"Thanks, Garth, I'll keep you posted. Yeah, alright." Dean said, snapping his phone shut. He began to open the motel room door, but it was locked… he didn't remember locking it. "Sam… Sam, open the door!" He called. Sam didn't answer. Dean was worried. He banged on the door, yelling for Sam to open it. Remembering what he had stored in his back pocket, he pulled out the lock pick. Fumbling with the lock, he eventually pushed the door open. Standing in the middle of the messy motel room was Dean's little brother… holding a gun to his head.

Dean stopped in his tracks, and dropped his cell phone clumsily. "Sammy… don't do it… it's okay… Sam, please don't." Dean stammered, slowly walking up to Sam.

"Dean… I'm sorry…" Sam sighed; tear after tear falling down his cheeks. He gripped the gun's trigger. Just as he pulled it, Dean lurched forward and pushed Sam to the ground, hoping to avert the bullet's path…

Now, Dean paced around the hospital hallway, waiting for Sam's surgeon to come back. His surgery had lasted two hours longer than expected… Dean knew what happened. He plopped down in the closest chair.

"He's dead… he's dead…" Dean cried, cradling his head in his arms, rocking back in forth. He felt a soft hand rub his back. He looked over, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeve. A woman with a soft face looked at him with a solemn expression.

"Who?" She asked. Her voice was as soft as her features. She had a strong British accent.

"My little brother." Dean huffed in a deep voice, trying to cover the sound of his sobs.

"My little sister is in one of those rooms… she has leukemia… what happened to your brother she asked, pulling her dark hair back.

"He shot himself…" More tears poured down his face. "I… uh… I tackled him. The doctor said that it could have saved his life… but it might kill him… He's dead… I know he's dead." He sat back in the uncomfortable hospital chair. The girl held out her hand in an offer to comfort Dean. He took it, and thanked her.

"Mr. Bancroft." Dean looked up. That was the alias that he used for identity and to pay for Sam's surgery. Dean stood up, and braced himself for the bad news. He bit his bottom lip. "Your brother is alive." Dean sighed heavily in relief. "But I wouldn't get your hopes up. You see, the bullet grazed his cerebellum, and I repaired it us much as I can... it is possible that your brother's movement and/or motor functions could be faltered. Think of it like a computer without the mouse. You can't do anything with the computer." The doctor said.

"A computer… you are analyzing my brother's brain as a computer?" He crossed his arms, and bit his bottom lip. The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Dean cut him off. "Can I go see Sam?" He asked. He nodded, and Dean shuffled past him into Sam's hospital room.

"Oh no…" He cried, as he viewed his baby brother lying limp in the uncomfortable hospital bed. He had a bandage wrapped around his head. He had wires stuck in various parts of his body. Dean limped over to the chair next to the bed. He took Sam's hand in his, and stroked his arms, just like he used to, to help Sam fall asleep when he was little. Tears started to fall down his face again. "Sammy… I can't do this without you. Please… I know that you are in pain… But I can help you. I can carry you." He sobbed, pressing his forehead against his arm and closing his eyes.

"Dean…" He heard a faint whisper say. He looked up. Sam's eyes were faintly open, and he was barely awake.

"Sammy!" Dean's hands flew up to Sam's face, and cupped his chin. "Sammy, you're gonna be okay. I'm here." Sam coughed, and Dean raced to the cup of water that rested on the counter across the room. He bent the straw just enough so it fit into Sam's mouth. He took a breath, and sucked up the water. "That a' boy." When Dean set the cup down, he tilted his head. He opened his mouth, but closed it, not wanting to ask about what Sam tried to do.

"My head hurts…" He said, scratching the bandage.

"Don't scratch!" Dean exclaimed with a smile on his face. Just like when they were little, and Sam had mosquito bites all up his arms.

"Dean? What happened to me?" Sam asked." Dean's face went blank. Sam didn't remember. That's a good thing, right? Dean thought. Maybe Sam didn't realize what he was doing… maybe he was possessed or something.

"I don't know…" He lied. "I found you on the floor." Dean patted Sam's thigh. "I'm going to grab the doctor. Be right back." Dean stood up, and Sam closed his eyes. He was tired. He ran the events of the week, right up until they checked into the hotel. The last thing he remembered was when Dean left the room to get food. He couldn't think of anything out of the normal. Like he just fell asleep on the bed.

"Mr. Bancroft, I see you're awake." The doctor smiled, as he walked in behind Dean.

"So, you're the famous doctor that fixed up my brain." Sam half smiled, and extended his hand. The doctor shook it.

"I was fairly certain that you might not have woken up." Dr. Hightower shrugged.

"I'm glad I did."

The doctor explained how careful Sam would have to be in order to stay alive. Dean would have to watch him for the next three days, making sure that he doesn't fall asleep. Sam would listen to the doctor… but Dean tuned out. He thought about why the HELL Sam would try to do this to himself. Was it the strain of the trials? He ran ideas over and over through his head, but he couldn't think of anything out of the ordinary besides the trial.

"I'm going to go get some coffee. I've been awake for three days straight." Dean said, stretching up and rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. The doctor and Sam nodded, and Dean left the room. Instead of going for coffee, he went straight to the bar around the corner.

He sat at the bar, sipping his scotch. "Hey," He heard next to him. He looked over. The same girl that comforted him sat on the stool next to him. "I know you."

Dean chuckled. "Hey."

"How's your brother?" She asked, ordering two shots for herself and Dean.

"He's alive. How about your sister?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes. A tear leaked down her cheek, and she sniffled. "Oh… I'm so sorry…"

"Rosalie… I'm Rose." She sniffed.

"I'm Dean. How old was your sister?" He asked, rubbing her back.

"Thirteen. She was already dying… but there was nothing I wouldn't have done for a few more months."

"Well, think of it as falling asleep. She didn't suffer." Dean shrugged.

"I suppose so… Um, what do you to?" She asked, her accent seeping through her voice.

"You could say that I'm a traveler." Dean chuckled. Rose cocked her head in confusion. "Long story. You?" Dean asked.

"I am a journalist, but I haven't got a job at the moment." She laughed.

"What are you doing in America?" Dean signaled over the bartender. He ordered two more drinks, and slid one over to Rose.

"Well, Alex, my sister wasn't getting the best treatment back in London. We were told that there were these great doctors in America, so we hopped on the first flight. Some help that was. Not to mention the debt I'm in…" She trailed off.

"Listen, Rose. I have to get back to my brother. Will you come with me?" He asked. Rose contemplated for a minute, but then decided that there wouldn't be any harm. She nodded. As they walked down the hall, Dean reached out, and gripped Rose's hand. She looked up at him, unable to understand why he would want her to come with him. But it didn't matter. He wanted her.