A Brother's Wish

By: Ridley

Rating: T-for language

Disclaimer: Nope, as much as I Wish. The boys of Supernatural belong to the WB, and that bunch of genius, Kripke.

A/N: Okay guys, this is a little spoilery, but not really considering it's based all on speculation of what's going to happen tomorrow. I have to blame my best buds Tidia and Mog, and our Rowdy friends, who kept talking and talking about Devil's Trap. I was so obsessed that I dreamed this little piece and couldn't rest until I shared it. I'm not sure if it makes much sense at all, but here it is , just the same. PS: It alternates between the present day and thirteen years prior, but I think I've made it quite clear with the shifts.

Mt. Juliet, TN ,June 1993

"Dean!" The screaming of his name and the slamming of Pastor Jim's screen door nearly had the thirteen-year-old dropping the gun that he was cleaning. "Dean!"

The pounding of bare feet down the hard-wooded hall of the old farmhouse had Dean's heart leaping into his throat and his fist gripped around one of the shotguns that he'd already taken care of and loaded. "Sammy?"

His little brother burst into the parlor, as Jim liked to call it, with all the energy that an eight-year-old could harness. Both his hands were cupped against his chest, and Dean was almost certain he caught a flash of crimson, could smell copper as he got closer.

Dean waited one breathtaking second to see if something else would burst into the room in pursuit, but when it didn't he dropped the weapon and instead caught the smaller boy, who was practically barreling towards him across the old, antique rug.

"Dean!" His name was said between panting gulps of air now, as Sam looked up at him with a wild gleam in his dark eyes.

"Sammy, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Att…Atticus…he had it, and I tried to make him stop…but,"

"Atticus?" Dean frowned, looking his brother up and down again for further injuries. Atticus Finch was Pastor Jim's Golden Retriever. He'd slobbered on and wallered on Sam since he was a baby. Sam had even road on the beast's back until he'd grown too big for the stupid dog to carry around. Surely, he hadn't turned on the kid. Dean wasn't even sure if he had enough teeth left to do any harm. Still…

"He had it, Dean. I tried…" Tears filled the young eyes and it was almost Dean's undoing.

"God damn it, Sam!" Dean knelt in front of his brother who had gone instantly quiet, except for the small hitching of his breath.

"Dad doesn't like it when you say that, " Sam pointed out as he shot a reprimanding look to his brother. "And Pastor Jim really doesn't like it when you say that."

"Yeah, well, Dad says it all the time. And besides Pastor Jim's not here, is he?" Dean shook his head, his eyes focusing on Sam's chest once more. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Sam shook his head. "No, but he is."

Sam gently unfolded his arms, opening his cupped palms to his brother. " You have to save him, Dean. You just got to."

Dean flinched, thinking at first that his stupid kid brother had rescued a huge barn rat, but a closer inspection revealed downy fine, brown fur and long velvet ears. It wasn't much bigger than a baby kitten, it's large brown eyes seeming almost alien in it's almond shaped head.

"It's a rabbit," Sam stated. "A baby."

Dean sighed, as he watched the little body shake with fear and shock. "Sammy…"

"I think Atticus was only playing." Sam's dark gaze met his. "I heard it crying, Dean."

Dean gently took the animal from his brother, turning it over so he could get a better look at it. There was a small patch of blood on its hind leg, and Dean had enough experience to know that the limb was broken. But he had no clue as to what could be going on inside the tiny, quaking body. "Sammy…I don't think…I mean, he's hurt pretty bad."

"So," Sam sniffed. "You fix Daddy all the time. Me too."

"But…"

"Please, Dean. Don't let him die."

"Sammy," Dean put the rabbit back into his brother's hands. "There are worse things than dying-like suffering."

"But we'll help him. We'll make him better," Sam held the rabbit close to his heart again, stroking the soft fur with his free hand. "You have to try."

Dean bowed his head for a moment. His father's voice echoed clearly that he should put the animal out of its misery. Quickly and mercifully. It was the right thing to do.

But then his heart got involved in the conversation and he just had to look down at Sammy, holding the baby rabbit with such reverence that all thoughts of right and wrong flew out the damn window. "I'll try, Sammy. I promise, I'll try."

Laughlin Hospital, November 2006

Sam woke with a start, pain lancing through his body at the abrupt motion.

He heard himself gasp and then groan, although it all seemed disconnected as unconsciousness beckoned him back to it'sproferred sanctuary once more.

The ghostly sensation of a hand on his forehead stopped him from going under again, and hope stirred from somewhere deep in his chest. "Dean?" he pushed out past lips that seemed swollen and numb.

"Sam?" The voice was familiar but not the one he had prayed for, and it broke the magical spell that the touch had begun. "Can you hear me, boy?"

Sam's eyes fluttered once, teasing him with their willingness to cooperate, before finally agreeing to stay at half-mast. "Bobby?"

The old demon hunter's anxious face loomed over him, his salt and peppered whiskers standing out starkly against his pale, drawn skin. "It's me , son."

The last word was a hot knife of agony and Sam couldn't prevent the soft whimper it pulled from him. Son. He was no ones son. Not any more.

"I'm sorry," Bobby whispered, gripping his shoulder as if he realized his mistake one moment too late. There was a shuffling sound and he felt the head of the bed begin to ascend, bringing him from his prone position. When Sam found the strength to open his eyes again, Bobby was holding a cup of water close to his lips. "Take some."

The first sip was tentative and cautious, but once the sweet, cool liquid hit the boy's parched throat he gulped so greedily that Bobby had to pull back some. "Easy, now. You've been out of it a while. You don't want to make yourself sick."

"Thanks," Sam croaked, after another small drink. "How long?" he managed to ask as he searched the small, dark room that he was in.

It was obviously a hospital room, a private one at that, and Sam imagined that Bobby was probably footing the bill seeing as how his insurance was non-existent.

"Three days," Bobby replied, sitting back in the chair that someone had drug close to Sam's bed. He leaned forward, his hand resting over Sam's.

Sam had to look away as he watched the motion that was so familiar, yet so achingly alien with Bobby performing it.

If Bobby noticed he didn't let on. "I was beginning to wonder if you would come back at all."

Sam met his eyes again, a coldness wicking from somewhere deep inside, saturating every inch of his body. "I wish I hadn't."

Bobby nodded. "They found your daddy." The old hunter's blue-gray eyes watered. "I can't believe that stubborn son of a…" he stopped on a sob, and seemed to pull himself together. "I'm so sorry, Sam."

"Where did they take him?"

"The morgue in town. CSI bastards had me identify the body." Bobby shook his head. "There's questions, Sam. A lot of damn questions they're asking."

"I need to see him."

That seemed to shock the man. "Sam, you have four broken ribs, a broken collar bone, not to mention bruised kidneys, a busted femur, and one hell of a concussion. What you need is bed rest."

Sam licked his dry lips, staring up at the ceiling, trying to physically take note of all the trauma the old man was going on about. He couldn't feel anything really, but if he squinted just right, he could almost make out Jessica's body pinned to the tiles above him, broken and bleeding. Just like John. Just like Dean. He focused hard and waited for the fire to come. But it never did.

"Sam?" Bobby's hand tightened over his, and this time Sam pulled away. "I have to ask…Where's your brother?"

"Where's your brother, Sammy?" John Winchester caught his youngest son as he came barreling out of Jim's bathroom. He'd been searching the entire house for signs of life with no luck. "And what are you doing with all that?"

Sam had his arms loaded down with peroxide, alcohol, and bandages. His eyes widened in surprise at his father's presence and he tried to mumble an explanation, but the two cherry popsicles protruding from his mouth kind of got in the way.

John shook his head when he couldn't decipher the mumbling and removed the ice cream. "Sam?"

"Dad? You're back early."

"It would appear so." The hunter grimaced as drops of red liquid sugar dripped onto his hand and then onto his jeans. He frowned at Sam. "I'd ask if you and your brother kept yourselves out of trouble, but apparently that would be a stupid question."

"We didn't find any trouble, Daddy," Sam defended.

"Then what's all that for, kiddo? Jim isn't giving you all another first aid training session again is he? Last time, I like to never got the plaster out of your hair."

Sam's crimson-stained lips curved into a lopsided grin. "It's for Bunnicula. Dean's patching him up."

As if that explained everything, Sam snatched the ice cream back from his father, mumbling something about splints, before sticking both popsicles back in his mouth, and took off down the hall that led to the screened in porch.

John sighed. "Samuel! Don't run with those in your mouth."

Dirty, bare feet slowed marginally but not enough to appease John, who rubbed at his forehead and peered longingly back towards the kitchen, where he knew a chilled stash of Jim's homemade beer awaited him.

Instead of indulging, he went to check on his boys and to find out exactly what a Bunnicula was.

"Did you get the splints?" Dean asked from his perch in front of the ironing board, that he had brilliantly transformed into an exam and operating table.

Sam breathlessly dropped the supplies on the porch swing, and held up his hand as he quickly finished chewing the last of the cherry ice off of the two popsicle sticks in question.

"You're going to get…"

"Ow!" Sam groaned, gripping his head, with his free hand, his young face contorting in pain.

"…brain freeze," Dean finished the late warning with a roll of his green eyes. He laughed. "Real smart, Geek Boy."

Sam glared at him through splayed fingers, but handed him the splints. "Dad's home."

"Wonderful," Dean groaned, only imagining how Sam's latest escapade was going to come back to bite him in the ass.

"It's good to know I was missed, Ace."

Dean whirled around as his father stepped onto the porch.

"I was just saying how wonderful it is to have you back, sir."

"Sure you were," John folded his arms over his chest, and jerked his chin towards the medical supplies and pan of water. "You want to fill me in on this little experiment that you and Igor got going on here?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder to the shoebox sitting on the picnic table, and hesitated.

"It's not an experiment, Dad," Sam jumped in. "It's an operation."

"Now that makes me feel so much better," John replied, shooting his oldest a hard look. "Care to explain?"

Again Sam beat his brother to the punch, grabbing his father's hand with sticky, pink fingers and pulling him towards the shoebox.

The eight-year-old pointed to the gray T-shirt inside. The tee that curiously resembled John's favorite Boston Red Sox's shirt.

"This isn't like the time you tried to Super glue that snapping turtle's shell back together is it, Sammy?"

Dean snickered from behind him, confirming John's suspicion that the older boy had been the one to put that idea in his little brother's head.

"No, Dad!" Sam said in complete kid indignation. He gently pulled back the cotton folds to reveal a pink twitching nose, two shiny molasses-hued eyes, and then narrow, long ears. "It's a rabbit."

"I see that."

"Isn't he cute," Sam whispered, unable to keep the look of obvious affection off of his face. He gently trailed a finger over the small head. "Dean said we need to keep him really warm because of shock."

John rubbed a hand over his beard, before casting a quick look over his shoulder at Dean, who merely shrugged. "Son? Where'd you get this?"

Sam's bottom lip protruded and his shoulders straightened. "Out of stupid old Atticus' mouth. He was carrying him around like his squeaky toy."

That didn't sound good. John leaned over the box and gently scooped the baby rabbit out.

He didn't miss the way Sam's breath caught, and how he stared at his father's big hands as if they were incapable of handling something so fragile. John almost smiled because it reminded him so damn much of the way Mary had watched him the first time he'd lifted an infant Dean out of his crib.

"Careful," Sam whispered, even sounding like his mother, and John felt his heart falter.

"I know, Sammy." John watched the rabbit twitch, and then still, its concaved sides working overtime to push and pull the air in and out.

"I wanted to name him Velveteen, but Dean said that Bunnicula fit our family better."

Again John's eyes went to his eldest, who had busied himself laying out supplies. "I see." And he did. Dean should have known better.

The animal was obviously badly hurt and suffering. Dean should have put it out of its misery. Where the hell was Jim, anyway? He could have done it for him, if Dean wasn't able to be the one to hurt his little brother?

"I think I found just what we need, my boys." The man in question suddenly entered the screened area from the outside door, Atticus trotting guiltily behind his master. The priest extended a small plastic piping and bottle out to Dean. "A hummingbird feeder and sugar water."

"You going to attempt an I.V.?"

Jim practically jumped at the voice of his old friend, apparently not noticing him on the other side of the porch in his rush to join in on the operation. He grinned sheepishly and looked like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "John? We weren't expecting you back so early."

"I guess not."

Jim's smile faltered. "Well, we can use all the help we can get." The priest nodded towards the baby rabbit. "I see you've met Bunnicula."

"I have." John handed the bunny back to Sam, who quickly clutched it protectively to his chest, sending Atticus a reprimanding glare.

The Retriever whined and laid down on the plank floor.

John kept his smile as he approached his old friend. "So-about the I.V.?"

Jim laughed, "Don't be ridiculous, Johnathan. It's to feed the poor thing. Shock is worsened by dehydration, you know. It's a good idea to encourage fluids."

"Is it a good idea to encourage false hope?" John raised a brow, lowering his voice slightly. Dean he could almost understand. The boy would do anything for his brother, but Jim should have known better. Damn romantic.

The priest cut his eyes to Dean, who was beginning to look unsure, and shot him an encouraging smile. "Sometimes we have to take a leap of Faith."

John bit his lip, and cleared his throat. He knew all too well what Faith cost. "And if we're wrong?"

Jim glanced to where Sam was cuddling the rabbit against his cheek, whispering unknown words of comfort into its soft fur. "Loving something is never wrong, Johnathan. Never."

"He's gone," Sam whispered softly. "My brother's gone."

"I don't understand, boy." Bobby shook his head. "The police found his car. Crashed. You were still inside, but there was no sign of Dean. Not at the warehouse. No where."

Bobby didn't mention that the whole backseat of the Impala was covered in blood, but by the look on Sam's face, there was no need to.

Sam closed his eyes against the memory, hating the weakness that let warm tears escape. He couldn't let go-not yet.

"Pull it together, Sammy." The sharp ringing of his brother's voice inside his head had his eyes snapping open again.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice was laced with concern, remorse, and more than a hint of dread. "What happened to Dean? Where is your brother, boy?"

Sam's brown eyes met Bobby's blue ones. "The Demon took him." His fist clenched in the sheets. "He's in Hell."

"We should pray," Pastor Jim said, looking at the solemn faces around him, all gathered anxiously over the box where Bunnicula now slept with his newly splinted leg.

Sam quickly complied, taking the priest's hand in his own and bowing his head. He kicked his brother when the older boy hesitated, and with a much put upon sigh, Dean finally took his brother's other hand and dropped his chin to his chest.

Their father continued to scowl at the man of the cloth as if he had lost his mind, but soon lost the battle of the wills when his little boy looked up at him and said the magic words. "Please, Daddy."

Jim grinned to himself as John's rough hand grabbed his, unable to contain the enjoyment he was going to get out of sharing this story with his dear friend, Missouri. He supposed the old adage about miracles never ceasing was true, after all.

Knowing his luck wouldn't hold long, Jim spoke reverently but swiftly, asking their Father to bolster Bunnicula's young spirit, to offer him comfort from his suffering, and most importantly to stay by his side so that he would not walk or hop alone, no matter the path that was chosen for him. After Sam interjected a quick request that the Lord also forgive Atticus for being such a big bully and that he not be sent to Pooch Purgatory as Dean had ill-informed him, Jim closed with a quick Amen.

It was echoed by all the Winchesters, before John and Dean quickly moved away. But Sam held on to Jim's hand and stared up at him. "Do you think God cares about little baby rabbits, Pastor Jim?"

"Oh, Sammy. God cares about every living thing." He squeezed the eight-year-old's hand. "Especially little, baby rabbits."

"I see." Bobby leaned back in his seat, looking out the window to the quickly setting sun.

"It happened after…" Sam swallowed hard, unable to say the actual words. "After Dad."

He closed his eyes tightly, an ineffectual barricade against the barrage of images of his dead father's still face. "I didn't know until we were on the road. By then it was too late."

Bobby sought his gaze again, anger filling his gentle eyes. "I'm sorry those damn bastards did that, Sam. I'm so sorry."

Something snapped inside the young hunter. "Don't be sorry, damn you," he hissed. "Don't you dare be sorry for him. Not him. Not DEAN!"

"I'm so sorry, little brother," Dean said quietly, as he held the sobbing eight-year-old protectively to his chest. "I wanted him to be okay, too." He stroked his hand over his brother's head. " I wanted it so bad." And he had. Maybe his reasons weren't as pure as Sam's, who only wanted to save the rabbit's life, but Dean had wanted the same outcome, if only to save his brother's heart.

Sam pulled back some, his eyes red and swollen. "I wanted to save him, Dean. We should have saved him."

Dean felt his own eyes sting as he reached out and pushed too long bangs from his brother's eyes. "I wished I could have saved him for you, Sammy. I swear. I would have done anything."

Sam collapsed against him again, burying his face in the soft folds of Dean's gray T-shirt. "Is he in Heaven, Dean? Is he with his family?"

Dean held the little boy tightly, and glanced over his brother's shoulder to where John, Atticus, and Pastor Jim were standing around the small grave they'd dug for Bunnicula in Jim's garden-right in between the role of lettuce and carrots, just like Sam had requested. "Yeah, he is Sammy. I'm sure of it." The thirteen-year-old, pressed his lips into the little boy's hair and breathed, "He's gone home, Sammy. He's with his mom."

"I want to go home." Sam lifted his eyes to Bobby's tearful gaze. "I want my Mom."

The old man's brows drew together and for a moment he looked concerned, but then he took a hitching breath and nodded. "Back to Kansas, then?"

"Dad would want that."

The Demon hunter nodded. "He would."

Sam looked up at the ceiling, feeling the fire starting. It rained down on him, burning away all the grief, leaving only anger and determination. "And then I'm going to get my brother."

"Did you see that, Dean?" Sam asked excitedly as his red and white floater bobbed up and down on the surface of the calm pond water. He was leaned back against Atticus using him as a giant canine cushion as the big dog bathed in the late afternoon sunshine.

"I saw it," Dean replied, pulling his ball cap down further to shade his eyes. "Don't get too excited though, Sammy. They're just nibbling."

"They think they're smart, don't they, Dean?" Sam asked, glancing at his brother with a wry grin, and gripping his fishing pole tighter.

Dean nodded. "But they're not nearly as smart as the Winchester boys."

Sam laughed, the sound of it drawing John and Pastor Jim's eyes to him from where they were lounging under a sprawling oak tree. "Haven't heard that in a while," John nodded towards his son. "Sounds good."

"Like angels in Heaven."

John snorted, taking a long pull from his beer. "Like you would know. How long is it going to take you to realize that there is no redemption for old war dogs like us, collar or no collar."

Jim smiled. "I still have Faith in my salvation," He shrugged, "Although I still have my doubts about yours."

John watched his boys as Dean helped Sam reel in his latest catch, Atticus barking wildly at their excitement and the flopping Blue Gill, now struggling on the sand. "Faith didn't help much with that rabbit. The Big Guy must have tuned you out on that one."

Jim cut his eyes to his friend. "Perhaps the rabbit served a bigger purpose."

"Broke my little boy's heart is what it did."

"Strengthened it, too."

"Don't start with that old 'that which doesn't kill us…speech, Jim."

"It's true, Johnathan," Jim sighed at the other hunter's stubbornness. "One day us old dogs won't be around. It'll be up to them to save the world."

John's eyes went back to his boys, innocently playing on a summer's day, chasing a flopping fish across the bank, a happy dog nipping at their heels. "I just want them to be able to save themselves-to save each other. That's all."

The priest smiled at his old friend. "Ahhh, the wish of any good Father, my friend." He looked up as a large splash erupted followed by more laughter. Sam and Atticus were now both in the pond. His grin widened. "That goes double for the Big Guy, himself."

John scoffed at the priest's romantic words, shaking his head. "I'll remember that when I have a demon on my ass. I'll be giving you a call, preacher man." He handed the other hunter his half finished beer then turned and started for the pond, yelling as he went, "Dean Mathew Winchester! I saw that."

Jim cast an amused glance skyward, and then watched his friend pick Dean up and toss him into the water, much to the glee of Sam and Atticus Finch. "And I hope I can be there to save you , John. After all, it is the wish of any good brother."

-May 2006