A/N I know I've been AWOL for a while but I've had a major case of writer's block coupled with ridiculous levels of stress in RL but I'm back with a few new ideas. I don't know if I'm ready to write about Season Four yet, particularly considering my mixed feelings on the season in reference to the direction they are taking Sam and Dean's characters. But anyway, this is an AU of In My Time of Dying, I apologise it's short, rushed unbeta'd and just...yeah but I had to start again somewhere. Tell me what you think : )

The room fades in and out of focus, white wash walls and ceilings, buzzing and beeping, muffled voices. Your whole body feels heavy, each thought wades slowly through the swamp-like mess that is your mind.

Before the room fades out again you catch a glimpse of chestnut hair and green eyes and you feel a cold hand grip yours, then you sink back into the warm waters of oblivion.

The second time you wake up your father is at your bedside, his calloused hand in yours and his brown eyes are shining. You frown and open your mouth which works soundlessly. John presses a hand against your forehead and strokes your hair, he's saying something in a low soothing voice but you can't hear what he's saying but the moisture in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. Something is wrong.

You turn your head, the room swimming and see Sam standing in the doorway, watching you sadly.

The third time you wake up you remember everything, the demon, the colt, the crash. you remember bleeding in the back seat, the glare of headlights and the sickening sound of metal and glass.

"Is somebody there?" You rasp, throat like sandpaper. The room is silent other than the steady beeping of the machines. You try to sit up in the bed but agony rips through your chest like fire and you groan, tears springing to your eyes as you sink back against the pillows.

"Don't try to move."

Sam's voice carries from across the room. He rises slowly from the chair in the corner and walks towards the bed.

"Sam"

Your voice breaks in the middle of the word as you study your brother's face, other than a dark bruise marring Sam's temple he seems unscathed by the accident and a feeling of relief washes over you that's so strong you feels yourself physically deflate.

"You okay?"

Sam nods, a look in his eyes that you can't quite read.

"I should be asking you that, you scared the shit out of me Dean." Sam says, still hovering awkwardly by your bedside.

"How long have I been out?" You ask, attention divided by the flickering light that is really starting to piss you off.

"Three days, the doctors say you're going to be okay it was uh…it was touch and go for a while."

You flinch at the haunted tone to Sam's voice, something you haven't heard since Jess died and you begin to feel the suffocating exhaustion creeping in again.

"Where's Dad? Is he okay?" You ask with a thick voice and heavy lids.

"He's fine, he's resting…something you should be doing, you look like shit."

Sam's smirk eases your worry but something still doesn't seem right. Sam isn't telling you something.

"Gee thanks Sam, I think you need to work on your bedside manner." You mumble in reply, exhaustion weighing more heavily upon you with each passing second.

"Shutup and go to sleep…" Sam says and you do.

Each time you wake, Sam or John is sitting at your bedside watching you, looking tired and haggard and you drift in and out, unaware of how much time passes between each bout of wakefulness. You're unnerved by the looks you get from John and Sam when you are awake and you're unnerved by your own lack of lucidity. Time drifts, you can hear the TV droning in the background, going static and flickering. Nobody is watching it so nobody fixes the aerial and you're never awake long enough to complain about the snowstorm picture.

It's dark when you next open your eyes, you struggle to adjust to the dimness in the room and squint across. After a few seconds you make out Sam, hunched in the chair next to your bed. He lifts his gaze sensing your movement and sits forward, smiling lopsidedly at you.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Sam asks, eyes studying you through the semi-darkness.

"Pretty much like a demon tried to make steak tartare out of my organs…I've been better." You reply, your attempts at levity falling flat when you see the look on Sam's face. An awkward silence passes, the ECG monitor ticking like a clock as seconds drift past.

You almost flinch when Sam suddenly breaks the silence, leaning forward and looking at you, his face a myriad of emotions.

"Dean, you don't believe any of the things the demon said do you?" He asks you, levelling you with his serious expression. You swallow and look away, uncomfortable. The demon's words have been haunting you both in and out of the waking world.

You need them more than they need you

You don't say anything and that's enough of an answer for Sam.

"Dean, demons lie. I need you, Dad needs you." He says, voice wavering ever so slightly and you blink hard, not able to bring yourself to look at your brother.

"Sam-" You start but he cuts you off.

"No Dean look, you are what has made this family last as long as it has…Without you me and Dad would have killed each other long ago. You're my big brother Dean of course I've needed you, more than you've needed me. Don't doubt yourself." He says softly. You swallow hard.

"Okay Dr Phil…Jeez how hard did you hit your head?" You reply hoping Sam can't see your wobbly smile.

"Shutup Jerk."

"Bitch."

There's an easy silence, you stare up at the ceiling sleep beginning to creep in at the corner of your vision when you're pulled awake by a soft-

"I love you Dean...Goodnight"

Even through the haze of impending sleep you feel a spark of fear run down your spine, how bad had things been?

"Thanks…I guess I sort of like you too Samantha" You mumble in reply, eyes sliding shut and the last thought that runs through your head before you sink into sleep is that you're going to have to talk to Sam in the morning.

The next time you wake up, the doctors are there, they finally have their official talk about what happened, about the surgery, concussion, internal bleeding and how lucky you are to be alive. You nod when you are supposed to nod, waiting for them to tell you when you can get out of here, when you can get to work on the car and eat greasy diner food rather than the mushy hospital crap they gave you this morning.

The doctors sentence you to another week of imprisonment and John silences your imminent complaint with a look. As the doctor continues to talk about not moving, not straining yourself and yadda yadda, you study your father, you've never seen him look more tired, more beaten down. The circles around his eyes are darker than ever and the lines around his eyes seem far more pronounced. He looks old.

The doctor eventually leaves and the room falls into silence. You shiver and pull the blankets tighter around yourself as you father watches you, his gaze weighing upon you heavily.

"So where's Sam at this morning?" You ask noticing the lack of lanky, girly younger brother in the room.

John turns away from you looking out the window seeming not to hear a word you've said.

"Dad…" You venture and he turns to face you, face drawn and tired.

"Dean…"

The word falls heavy like an anvil. Sunlight filters through the slats in the blinds, John's face is bathed in light and the tears in John's eyes scare you more than any demon, ghost or monster ever could.

"Dad…what's going on, where's Sam?" You ask, unable to keep the tremor from your voice as blood rushes through your ears with a steady roaring sound.

Deep down you know what he's going to say, John's expression says everything but you need to hear the words, need John to say it for you to believe it, for it to be true.

"Dad...please." Your voice breaks and John looks away blinking as tears course down his bearded face.

Each second lasts an eternity, the air thick and you can't seem to draw breath until finally John swallows hard and clears his throat thickly.

"Sam he uh…he hit his head against the window. He called for help… saved your life and mine. He made it all the way to the hospital but he…he…there were complications and-"

"No no no no…no…Sammy…he…" You shake your head, swallowing against the lump forming in your throat. This wasn't right, this wasn't right. You feel like someone's just thrown a bucket of cold water at you, John's words crashing you into an overwhelming state of numbness.

The flickering lights, the television, the icy temperatures… "I love you Dean"

No.

"Dean, I'm…I'm sorry." John says moving closer to the bed and reaching for your hand. You pull yours away and turn your head towards the wall struggling to breathe.

"He can't be…he was here, he was standing right there a few hours ago. I spoke to him he…he can't be gone." You close your eyes, scalding tears sliding down your cheeks, Sam's sad green eyes haunting him.

"Dean…"

"Don't, there's nothing you can say that will make this okay…Sam's gone, I just…What am I supposed to do…Why, just… I can't…I…"

Your breath hitches, tears flowing faster down your face as you struggle to breathe, sobs catching in your throat as you bury your face into your pillow barely feeling John's arm on your back, or the tremors running through it.

You can't get the image of Sam alone in an ambulance out of your head, was he scared? Was he in pain? Was he asking for him?

Sam was gone…the thought doesn't seem to register. You will never see your brother again. The words don't make sense.

You don't say a word as you get into Bobby's truck, you don't acknowledge Bobby's "I'm sorry." You haven't spoken to your father since he told you what happened, haven't acknowledged your doctors more than was necessary to convince them to let you out and that you didn't need grief counselling.

You haven't slept, every time you close your eyes you see Sam. You needed to go and see him, you didn't know what you'd expected to see, for him to look peaceful or cold or what but he didn't- he just looked dead, that same bruise the only mark on his pale skin.

You haven't shed a tear, not even when you watched Sam's body burn, when you scattered his ashes in Lawrence at your mother's grave, when you finally realised you would never see him again even though his ghost or spirit or whatever it was hadn't come back since Sam had said goodnight at the hospital.

This wasn't how things were supposed to happen, Sam wasn't supposed to die and leave you alone, he wasn't supposed to die in a stupid car accident. Sam was supposed to be with you, he was supposed to kill the yellow eyed demon and then get the normal life he always wanted, go back to school, be happy.

You think of all the things you never got to say, how proud you are of him, that you love him I guess I sort of like you too, that he was your brother and your best friend.

Within a week or two John was gone again, chasing up another lead, looking for the demon. He'd tried to convince you to come, talking about doing it for Sam.

What was the point, Sam was dead, he wouldn't know anyway. You can't bring yourself to care about the demon, not if Sam wasn't by your side to hunt it with you.

You've thought several times about putting a gun in your mouth but every time you even picked one up it felt too heavy in his hands and you could see Sam's sad eyes at the hospital behind your warped reflection in the grey metal.

You don't know what to do. You can't bring himself to care enough about going back to hunting but it's all you know, you could go and live the normal life Sam wanted you to have but where would he start?

You don't know anything anymore; you just know that you want your little brother back and that suddenly all the years ahead of you seem impossibly long.