For You

I own nothing – not even series 2 DVD as yet!!

This is a bit sappy and I have written in a female character! Hope it is not to Mary Sue for you!!

The baby wriggles in his hands and he holds it tighter, its soft downy head resting against his chest. A long finger runs down round pink cheeks and he wonders how anything so small, so delicate can actually belong to him. He takes a breath and buries his nose into his son's silky hair.

This was something he never thought he would have and he embraces it; feeling true happiness for the first time in, what seems like, forever.

The hospital smells like all hospitals everywhere; the sharp tang of antiseptic, the clean yet bitter scent of bleach. Sam moves his head restlessly on the pillow and shifts. His back aches and his stomach is sore; there is an IV in his left hand and it pumps something into him, something that makes him feel weak, something that makes his mind fuzzy, his throat raw.

The nurse comes in and bends over to look at him. She is small and dumpy, older than him and very practical. She checks his IV line and lifts his limp wrist, watching her watch as she counts the beats. She brushes a strand of hair beneath her cap and smiles at him with a genuine, caring smile "How are you feeling?"

"Tired" he doesn't want to talk – to make idle conversation – all he wants to do is lie here and die, but they won't let him and it pains him; in this – as in everything else in his miserable life – he is a failure.

Bobby comes; all gruffness and sideward glances. Sam can't bring himself to say anything. He feels ashamed that it was Bobby that found him; unconscious, out of it, lying in his own filth. He was so sure that the whiskey and pills would work – hell he'd drunk more than he was used to and he had used both bottles – but maybe he'd done something wrong, maybe his freakish height had worked against him. Bobby is his usual taciturn self. He talks softly about the junkyard, the cars that need fixing, the dogs. Hell Bobby talks until he is blue in the face – but he never once mentions Dean.

Ellen is different. Her approach is soft, strangely feminine, something Sam had never really thought of in terms of Ellen. She sits by his bed and reads to him; never complaining that he doesn't respond, doesn't talk back. She touches him almost constantly, telling him she understands that it is alright to feel as he does, that things will, eventually, get better. The only thing that Ellen has in common with Bobby is that she doesn't mention Dean either.

When they take out the IV Sam feels worse. He was never a good sleeper at the best of times, but now, what little sleep he does get, is plagued with nightmares. They won't give him pills, given his history, so he is on his own really. He tries to stay awake – watching the tiny little TV in the corner, not ever really seeing – just studying the flickering images. Once or twice he catches sight of the fabric softener teddy bear and he has to bite back tears. The third time he sees the furry creature he throws the remote at the TV – shattering it – and his patient nurse comes in – her blue eyes deep with disappointment.

He hasn't spoken a word in three weeks and he knows that everyone is worried about him. He sees, rather than hears, Bobby and Ellen as they gather into a huddle around his doctor. He can see the sympathy and compassion in their eyes and it makes him want to scream. How can anyone even begin to know how he feels? He swallows back bile and pushes the meal that arrived earlier, away from him. He wonders if starving himself would be any less painful.

"Your brother wouldn't want this" the therapist is gentle, her voice sweet in his ears "From what I understand he sacrificed a lot for you – surely he wouldn't want you to do this to yourself" she leans forward and puts her hand on his knee and he flinches at the contact, his eyes flicking coldly to her face.

He wants to scream, to kick, to cry; What does she know about Dean? How does she know this is not what Dean would want? Hell – Dean hadn't been able to be without Sam for one day – he'd done everything in his power to bring Sam back – and now this was the result. Sam had been without Dean for over a month now and he was already broken beyond repair. He wanted so much to go to his brother – but these damn people – with their well-meaning words and soft sympathetic glances – they just wouldn't let him. Sam didn't care if Dean was in hell – all he knew was that he wanted to be there with him – and he was going to succeed – eventually.

They feed him through a tube and it is painful and humiliating. His patient and red-faced nurse does it, her deep blue eyes unreadable. She doesn't do platitudes or false sympathy like the others; she is practical; her attitude seemingly 'A job is a job'. Sam lies silent throughout the ordeal and refuses to make eye contact. It has been nearly three months now and he hasn't eaten or spoken. He wonders why they won't get the message – but they don't – and they just keep on feeding him, talking to him, visiting him. Sam longs for hell – because he is sure that it can't be any worse than this.

He wasn't there when the hellhounds came for his brother; Dean – fuck him – had sent him out for pizza – pizza – and Sam – being the geek-boy that he was – had gone, wanting to make his brother happy.

They had done everything; Sam had researched until the laptop had blown up and he had had to replace it. He had looked into binding rituals, the breaking of spells and deals, the commanding of demons. He had tapped into his powers, his 'gifts' trying to get the sort of control over demons that Ava had had. Meanwhile, Dean had become reckless, unafraid, shooting down and hauling out all the godforsaken creatures that had walked through hells gates on that fateful evening. The war had been over before it had actually begun and Dean had been proud – of himself and of Sam – 'I'm ready' he'd said – the night he'd sent Sam out for their dinner 'I've had a good life really Sam – despite what you might think – and having you back with me – man – we've been a family again' he'd smiled then and, to Sam's utter astonishment, had hugged him, warm hands on his back, nose buried in his hair. Sam had hugged back and laughed, weakly 'I'm only going out for pizza man" was the last thing he'd ever said to his brother.

Afterwards – they had taken him back to Bobby's – and he'd laid on the bed that was once Deans, his nose pressed into the pillow, smelling his brother on everything that surrounded him – his brother was gone and Sam couldn't get him back. He had no body to reanimate, no corpse to salt and burn, no grave over which to stand and mourn. Sam was alone – an orphan – no one left of his family – no one to love – to fight with – to take care of. Sam was ready to march right into hell and get his brother back – and when he opened the whiskey bottle and laid the pills out on the coverlet in front of him – that was certainly where he was heading.

Sam runs his hands down his chest; he can feel his ribs and the dip in his stomach. He runs his tongue around his dry mouth and smiles – it can't be much longer now – surely.

He feels light-headed and delirious; they don't allow him visitors now and he doesn't actually mind. The feeding tube hurts now and his nose is swollen and sore – Sam closes his eyes – watches stars dance across the darkness and he drifts off – wondering if this is it – if he is finally going to see Dean again.

He can smell something; the tang of leather and old spice; he struggles to open his eyes, but the lids are too heavy and he moans a little, trying to get closer to the scent – it is so familiar –so warm – so like home. He feels a callused hand on his wrist and a harsh voice breathes into his ears

'You always were an emo geek boy Sam' there is laughter there 'Fuck – why do you think I did this for you? For a joke? For a prank? Sam – this is a little more than Nair in your shampoo – this is your life we're talking about Sam – and I want you to live it – do you hear me? – Sam – you stubborn bastard – I did this so you could have your normal – not so you could lay here in this damn bed and die – come on Sam – I don't want this – and you know it' the voice fades a little and Sam can virtually feel the snark 'I love you Sam – easy to say from beyond the abyss isn't it?' Fainter still and Sam feels his eyelids flutter, the scent fading, his body weighing heavy on the bed 'Goodbye Sam'.

When he opens his eyes, the room is empty; his throat aches and his eyes burn, but there is something moving inside of him and he thinks it might be his heart.

His nurse comes in as usual, tube in hand, reaching for the rubber gloves. Sam attempts to sit up and his movement alerts her "Are you alright?" she asks –as if she doesn't expect an answer – and Sam coughs – his eyes meeting hers "I could handle a sandwich" he croaks and that is that.

The sandwich tastes like cardboard and he eats it slowly; sipping the proffered water in between each bite. His nurse breaks off small pieces and watches him closely. As always she says nothing, but he can see the light in her eyes.

His nurse's name is Jess and the irony might make him laugh if it didn't hurt so much. She comes in on a regular basis and brings him books, magazines and a TV to replace the one he broke. He guesses she doesn't do this for all her patents – but he doesn't question it.

He sees his therapist only once "You were right" he croaks out – voice still hoarse from disuse "This isn't what my brother wanted"

"What do you want?" if she is surprised she is professional enough not to show it

"I want to go home" Sam doesn't know where home is – but he knows it isn't here and that is enough – for now.

Ellen has rebuilt the Roadhouse. It is basic and still in the early stages of construction but she welcomes him with open arms. She stands back and looks at him, at his too long hair, his long thin body, the shadows beneath his eyes, the newly formed lines around his mouth and nose. She shakes her head "You're too big to be so thin boy" she says and Sam smiles, weakly. The steak that she cooks that night is far too big for him, but he eats it anyway, even though it takes him almost an hour. Ellen smiles and the next day Bobby arrives without invitation, a bottle of whiskey in his hands, a gruff hello and brief hug telling Sam more than words ever could.

"You have a visitor" Ellen is smiling again and Sam frowns. He has been brushing the floor and dusting the bar, earning his keep. He doesn't know anyone but he follows her anyway – wondering who might be visiting.

For a moment he doesn't recognise her; she is wearing jeans and a vest top that barely covers her breasts. She has untidy hair which hangs in her face and she is clutching a box against her stomach, her cheeks pink when Sam stares at her "Nurse Jess?"

"I brought you cookies" she states and he smiles suddenly – stomach clenching

"Thanks"

Sam thinks of the other women he has been involved with; of Jess and her elegance; of Sarah – so beautiful and self-assured; of Madison with her intelligence and sense of humour. He thinks of the women that Dean picked up, randomly at every diner, every motel, every bar; he thinks of his mom; of Jo – the fierce hunter and of Ellen. In all this time he has never met anyone quite like Nurse Jess. She is so different to anybody he has ever known and he can't quite explain it – and doesn't know if he wants to. She spills pasta sauce down her on their first date and laughs about it for days afterwards, she brings him homemade sandwiches and cookies, she sits on the floor of the roadhouse in the dust and grime and she beats Bobby at darts every time. Sam watches her and finds himself grinning – sure that Dean would like this girl – that Dean would approve.

He can think of Dean without pain now and he realises that nearly a year has passed since that fateful day – two years since he 'died' and nearly four years since Jess burnt to death on the ceiling of his dorm and sent him spiralling away from normal and back into hunting again.

Sometimes he can hear his brother's voice – and it makes him smile – because Dean is saying to him 'Sam – marry that girl'.

The baby whimpers and wriggles in Sam's arms and Sam tips him back; huge hand cradling his tiny head, his eyes fixed on his son's scrunched up face. The baby yawns – looking almost bored – then opens his eyes and looks straight at Sam – eyes wide and green and so knowing that it takes his breath away.

Sam holds the soft body closer; breathing in the sweet scent of his son – his child. He glances over at Jess – who looks exhausted but happy – her face flushed, eyes shining, plain face transformed into something almost beyond beauty.

Sam knows he has a new soul in his hands tonight and he knows what he must do to protect him. He leans forward, his mouth against the baby's ear, thankful that he has been given this opportunity, this chance of life "Hey Dean" he whispers "I'm gonna be taking care of you this time around"

The End