his handgun tighter as he brought the site up to his eye, balancing his arm on the door of the truck. Steady, steady.

Tom heard the rustling behind him; he willed his feet to go faster. He could see Dean lean in on the truck door, gun pointing strategically behind him, his heart racing, he ran at a mad gallop. Sam Winchester was heavy, but not near as heavy as some of the others he had carried to safety not a year an a half ago in Iraq. He was determined, they would make it to Dean, the truck, and he would get this boy to safety.

Suddenly, the second Chupacabra appeared with a swaggering gait out of the trees, large snout leaning up into the air, sniffing with its head turning slowly. Its black eyes landing on the sight of the humans, it twisted suddenly, taking in the scene of the large body hustling quickly away from him. It jolted into action, large clawed feet thumping as they hit the ground, massive paw like hands, leaching into the air as it pursued the humans.

“Run FASTER.” Dean muffled out, voice in a loud yell; his gun sight directly on the chest of the large mammoth creature, finger lingering just a second on the trigger. He would be damned if they got this far, just to let another Chupacabra get them.

Tom could here the thudding coming up behind him; he willed his legs to go faster as he watched Dean Winchester point the gun, just over his head, to the right. His hands wrapped tightly around Sam’s legs, he bounded toward the truck and Dean. He heard the gun go off, a loud bang as he reached Dean, who stepped more into the door, allowing Sam to be laid into the truck. Tom’s large hand pushed him Dean haphazardly into the truck, hand grabbing the door as he went by, slamming it shut. He leapt over the top of the hood, legs sliding across the metal, grabbing the driver’s door, he slung himself inside, hand snatching the keys as he entered.

“GUN IT” Dean’s voice lurched as the drivers door slammed shut. He struggled to get a grip on his baby brother as Sammy crumpled to the floorboard, unconscious. His hands clamoring for Sammy, while his eyes watched the Chupacabra, it stood momentarily stunned, not five feet from the passenger window, black eyes beadily staring at Dean.

Once again, Tom Baldwin was used to utter chaos since his stint in Iraq; a wicked grin appeared on his lips. He quickly rammed the key in the ignition, putting the pedal to the metal, the truck pealed out, gravel flinging through the air, little pellets pounding the Chupacabra, pummeling it like a rain. Dean shifted his head around. Damn it, I had to leave my car. Shit. He watched as the Chupacabra grew smaller, the truck barreling down the highway, his hands grasping and pulling his brother into his lap. Sam bumped up against his totally numb leg, but he didn’t care. Sam’s breathe was no more than a shallow whisper to Dean’s ears.

Tom glanced over at Sam; he knew he was in shock, they had lost the blanket, leaving it lying by the tree in their haste to leave. He reached down, turned the heat on, facing the vents toward Sam and Dean.

“Pull him to your chest, wrap yours arms around him, hold him as tight as you can. The hospitals not ten minutes away.”

Tom’s voice was commanding. Sounds like John Winchester. Dean nodded, knowing he needed to do as instructed. He pulled his brother in to his chest, tears welling up in his eyes; he blinked them back; hastily, holding Sam as tight as he could, so tight, his own arms hurt with the motion. He looked down at his brother, his face was clammy, stark white, eyes closed, but he did seem to breathe easier, in Dean’s tight grip, the struggle for air not as great as only a moment before.

Dean’s head lolled to the side, propping his forehead against his brother’s hair. Senses absorbing the smell, the touch of the one person he loved more than life itself. He let out a little sigh, pent up anxiety overcoming him. It had been a long 24 hours, they had escaped; they were out of those god awful woods, and now he could concentrate on his little brother, get him help, a hospital. He felt a warm hand squeeze his shoulder; just the motion reminding him so much of his father, it overwhelmed him, the tears rolled down his face. He leaned his weary head back on the truck seat, letting the tears flow, afraid to release his grip on his brother, he had no means to stop them.

“It’s okay”, the voice said in a warm, comforting tone.

Tom squeezed the young man’s shoulder again. He was worried, he might be overstepping some boundary here, but, right now, he did not care. Dean looked exhausted, drained, totally spent. Tom wasn’t sure if it was the pain from his broken ankle or the pain radiating from his brother, he didn’t care, he just knew the young man needed comfort, and he was there to give it.

The truck pulled crookedly into the emergency room entrance at the Temple City Hospital, the driver’s door winging its way open, large man bounding into the emergency doors, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Help, I need HELP”. His arms were swinging out in an irate motion as he desperately attempted to get anyone’s attention. Doctors and nurses hustled through the emergency doors, running quickly to the truck.

“Here, they were both attacked, out on my property”. Tom stepped back as the hospital staff began to assess the situation. Multiple hands removed Sam from his brother’s arms as Dean slumped against the back of the seat, bleary eyes looking at them.

“Help him, please”. Dean’s voice whispered, as he brought his hand up to his face, brushing away any remnants of tears.

The doctors hurried laid Sam on a gurney, rustling to listen to his chest while the wheels rolled him out of Dean’s line of vision. More hands lurched in at Dean, pulling him out of the truck as he struggled against them. He pushed himself with a grimace back against the leather seat, attempting to escape from the doctors clutches, to get away. He needed to be with his brother. Firm hands grabbed him, steadied him, and he looked up at Tom Baldwin, his eyes clear, his voice sincere but demanding, he chanted.

“Stop Dean, stop, calm down, let them help you. You can’t help Sammy, till they help you”.

Dean realized what Tom said was the truth; he was in no shape to help his little brother. He relaxed into the doctor’s prying hands, letting himself drift, the voices wafting away in the air, he felt himself being lifted onto the gurney, rolling into the hospital. Hell, he hadn’t helped Sammy back in the woods, why the hell did he think he could help him now.

Tom Baldwin watched as the two young men, he had only met yesterday, were rolled into the emergency room. The flutter of activity as doctors and nurses hovered over them, pushing them from his view, both boys disappearing behind the swinging doors. Although, he had not known them very long; he felt an immediate closeness to them, which he could not explain. The strong desire to protect them, take care of them, make sure they were okay was pulling him; inside the emergency room, toward the reception desk, and up to the nurse.

“I’m here with the Winchester’s, they were just taken back”. He smiled weakly up at the receptionist, who eyed him for a moment, shuffled some papers around on her desk, and slung a clip board and pen his way.

“No, no, I don’t know anything about them; I met them yesterday, I found them in the woods, hurt. They will have to do this stuff.” He firmly pushed the clipboard back to the nurse, who threw him an irritated look; she flung it to the desktop, and looked back down at her paperwork, pen never stopping its motion.

“Okay, have a seat; wewillletyouknowwhenwehearsomething”. Her voice muffled out in a quick flutter of words, which Tom could barely make out. He shuffled to the corner, flopping boneless down in the plastic chair, eyes pealing around the room at all the other ‘family’ members who were each struggling with their own emotions, grief, and turmoil, waiting with anxious faces. He would just wait awhile; make sure these boys’s were okay.

He leaned his head back against the cool wall, eyes watching the clock as the hand slowly ticked; it was 4:20 p.m., what a day, what a day. He still needed to go back to his property, burn the creature, and retrieve the boy’s guns, their car; but, he was not sure he wanted to do this little trip on his own. He knew the second animal would need to be killed, and that thought was not very appealing to him. He sighed, and pulled his hand up through his hair. He would wait, maybe the older one would feel good enough, in a couple of days, to go back out there with him; he already knew the youngest one would not be traveling anywhere, anytime soon. He just hoped that people were listening to the reports on the news, and no one would attempt to go out in that area again, certainly, not on his place. He had 167 acres, and the 200 acres on either side of his, was just like it, endless trees, bushes, thickets and wildlife, the animal could roam for miles, if it was left alone. He just hoped, for all their sakes, it was.

The light shimmered in Dean’s eyes as someone’s finger held his lid open.

“Stop that”. He stammered out, his hand swatting the light and finger away from his face, he blinked groggy eyes up at what looked to be a doctor.

“You’re awake, good”. The doctor pulled the light away and stowed it in his lapel pocket as he looked intently at Dean.

Dean shuffled his legs under the covers, attempting to move into a more comfortable position, but his left leg would not cooperate. His eyes fell to the bed, and saw the cast that now encompassed his ankle, midway between his calf, and just down over the middle of his foot. Great!

“Mr. Winchester, you have to be still, the cast is still setting. You broke your ankle clean through. Actually, it was a very nice break; I haven’t seen a clean one like that in a long time”.

“Gee thanks”. Dean rolled his eyes, causing his vision to blur up just slightly.

“Careful, you have a slight concussion”. The doctor smiled as he adjusted the drip on Dean’s IV. “Once you get these fluids in, and I give you the prescription for pain, you are free to go. Do you want crutches? You might be okay without them if the pain is not too bad, you can stand on the heel of the cast, it’s made for that”.

As Dean’s mind cleared, sudden realization hit him; he did now know what happened to his brother. His eyes grew wide as he reached up and yanked the doctor toward his face, his hands grasping the gentleman’s tie.

“How’s my brother, where is he?” Dean voice was irate, concern and anger brimming over his lips at the same time. He saw the fear in the doctor’s eyes, and released his tight grip on the tie, lips tilting up in a grin; he patted the tie back down to the man’s shirt.

“Calm down, your brother is in surgery, has been for the last 2 hours”.

“Two hours, crap, I was out two hours?” Dean’s hand flopped away from the doctor’s tie and back down to his own forehead, a small sigh escaping his lips, as his fingers rubbed his temple, continuing to look fiercely at the doctor.

“Your friend, he was here, he saw your brother, before we took him back to surgery. He woke up briefly, he was calling for you. We took your friend back to try and calm him down before we sedated him for surgery. He was agitated due to his concussion; he had some confusion with a slight fever”.

“My friend?” Dean’s eyes peered questionably at the doctor.

“Yea, Tom Baldwin, he’s right out in the waiting room; has been since he brought you two in. Tom’s a great guy; everyone in town love’s him.”

Dean nodded his head; it was all coming back to him now. The woods, the Chupacabra, Tom Baldwin; his mind was a whirl of memories, all playing catch up in his concussed brain.

“My brother, can you tell me how he is?” Dean dropped his hand to his side, listening intently as the doctor’s face took on a serious stance.

“You’re brother has two broken ribs on his right side, the rest of his ribs are badly bruised. The cuts were not very deep; he will have to have some stitches, but nothing to serious. The ribs are totally another story. He punctured his right lung and it collapsed; I’m not even sure how he was breathing so long on one lung.” The doctor shook his head as he arched his eyebrows up at Dean. “That, in it’s self, is a miracle.”

Dean’s eyes lit up at the mention of a miracle, in his opinion, that would be Tom Baldwin.

“Anyway, a surgical adhesion of the lung to the chest wall had to be done by a pulmonary specialist. That’s the surgery he’s in right now. The lung was just in too bad a shape to just remove the air from the chest cavity.” He smiled at Dean, realizing his words were overwhelming him. The doctor reached his hand down, fingers thumbing lightly on the mattress next to Dean’s arm.

Dean nodded his head, trying to take in everything he was being told about Sam.

“Okay?” The doctor smiled at Dean, giving him a moment to absorb everything he had said.

“Your brother will have a plastic tube within the chest cavity after surgery. The tube will be under suction, removing, blood, tissue, drainage from his chest cavity. The tube will have to stay in place for two, maybe three days, depending on when he wakes up and we take him off the ventilator. Some scarring to the pleura may develop after treatment and can result in intermittent, sharp pain over the short term. The patient can be easier to contract infections, pneumonia, and tire easily following this type of injury. He will have to have a six week checkup, and then a six month overview of the lungs, just to make sure.”

The doctor’s words caused Dean’s own chest to hitch up, heart thumping loudly in his ears. What did he just say?

“Ventilator?” Dean’s voice was shaky, his eyes looking innocently up at the doctor.

“Yes, son, I am sorry, but he will be on a ventilator when he comes out of surgery. We have to give his lungs time to heal. He will be heavily sedated. He won’t even know it’s there, till we wean him off the sedative. It will do all the work for his injured lungs.” His hand reached over and patted Dean on the arm, and then he turned to leave the room. “We’ll let you know when he is out of surgery. I’ll send Tom Baldwin in to see you”. The doctor’s voice faded in Dean's ears, as he exited the room.

Tom Baldwin shuffled his feet as he walked down the hallway toward Dean Winchester’s room. He was bone weary, tired from helping the two boys escape from the creature, only to sit in the hard plastic chair, in the hospital waiting room, for almost three hours. He was surprised and happy when the doctor came out a view minutes ago, advising him to go see Dean. He had been allowed back in the emergency section not an hour after they both arrived, when Sam Winchester had roused to find he was all alone, in the arms of strangers, with no recollection of how he got there, why he couldn’t breathe, or a memory of anything. He was afraid, and was struggling with everyone, wanting his big brother so desperately, that the sight alone, made Tom’s heart ache.

Tom shuddered as he thought of how he felt when the doctor had came and got him, begging him to calm Sam Winchester down. The shear terror in Sam’s eyes would be a sight that would stay with him forever, much like the eyes of the perfect strangers he had helped in Iraq. When he arrived in Sam’s small room, where he was being prepped for surgery, he found him shaking mildly, hands twisting the white sheet that covered him, eyes moving wildly around the room, moaning out his brother’s name. Tom had attempted to calm him, only to have him look him in the eye with tears brimming at the corners. “Dad?” he had whimpered. Not knowing what else to do, Tom had nodded his head slowly, and pulled his hand up to push the wayward bangs out of his face. Sam had smiled a little croaked smile and let his eyes flutter shut. The sight had caused Tom to realize how much Sam needed his brother, and how much he loved his dad. He did not know what kind of family they were, but he was sure of one thing, they were a family. He stayed with Sam until they came to take him to surgery, hand rubbing slowly through his hair as he had seen Dean do earlier. This small motion had calmed Sam, lured him into a peaceful place. Tom had been happy he was able to comfort him, knowing full well, if Dean had been awake, he would have done it himself.

He leaned into the threshold of the hospital room, eyes glancing up to the bed where Dean laid, broken leg propped up on a pillow, arm hanging over his face, a scowl spread across his lips.

Dean heard the door silently swinging open, and looked across the room at the gigantic man before him. Damn, Tom Baldwin was a big guy.

“Hey there Dean, how are you feeling?” Tom asked as he moved toward the side of Dean’s bed, eyes taking a fleeting look at Dean’s broken leg, and back to his face.

“Better, I’m better. Sure as hell broke my leg though. Guess you were right”. He grinned at Tom. “Thank you, thank you for everything”. Dean’s voice strained with sincerity. He was eternally grateful to this man, and would be the rest of his life.

“Forget about it, ain’t no biggie”. Tom shrugged up his shoulders and gave Dean another smile.

“They said you got to see Sammy, how is he?” Concern squelched up on Dean’s face as he looked keenly into Tom’s eyes.

“He ummmm…he was in a bad way when I saw him. He was scared, calling for you”. Tom felt overcome with emotion as he remembered how pitiful Sam was before surgery, and he saw Dean’s eyes blurring over with concern.

“I think he still thought I was your Dad. Speaking of, do you want me to call him?” Tom asked innocently.

“Our Dad…um. He died last year”. Dean voice let out a little sigh as he said the words, tone filled with sentiment.

Tom looked down at his feet, shuffling from one foot to the other.

“Oh…oh…I’m sorry. I’m sorry if Sam thought….”

“No…No, it was okay. If Sam was going to think anyone was our Dad, you definitely can fit the bill”. Dean lifted up his hand and grasped Tom’s elbow. “I don’t know what to say, there are no words to tell you how grateful I am, grateful that you came to look for us. That you helped Sammy”.

Tom brought his own hand up and patted Dean’s arm. “Your welcome, Dean.”

Silence settled over the room as Dean looked down at his broken leg for the fiftieth time. I can’t believe I got a freak’n broken ankle.

“I know you probably need to go”. Dean stammered out, not looking up at Tom. “I…We appreciate everything you have done.” Tom noticed Dean’s fingers clasping and unclasping together in a nervous motion.

“Nope, I don’t have a thing to do. If it’s okay with you, I will just sit with you till we hear something about Sam”. Tom reached over, grabbed a chair and pulled it to the side of Dean’s bed. Gees, another damn plastic chair.

A smiled wobbled its way to Dean’s lips and he nodded his head. Yep, he really liked this guy.

Dean Winchester woke from his momentary nap, his eyes focusing on the man standing next to his bed.

“Mr. Winchester, Dean Winchester?”

“Yea….yes, that’s me”, he grimaced out as the pain shot up his leg from his ankle.

Tom Baldwin stood up from the plastic chair, his ass was numb from sitting the past hour, he too had faded out into a sleepy doze, hand resting on the armrest, to be suddenly awakened by the stern voice speaking to Dean.

Dean sleep filled eyes gazed on the green scrub clad doctor, surgical hat still in place, looking seriously at him.

“Your brother is Sam Winchester?”

Dean nodded, pushing his body up further on the hospital bed, pillow sinking beneath his back.

“How’s my brother?” His voice quivered out hesitantly, wanting to know, yet scared to ask.

“You’re brother made it through the surgery just fine. He is in recovery now. We got the lung stitched up, re-inflated. He needed about 32 stitches to close up all the cuts on his chest, stomach, and 3 in his head wound, but we got him all took care of. He is resting comfortably; he is on a ventilator, heavily medicated. We will be moving him to ICU within the hour, barring any complications”.

Dean let out a little sigh. “So, he’s going to be okay?” He gripped the sheet tightly underneath his fingers, not wanting to show any fear in his appearance, eyes glancing from the doctor, to Tom, and back to the doctor.

“Yes, I believe so. He is young, strong, and, well, to be honest, it’s a miracle he made it in here, but now that he has gotten taken care of, he should recover”.

“How long on the…the ventilator?” Dean queried, eyes glinting up at the doctor.

“At least the next 24 hours, if he is doing well, we will wean him off the sedative, see if he wakes up. If everything is working okay, we will remove it”.

The doctored nodded his head to go. “I will get the nurse in here; looks like your IV is done.”

“Thank you.” Dean smiled up at the doctor, watching his back as he left the room.

Tom smiled over at Dean. “I’m glad he’s okay”.

“Because of you, he’s okay.” Dean’s voice was low, but his words were expressive, large smile rising over his lips. Tom nodded his head, smile curling up on his own face.

Tom stuck his large hands in his pants pockets, shuffling on his feet.

“I need to go back out there and burn this creature. You guy’s left some nice rifles and a great ride out there.” He grinned, left eye winking at Dean.

“No shit, I want my car and gun back”. Dean huffed out in a slight laugh.

He watched as the matronly nurse reached down and pulled the IV line from his hand, laying his prescription on the tray table.

“Okay, you want to stand up on that leg, let me see if you need some crutches?” The nurse ordered Dean in a stern voice.

He winced at her tone, and shuffled from the bed to his feet in one swift motion, swaying momentarily as Tom reached out and steadied him by the elbow.

“Time to blow this party.” He gently put pressure on his leg, letting the cast press down, taking his weight. A slow pain shimmed up his leg to his knee, but he willed it back and shifted toward the bathroom and his cloths.

“Okay, the prescription will help ease the pain for the next day or so, then it should ease up. Here are your instructions that cast needs to come off in 6 weeks. Take care”. The nurse flitted out of the room, leaving Tom and Dean in her wake.

Dean exited the bathroom, with the same bloody jeans on, cut up to his knee that he had on earlier in the day. He smelled a little rank as he stepped past Tom to sit in the chair, hand grasping his right sock and boot.

“Well, you look like you are good to go.” Tom watched as Dean attempted to put on his sock, fingers shaking slightly. “You know, I can help you with that, you know; if you want”. Tom offered.

Dean really did not want the help, but once again, Tom Baldwin to the rescue. This is getting pretty weak Winchester, get your act together.

He allowed Tom to lean down and help him with his sock and boot, trying hard to keep his embarrassment to a minimum.

“Dean, I really don’t want to go back out there alone.” Tom shimmed into his camo coat, eyes looking at Dean.

“Well, I can understand that”. Dean pushed himself off the chair. “I don’t think that would be a good idea either. You should not go back out there alone, you hear me. There is another Chupacabra out there. Listen, give me a day or so, I can’t leave Sam, not like this, we can go back out there together, once I know he is okay.” Dean stood, eyes pleading at Tom.

“Not a problem for me, I don’t like those damn creatures.”

“Chupacabra’s” Dean ventured as he gimped toward the door, Tom following behind.

“Chupa…whatever”. Tom said as he walked slowly behind Dean. “You guys ain’t no reporters, hell you ain’t any good ole boys going hunting either”.

Dean grinned wide, his back to Tom. “Well, you got that right”. Tom struggled, head leaning in to hear Dean’s words. He hustled quickly to keep up with Dean’s fast gait, as he gimped toward the nurse’s station. “Can you give me a ride back to my motel to clean up, and then back here?” Dean asked as he turned, Tom stumbling, right on his heels.

“Humph, sure, sure”. Tom stepped back, balancing quickly on the balls of his feet.

Dean stifled a slight laugh at Tom’s keen interest in his words. He winked and smiled his best smile at the pretty little nurse looking up at him.

“I’ll be back in about thirty minutes to stay with my brother. Here is my cell number, call me if anything happens to him”.

The nurse nodded, Dean smiled and headed for the door, motioning with his hand for Tom to follow. Tom looked at the nurse, who was married to his second cousin, and shrugged. Fortunately, Tom thought, Temple City was a small town, with a small hospital, and everyone knew about the two young men he had brought in earlier, word travels fast in a small town.

“I got my phone too.” He ventured to her. He scurried to catch up with Dean, who was now halfway across the parking lot, heading for his truck.

Dean sat on the side of his brother’s bed, arms crossed, watching intently as the ventilator clicked, moving his brother’s chest, filling it with air, and then releasing it. One swift motion, click, click; every few seconds; breathing for his brother. It had been over 27 hours since Sam’s surgery and arrival in ICU; he had left for thirty minutes with Tom Baldwin, but returned quickly, to sit at his baby brother’s side. He reached down and wrapped his hand gently around Sam’s wrist, scooting his cast along to rest up against the side of the bed, he pulled his other hand gently through Sam’s hair, in that comforting motion he always used. Sometimes, he didn’t know if it was for Sam, could be he did it for himself; he smiled at that thought. It was instinctive, something he had always done when Sam was sick, hurt, scared; it’s just what he did.

He smiled as Sam slowly began to stir under his ministrations.

“Sammy, it’s me, time to wake up sleeping beauty… you are such a girl sometimes, sleeping the day away”.

Sam’s eyelashes fluttered, as his head leaned into Dean’s fingers, eyebrows scrunching up as he struggled to open his eyes.

“Sammy, you are on a ventilator, please, do you hear me? Please don’t fight it, just let it help you”.

Sam’s eyes flew open as monitors and machines began beeping loudly. He brought his hands up, wild eyes looking around as he grasped at the obtrusion sticking down his throat. What the hell? Help me Dean, I’m chocking, please, help me. Sam shoulders grasped up as he gagged, his body rejecting the ventilator.

Dean held his brother’s head firmly to the bed as he pressed the call button with his other hand. Hurry, for god’s sake, hurry up.

“Sammy, listen to me, calm down, it’s okay, look at me, Sam, look at me. Calm down”. He watched as Sam’s eyes pierced into his, large orbs, radiating fear; then his body relaxed slightly as Dean’s eyes coaxed him, his voice a mantra in his head.

Nurses and doctors ran into the room. One doctor swiftly stepped to Sam’s side, as he gagged over and over again on the intruding machine.

“Sam, hold your breath, Sam, hold it”. Sam vaguely heard the words, saw the doctor above him, he stilled, feeling the object being pulled from his fiery throat in one swift motion. He slumped back to the pillow, pain radiating up his chest and into his throat, he gasped to pull in air. Dean’s hand returned to his hair, smoothing through it, pulling it gently from his face, thumb making a smoothing motion over his forehead. He watched everything in slow motion, another doctor pushing a syringe hastily into Sam’s IV line; Sam stilling slowly on the bed.

Sam felt a calming feeling coming over him, like so many times before, when his brother made everything okay. His lashes fluttered and flickered over his eyes, seeing Dean above him, he drifted peacefully off to a pain free, hazy sleep.

The sun cast a warm golden glow across Sam Winchester’s face as he lay, sleeping, under the white hospital sheets, oxygen canal at his nose, dark circles under his eyes, bandage taped securely just above his eyebrow. Dean sat with his left hand propping up his head, resting awkwardly in the hard plastic chair, dozing, oblivious to the hospital coming to life, or his little brother waking up. It was still early, hospital orderlies pushing breakfast trays down the hallway, nurses changing shift, doctors making their rounds. Dean had been here all night, actually sitting in the chair since yesterday. His own broken leg was past the initial pain, and now, with the medication the emergency room had given him; he could contain the pain to a slight throbbing, allowing him to sleep, though not comfortably, his cast propped against Sam’s bed at an awkward angle, body slumped over in a heap.

Sam turned his head into the pillow. His body felt heavy, and he did not want to wake up, not wanting to open his eyes. His mind struggled with his body to stay in this place, just between waking and sleeping. As he pushed on through the sluggishness, he recognized the smell of antiseptic and his brother’s aftershave wafting up to his nose. He shuffled his legs under the blanket, pain shooting up his chest and registering to his brain, a small muffled gasp escaping his lips, sudden awareness overcoming him.

Dean’s mind acknowledged the sounds of his little brother, distress in his tone; his eyes suddenly fluttering open, glaring incoherently around the room, then resting on Sammy. He saw the confusion setting in Sam’s eyes, pain etching across his face; reacting quickly, he stood and stumbled, as easily as he could with a bum leg, to his brothers side, resting his hand on Sam’s forehead.

“Easy Sam”. Dean's own voice was groggy, from the sudden wakefulness, as the unexpected adrenaline flowed through his veins.

“D...e...a...n”, Sam made great effort to get through the pain, to get the word out.

“Right here, Sammy, right here”. He moved his hand from Sam’s face to pat gently on his shoulder.

“Where…where am I?” Sam’s voice was no more than a whisper in Dean’s ears.

“The hospital Sam, in Temple City; remember, the hunt, the Chupacabra?

Sam’s gaze seemed to become more intent, as slow awareness came back to him, his eyes growing wide with a confused glint.

“Did you….did you, poke it with your gun barrel?”

“Humph, well, yeah. Bad idea.” Dean moved his hand away from his brother’s shoulder as he saw recognition come back to his face. Wouldn’t want a chic flick moment here.

Sam’s lips snaked up in a little grimace. “Yeah, I think not”. He shuffled his legs under the sheet, hand coming slowly up to the itching under his nose, fingers clutching around the nasal canal. Dean’s hand came up quickly; lightly pulling Sam’s grasping fingers from his face.

“No Sam, leave it.”

Sam blinked bleary eyes at his brother as he dropped his hand back to the mattress.

“What’s wrong with me? Can we get out of here?” He muffled out, tone becoming whiny to Dean’s ears.

“You had surgery Sam, the damn thing broke two of your ribs, punctured your lung. You got a concussion to boot.”

“Oh” was the only response Sam gave, his eyes slowly sliding shut, breathes evening out, sleep once again overtaking him.

Tom Baldwin stepped from the elevator doors, glancing around the hospital, checking his bearings, before moving toward the room that now housed Sam Winchester. It had been 24 hours since he dropped Dean back off here, and he hoped Sam was doing better than he had been yesterday. It had been an interesting day, in the life of Tom Baldwin that was for sure. He had not encountered this much drama since his stint in Iraq. He had struggled since yesterday’s conversation, or lack of one, with Dean, to figure out exactly what these two men did for a living, but he was sure they were not reporters. He had hoped to gain more knowledge from Dean, but he had been in pain, a rush, wanting to clean up, get back to the hospital, and his brother; so, Tom had not pushed the issue, allowing him to rest in the truck, gather his own thoughts together. Now, if Sam was better, maybe he could rouse some answers from the older brother. Spying room 201, he briefly knocked on the door, before entering.

Dean glanced up from the muted TV, to the doorway of Sam’s room. Seeing Tom Baldwin, he brought his finger to his lips, nodding his head at his little brother. He rose from his chair, hand grasping his thigh as he put pressure on his leg, moving slowly toward the doorway. Tom shuffled his large frame back out of the door, waiting as Dean gimped toward him, and out into the hall.

“Hey Tom”, Dean’s voice was friendly, smile wavering to his lips.

“Well, hey yourself. How’s your brother?” Tom’s eyes curious, peering at Dean.

“Much better, talking, when he’s not sleeping; which is most of the time?” Dean motioned to Tom to relocate across the hall, a waiting area located there. Tom brought his hand up, to assist Dean with his struggle to move, but decided against it; he shoved it quickly to his pocket. He realized yesterday, this guy was a man who did not like to be coddled.

Dean plopped down on the pale green couch, looking intently at the coffee pot, not five feet away. Damn, that means I got to gimp over there, just to get a cup of hot java, not so sure I can make that yet. Tom watched Deans eyes twitch toward the coffee pot and back to his leg; he smugly smiled and walked toward the pot.

“Glad he’s okay; he had a rough go of it. So, you take yours black?”

“Black is great.” Dean sighed, happy that Tom Baldwin was a man of action, and obviously a coffee drinker himself.

“So I haven’t heard about any more deaths or attacks out near your place.” Dean stated, as Tom handed him the cup of coffee, taking a seat, directly across from him.

“No, guess the damn thing is roaming the woods.”

“They said Sam would get out of here day after tomorrow, so if we are going back after my car, and the guns, we need to do it before then. I don’t want to leave him alone at the motel.”

Tom nodded. “Well, we can go tomorrow afternoon, if you are okay with that”.

“Yea, that would work. I really need my car.”

“We still need to get that creature…ah, what did you call it, a chupa...whatever?” Tom exhaled as he looked intently at Dean.

“Cabra, Chupacabra.” Dean offered up, lips piercing up in a grin.

“I got to ask you, and don’t take offense, but what were you guys doing out there anyway? And don’t give me that reporter, hunter crap.” Tom sat his coffee down, and leaned, elbows resting no his knees, staring at Dean.

“Okay, okay, anyone that saves my brother’s and my ass deserves the truth. We are hunters, just not hunters in the sense you know them. We hunt ugly creatures, monsters like this Chupacabra.”

“Mmmmm, interesting; and just how do you find out about these things?” Tom asked, his face a mask of curiosity.

“Different ways, we are not the only ‘hunters’ out there. I can tell you, there are a lot of ugly things in the dark”.

“Well, okay then.” Tom blurted out. This was just awkward as hell. Did this kid think he jumped off the boat yesterday?

Dean sat down his cup on the coffee table, standing; he wobbled for a second, then moved toward the doorway.

“I need to check on Sammy.”

Tom stood, following Dean across the hallway, still not sure of the answers Dean had given him, or the questions that he still wanted to ask.

Sam’s eyes fluttered with the motion of his hospital doorway opening, eyes catching his gimpy brother returning to the room, followed by? What was that guys name again?

“Hey Sammy, glad your awake. You remember Tom Baldwin?” Dean made his slow, steady steps to the side of Sam’s bed, Tom following behind him.

“Yea, yea, I remember. Hey, Tom.” A brief smile appeared on Sam’s lips as his eyes gave Tom a brief scan, then closed shut, words still coming from his lips.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Sam.” Tom spoke as he watched Sam’s lids slowly shut.

“Me too.” Sam mumbled, breath leveling off, as he drifted back to sleep.

Dean smiled at Sam and back to Tom.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, after lunch.” Tom whispered to Dean, who shook his head in agreement.

“Great.” Dean spoke quietly, eyes looking from Tom down to his brother, hand coming up and unconsciously running through Sammy’s hair, pushing his long honey brown bangs off his face.

Tom smiled at the comforting gesture, remembering, from the emergency room how it had lulled Sam and quieted him. He silently stepped out of the hospital room, not sure if he knew any more now then he did before; while he believed Dean’s words, he was not sure what he believed about them, and that served only to peak his interest even more.