A/N: Sorry for the delay on this update. Right now my other cat Deanie (can you guess who she is named after?) is suffering from an ear infection so unfortunately there has been more stress in my life. Thank-you for all the kind reviews and pms, and also to those who followed or favorited. I will respond to reviews and pms soon. I promise.

A/N 2: This chapter contains words from the poem "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. I hope you enjoy this chapter and you come back for the conclusion.

"Let me see!" Dean said, trying to compose himself. Sam weakly grabbed at the branch, suddenly delirious, trying to pull it out. Dean grabbed his hands and sat Sam back down on the ground to examine the wound. Blood was starting to blossom around the branch but not a significant amount which meant leaving the branch in place was the best option. He looked at Sam's back and could not find an exit wound so it hadn't pierced him all the way through. However, he didn't know how deep it was embedded.

Sam was quiet through Dean's ministrations and Dean realized Sam had passed out.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, tapping him on the cheek. He knew Sam was probably going into shock and they still had to hike out of there. He also wasn't feeling fit as a fiddle himself with his own blood loss. Sam gave him a dazed look as he came to once again.

"Don't feel so good," Sam murmured.

"That's not surprising, considering you have a tree sticking out of your chest," Dean deadpanned.

Suddenly Sam bent over, retching and dry heaving. Dean grabbed him, terrified Sam would jostle the branch and die instantly.

Blood trickled down Sam's lips. Dean didn't know if it was from his injury or the trials. He couldn't imagine that Sam's body could take anymore abuse with what he'd been through recently.

"You good?" Dean asked, when Sam finally stopped.

Sam nodded, unable to speak. Dean carefully helped Sam to his feet, a pained expression crossing both their faces.

"You're hurt Dean," Sam said, when Dean cringed from the pain of draping Sam's arm over his shoulder. "What about the hunters?" Sam continued. "My fault."

"Shut up Sam," Dean spat, matter of factly. Right now he didn't give a rat's ass about them or Sam's guilt trip. His only concern was getting them out of this mess.

They walked painstakingly through the wet snow. Dean could hear Sam's labored breathing in his ear. Dean followed their footprints back, thankful that the snow hadn't accumulated too much and covered the tracks so that he could remember the way back.

After what seemed like hours, Dean finally had to admit to himself that he needed a break. His feet were getting numb. He stopped by the stream from earlier preparing for how he would get the two of them across this time. He wasn't sure of its depth. He knew snow had melted in the area probably recently so it could be deeper than usual or potentially still just a fairly shallow stream. He wondered how Sam had crossed it before and how he had even made it this far at all.

Probably the same way he keeps going with these trials, Dean thought ruefully. Dean found a nearby tree to prop Sam up on and he took a moment to let himself rest. The scratches across his shoulder pulled and ached and he could see he had lost more blood himself. He imagined that he looked like a wreck but it couldn't be anywhere near as bad as Sam looked. The kid's face was a ghastly white, his breath coming in short, fast gasps.

He was just about to tell Sam they should get going when he saw Sam start to pitch forward. Sam's eyes rolled up in his head and he fell face first into the stream.

No, Dean thought in horror.

If Sam had fallen on that thing than it might be too late. Thankfully only Sam's face and upper body had fallen in the water. He heaved Sam up who was now soaking wet from the chest up and freezing. It was hard to believe he was so cold, considering just earlier that day, he was practically an inferno. It was lucky that Sam had fallen in the stream though or else the branch would have most likely pierced something vital. The depth of the water had prevented that from happening. Dean could see that the branch had shifted maybe slightly as blood was leaking more from the wound. Sam let out a strangled gurgle and blood bubbled again from his lips. He knew they were running out of time. He yanked Sam up, not caring anymore about what damage he was causing. Damaged Sammy, was better than dead Sammy.

He directed Sam over the rocks, kicking Sam's legs with his own to get them to move and find procurement on the rocks. Just because where Sam had fallen in didn't seem that deep didn't mean the rest of it wasn't. There was no way he was risking Sam going under.

"Hey Sam?" Dean said, thinking of a way to keep Sam awake and moving. "Remember that poetry recitation contest?"

"When…you…were a finalist?" Sam rasped out.

"Yeah that's the one. We were in town for that poltergeist hunt, remember? Dad broke a couple of ribs so we were in school for a good month that time."

Sam just nodded, looking like talking was too much of an effort.

"Well I was a junior and you were what in 8th grade?"

"Seventh," Sam whispered.

"Good you're more with it then I thought," Dean said, cheered that Sam remembered. "Remember how I didn't even want to participate but it was part of my grade and you drove me nuts about memorizing the poem?"

Sam rolled his eyes at him, huffing out a sigh as they continued to plod along, now safely past the stream.

"Well this reminds me of the poem."

Sam looked at him, his eyes filled with confusion.

"Stopping…By…Woods," Sam began.

"On a Snowy Evening," Dean finished for him. "I still remember it," Dean said, as they began their descent down the path. "Whose woods these are I think I know," Dean began the poem. Then he glanced at Sam for a response.

"His…house is in…the village…though," Sam continued.

The words were spoken haltingly with intense effort but this is what Dean needed. He needed Sam to keep talking to keep going. He could see him fading right before his eyes.

"He will not see me stopping here," Dean went on.

"To…watch…his woods fill up…with snow," Sam finished, breathlessly.

"You remember!" Dean exclaimed.

They kept going back and forth with the lines, Sam's voice getting softer as they went.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," Dean continued as they neared the end of the poem and the end of their journey back to the car.

Sam was silent this time, his head drooping on to Dean's shoulder.

"Come on Sammy. You don't want to be upstaged by your brother, do you?"

"But…I have…promises…to keep," Sam breathlessly sounded out.

"That a boy Sammy!" Dean congratulated him. "And miles to go before I sleep," Dean continued.

He looked to Sam again for the last line, but he knew Sam was done. His breaths were coming out as a slight whistle now.

"And miles to go before I sleep," Dean finished for the both of them. His brother did have miles to go and he wasn't going to let him quit now.

He dragged Sam the rest of the way. By the end, he wasn't even sure Sam was moving his feet at all. He was barely conscious.

"You with me?" Dean asked him every few moments just to ensure Sam was breathing. Sam would just grunt in response.

Once they reached the car, Dean opened the door as fast as he could, placing his precious burden, his brother inside. He ran to the trunk, grabbing a towel and a blanket. He carefully wrapped the towel around the branch, pressing it to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. He covered Sam with the blanket in an attempt to warm him. Sam's breaths were coming in pained gasps now, a slightly bluish tinge to his lips, his eyes half lidded.

Dean hopped into the driver side praying it wouldn't take his classic car too long to get going. He cranked the heat to try to warm the half soaked Sam and his own frozen toes. He knew they probably both had the beginnings of frostbite on their feet. However, despite being still somewhat drenched, he could swear as soon as Sam dried and warmed ever so slightly, he was starting to feel heat coming from his brother, the fever taking hold again.

He turned on the windshield wipers to get rid of the thin crust of snow on the windshield. Dean only wished he hadn't been lying before about the abandoned ranger station because maybe they could have done something to help Sam, to keep him alive until he could get him to the hospital.

"Am…I…a…bad…person?" Sam huffed out, suddenly lucid for a mere moment again.

Dean looked at him confusedly, noting that Sam had again slipped into unconsciousness before he could answer him.

He put his hand against Sam's neck, satisfied with the unsteady beat thrumming against his fingers. He gunned the engine, as each turn of the wheel pulled at the wounds in his injured shoulder. He kept glancing over at Sam, trying to keep his eyes on the road, but he was distracted at how slumped over Sam was, gurgling sounds escaping his lips. Stopping to check Sam, however, wasn't even an option at this point. The sooner he was under medical care the better.

He remembered seeing an emergency room just outside of town when he and Sam had arrived because he half expected to need to take Sam to it with how extremely ill he seemed.

Finally he found it, pulling up to the front doors and running out of the car.

"My brother's outside! He needs help!" He shouted to a haggard looking receptionist, when he ran into the hospital. Finally the relatively quiet hospital sprang to life as a stretcher and a team of medical professionals rushed outside.

Carefully they opened the door to the car as Sam nearly fell out of it as he was slumped against the window.

"We have an impalement here," one of the doctors shouted. "His pulse is thready and respirations are practically nonexistent."

Carefully Sam was lifted out of the car and Dean noted with alarm how limp Sam was, how he flopped like a ragdoll. They placed him on a stretcher, began bagging him, and rushed him into the ER.

Dean tried to follow behind but suddenly he felt his own knees start to buckle. He felt firm hands grip him as he himself was placed on a stretcher. He cursed himself for his own weakness. He didn't need to be admitted to a hospital. He needed to be there for Sam.

He was wheeled into an adjoining room, swinging doors the only thing separating him from his brother. He could see that Sam was being worked on next door. He turned his head to the side to look through the windows on the door. He could see Sam, so pale under the glaring fluorescent lights, his clothes being cut off, the bruises that were starting to form all over him.

"Dean!" Sam yelped, suddenly jarring awake as if he could sense his brother was close but couldn't quite reach him. Sam struggled weakly, seemingly disoriented, his hand outstretched in the direction of his brother as he went limp once again. Dean began to struggle himself to get up off the stretcher to see his brother.

Alarms were sounding in Sam's room and frantic words were being yelled out.

"Get me X ray stat! We need to see how much damage this thing did. The kid's crashing!" He watched as Sam's head was tilted back, a tube slid down his throat. "Get me plasma! He's hypovolemic and bottoming out." Dean barely registered that he was being held back from getting up.

"Sir, sir," a voice said to him, trying to hold him down, to pull his eyes away, pull his face back. "They are doing what they can for him. Let's worry about you right now. Can you tell me your name?"

"It's Dean," he answered curtly, as a penlight was shined in his eyes.

"Look I'm fine," Dean said as he again tried to get up, batting the doctor's hand away.

"You have four slashes down your shoulder and arm that tell me otherwise," the doctor responded in kind. "Your feet are also showing signs of some frostbite."

Dean ignored him.

"What's your friend's name?"

"It's Sam. He's not my friend. He's my brother." He wasn't sure he had answered correctly though. He couldn't really define Sam. He was his brother, yes, in the simplest terms, but yet he was so much more. Friend, confidante, supporter protector. Reason he breathed and lived.

"How did you and your brother get hurt like this?" The doctor asked.

"Camping trip," Dean answered automatically. "Got attacked by a cougar. Sam climbed a tree to get the drop on it and then he fell." It was almost the truth.

"Sounds like you two work like a well-oiled machine."

"Yeah we do." It was true.

Dean could hear more frantic beeping which diverted his attention again.

"These don't look too deep. You did lose some blood however, so we want to get you on an IV and stitch you up. We want to get your feet warmed up too and get you a tetanus shot. We might have to consider the animal was rabid too. What happened to it?"

"Got away," Dean lied, still straining to see Sam. He could see now that they were trying to saw part of the branch down to remove it.

"Then you might need a series of rabies shots."

Dean ignored him.

The doctor looked at him in exasperation, finally disappearing through the swinging doors of Sam's room. Then Dean heard more commotion, more loud beeping, and saw only a blur as Sam was whisked away.

His doctor spoke in hushed tones with Sam's but he couldn't take his eyes off the doctor whose rubber gloves were slick with Sam's blood. Finally, he made his way back to Dean.

"Listen the branch was sitting on an artery and they thought they could remove it without causing damage. However, the branch must have nicked the artery so when they took it out, Sam started to hemorrhage.

"What?" Dean asked angrily. What kind of idiots do you have working here?"

"They are taking Sam up to surgery to repair the artery," the doctor continued, ignoring his tirade. "We'll know more in a couple of hours."

"Listen stitch me up now because I'm not staying here any longer than I have to," Dean said, aggressively, not caring about his tone.

Fifty stitches later, 30 inside, and 20 out, arm fixed in a sling, Dean made his way to the waiting room to see if there was information on Sam. He had reluctantly agreed to the IV while they stitched him up and only stayed under the blanket long enough to warm his toes. The doctor said there was only slight frostbite so if he wasn't in any danger of losing his toes, he wasn't too concerned. He blathered on again about rabies shots but Dean knew that unless they had rabies shots for Wendigos, it wasn't necessary.

Dean went over to the front desk, now occupied by someone new after a change in shift. However, no one would give him any information. He felt pain set into his arm but he had refused any pain medication because he wanted to be lucid for Sam.

After two and half hours, his back was numb from the hard plastic chair, his shoulder pulsating painfully, but that couldn't compare to the anger that was threatening to boil over if he didn't hear something soon. He didn't know what was taking so long and he was frightened to think of what damage to Sam's body they would find from the trials. He was just about to get up and yell at the first person he saw when a doctor emerged from behind the doors. She immediately sought him out, obviously familiar with their case.

"How is he?" Dean asked immediately, cutting to the chase.

Dean saw a look cross her face as if she wasn't sure how to start.

"Why don't we have a seat?" She suggested.

Dean didn't like this one bit as he sat back down in the unforgiving chair.

"I'm Dr. Shay," She said, extending a hand. "Dr. Moriati told me about you."

"Who?" Dean asked, shaking her hand.

"Your doctor," She said.

Dean hadn't bothered to get his name.

"I'm not surprised you didn't catch his name. He said you were pretty concerned about your brother."

"I am," Dean said, getting impatient.

"Well it's miraculous how little damage the branch caused. If it had been a centimeter to the right, it would have—"

"Look, I get the sense you are prolonging the inevitable here. You're trying to tell me how lucky my brother is, but why do I feel like there is more to this?"

"Well there have been complications."

"Complications?"

"Sam suffered significant blood loss. We lost him for a few minutes."

Dean felt his head start to swim. The words sounded foreign to him. Lost him? He didn't quite want to grasp the ramifications of that, that she meant Sam's heart had stopped because losing Sam was never an option, never.

"But you just said the branch didn't do that much damage?"

"It didn't. It didn't strike any organs, thankfully. No major arteries. It did nick one which is why when we removed it, Sam started to bleed. However, he lost nearly 60% of his blood volume."

"Come again?" Dean questioned her. When he nicked himself shaving, it was a small cut. Losing all that blood sounded like it had eviscerated the artery.

"Normally Sam probably would be recovering. He didn't lose that much blood from being impaled, but there are problems due to his anemia. Were you aware Sam was so anemic?" The doctor asked, sensing his confusion.

"Anemic?" Dean asked.

"Yes, we've run tests and it's the only explanation for the blood loss. Was Sam in an accident before?"

"No," Dean shook his head quietly. It was all he could muster. He knew what she was driving at. It was the trials, spitting up blood. It's why Sam was so anemic.

"Right now he has signs of Hemolytic anemia such as petechial hemorrhaging. He has several splotches on his skin that could be the result of the fall or a previous injury. This is consistent with anemia, bruising easily. He appears to have hemorrhaged previously in other areas, however, particularly the lungs. Did you ever see your brother coughing up blood?"

He thought of lying but either way, he knew he was going to look bad.

"Actually yes, He hasn't been feeling too good lately. We were going to get him checked out soon but…"Dean dropped off, chewing his lip.

The doctor eyeballed him carefully but continued.

"Well it appears he has a low grade infection in his lungs too and it's affecting his breathing. That might account for the damage to his lungs."

"The kid is really stubborn," Dean responded. "He had his heart set on this camping trip and wouldn't go to the ER," Dean said, suddenly feeling the need to make excuses.

"Well that's not important right now. What's important is sustaining Sam's life."

"But how is he?" Dean asked. The doctor was throwing out all this information but she never told him what he needed to hear.

"His condition is critical," she said.

And that was just what he didn't want to hear. He wanted to hear they were patching the kid up, giving him some blood, and he'd be fine.

"Right now we are trying to restore his blood volume, iron, and treat him with antibiotics to contain the infection and help with the anemia. We also treated him for some mild hypothermia and frostbite. However, now that he is warmed up, he is running a fever and his body is showing signs of shutting down."

"Shutting down?"

"It's not uncommon when the body is denied blood to function properly. I'm sure your brother has been lightheaded and nauseous, running a fever. He isn't breathing on his own. Frankly his body is weak. I'm not saying you are your brother's keeper but he should not have went so long without medical treatment."

No he was his brother's keeper. He was an idiot not to take Sam to the hospital in the first place.

"Can I see him," Dean asked.

"Yes, once he is out of recovery, they'll move him to the ICU."

Dean dropped his head and nodded.

I should be taking you to the ER.
They can't do anything for me.

He thought of their conversation from before. Why had he even listened to Sam? He should have called an ambulance when he found him on the hotel room floor unconscious like that. He still wasn't certain if the doctors could heal him but they maybe could have at least prevented him from getting any worse, given him something to make him feel better.

ooooo

After another hour of waiting with Dean going over the various scenarios in his head on what he could have done differently, he was directed to Sam's room.

He entered Sam's room tentatively, nervous about just how bad Sam would look. He wasn't wrong in his assumption. Sam looked terrible. His face was practically alabaster, whiter than the sheets. His chest moved up and down mechanically with the respirator. IV bags hung above Sam, one containing blood. Even though Sam was being provided with the oxygen he so desperately needed, his lips still retained the bluish tinge. The splotches the doctor discussed with him stood out on his face and arms, appearing like little broken blood vessels all over his skin. Coupled with the scratches on his face, and the red rimming around his eyes, he hardly looked like Sam at all.

He walked over to Sam's bed, taking it in. Sam's appearance frightened him but this was still his pain in the ass little brother and he needed to stay strong for him. He reached out a hand, placing it on top of Sam's.

"You're still warm dude," Dean said, unsure of what to say.

He pulled up a chair and sat beside Sam, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. He sat staring at his brother in the silence. He should have been the one to do the trials. He should be the one in the hospital bed if anything, not Sam. He had failed, himself and his brother.

ooooo

Two days went by with Dean keeping his vigil. Sam hadn't stirred at all. He watched Sam's doctor and nurses come in and out. They'd changed the bandage on his chest and Dean had nearly gasped aloud when he saw the spectacular array of colors covering Sam's body. He couldn't be sure if those bruises were all from the fall or from previous scuffles. Sometimes he'd ask the staff how Sam was but he'd grown accustomed to the answers they all gave: "Same" or "Holding his own."

He looked up as Sam's door swung open again and a nurse walked in. She smiled at him as she walked over to Sam. She did the usual routine. She took his temperature, peered at the monitors and wrote down some information in Sam's chart. However, then she seemed to pause for a moment, intently staring at Sam's face. She lifted up his eyelids and inspected Sam's eyes.

Dean felt his hackles go up, wondering just what was going on.

He didn't get a chance to ask her as she left the room. However, she returned moments later with Sam's doctor, Dr. Shay.

Dr. Shay performed the same examination on Sam, as Dean sat there, afraid to even ask.

"Is something wrong?" He asked finally. He knew there was so he didn't even know why he bothered.

"We need to take some blood from Sam and run some tests."

"That's not answering my question," Dean stated firmly. "Is he getting any better?"

"I wish I could tell you differently," she began. "However, unfortunately it looks like Sam is getting worse."

TBC