Sam lay on the bed, battered and bruised.

And quite possibly broken.

Forever.

He drifted in and out of sleep.

Unconscious, incoherent mumblings escaped his parched lips.

Across the room a set of eyes were trained on him, never wavering, never moving an inch.

It was his salvation, and yet he didn't even know it.

Dean waited and inhaled, each breath hiding a silent prayer.

He saw a slight movement on the bed and in an instant he was at Sam's side.

"Sammy?"

Eyelids flickered, struggling to focus.

A hand reached out, lost, looking to be found.

And Dean was there.