~o0o~

The sequel to 'Lost'

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Found

Chapter Two

"I felt it happen y'know." The statement came without warning; Dean's gaze was fixed on the bed covers as his fingers traced an aimless pattern across the material.

Sam froze, listening intently. In the days since the surgery his brother's behaviour had been reasonably normal, aside perhaps from an uncharacteristic lack of protest about being looked after and medical care in general. As yet, he'd failed to talk in detail about any of the events leading up to his arrival in hospital.

"Felt what happen?" he encouraged gently. Dean flicked a glance at him, looked away again.

"When I hit the wall, it hurt like crap…" He gestured at his head. "Worse than before. Then the pain just kinda went away. I had this feeling of pressure; I knew something bad had gone down. But suddenly I could remember; I looked up and you were there and I was so happy man." A little smile, fading quickly. "Then my face goes numb and there's this noise... and everything just stops, like someone threw a switch… and I was stood by Jess…" He ground to a halt, mouth tight, took a couple of shaky breaths. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for her."

Sam put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. His brother was clearly upset and he struggled for the right words to comfort him. How do you tell someone it's okay that their little brother's dead girlfriend saved their life, while that same brother was doing CPR on their body?

It seemed it wasn't the issue anyway. Dean was staring at him, eyes full of guilt.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that Sam. I should've got help sooner, I knew something was off."

"Hey…" Sam's protest was cut off.

"No. I gotta say this. I nearly shot you Sam, nearly shot my own brother." Dean's face was tortured. "I'll never forgive myself. How could I forget you?"

"Are you kidding me!" Sam's was incredulous. "Do not do that! Do not sit there and try and take the blame for things that happened when you couldn't even remember who you were!"

He took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "You were just defending yourself, the way Dad trained us! None of this was your fault. It was an accident, Dean, an accident! They happen all the time to people and this time it was you. It is not your fault!"

His brother stared at him, misery on his face. "But I should've remembered you."

"No. No, you shouldn't. That's not the way it works." He paused, remembering Dean wiping snot off his face in the yard, throwing him into the motel room when skeletal man attacked. "And you know what? Even when you didn't remember, you were still taking care of me, even then. You never forgot how to do that."

He looked earnestly at Dean, wanting desperately to wipe the worried, apologetic look off his face. Truth was, he would never forget the chill he'd felt at the expression in his brother's eyes as he looked at him down the barrel of that gun. But in the larger scheme of things, it was of minor importance. He was more hurt that Dean excluded him from the hunt in the first place. Although he understood his brother was trying to protect him, it still hurt, the way he'd taken that decision and just left. But now was not the time to raise that question; it'd wait until Dean was less fragile, however long that turned out to be.

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Dean tilted his head back, soaking up the warmth of the sun spilling in through the open door of the Impala. He was sprawled comfortably in the driver's seat listening to music. Driving was out of the question for a while, but the Impala was home and even if she was just parked outside the motel, he was still happier there than anywhere else.

He was drowsy; he'd been tired a lot since the surgery, but it was a good tired, not the pained exhaustion of before. He let his eyelids droop, the sunlight a golden glow through the dark filter of his lashes. He wondered vaguely if he'd always been tired, one way or another, ever since that night in Lawrence when his four year old self had been ripped from a life of fluffy blankets and toys and catapulted into an existence on the run. An endless succession of motel rooms, rented apartments and sleeping in the car. Even now, post-surgery, they were moving on soon. They'd spent the first week after his discharge from hospital back at the motel, being pampered by Sheryl and finally having the opportunity to thank Bill properly. Tomorrow or the day after, they were heading out to Bobby's for a while. Then, once the all-important scans were completed, they'd be back to normal, back to hunting. He couldn't wait. He smiled a little, accepting easily the fact that his favorite place was by its very nature something designed to be on the road.

All things considered he was lucky to be alive. The doctors had been more than impressed with how quickly he was recovering physically. By the time they'd operated, the brain bleed had stopped. They were putting it down to him dying and the blood clotting before he was resuscitated, but Dean knew differently. He remembered the panic he'd felt trying to hold his spirit inside his unresponsive body as it repelled him as though they were magnets of opposite polarity. Jess's presence had been like an injection of ice cold power. The flow of energy from her freezing fingers as they twisted inside his skull had healed something, enough that suddenly he could breathe by himself again, his spirit slotting back into its home as securely as a hand inside a well-fitting glove. He wasn't sure what she'd done, but he was sure he'd be dead without her assistance.

It'd be a while before he was fully recovered and Sam was clearly determined his older brother would take as much time for that recovery as necessary. For once, Dean wasn't arguing, yet. He was looking forward to getting back to hunting, but he'd scared himself enough to find an unexpected supply of patience, at least for now. Besides, only an asshole would put Sam through any more stress.

He was under Sam's 'not too much music, no TV, let your brain recover' rules. His little brother seemed to be permanently attached to a wad of literature, a large portion of the information underscored heavily in red pen. So far, Dean was following orders, too sleepy to stage a protest… so far. Sitting in the Impala, away from the endless cautionary instructions, with music playing, felt like a treat, and he smirked a little, stroking the wheel appreciatively with his fingertips. "Soon, Baby," he murmured sleepily.

"I interruptin' somethin' here?" Dean's eyes shot open, head swinging towards the familiar gruff voice. Bobby Singer was stood by the open door, laughing at him. "You and that car kid, it ain't natural."

"Bobby!" He swung his legs out, stood up smoothly, pleased to note there was no hint of vertigo. "Hey man! What y'doin' here?" He stepped into Bobby's one-armed hug, avoiding the lumpy package under his other arm.

Bobby gave him a hug, a slap on the back, bristling a little the way he did when he was trying not to show any emotion.

"Figured I might as well escort you idjits back to my place, save you getting' into any more scrapes. Anyhow… I got a Camaro to fix." He waggled the package a little. "Can't leave a job half done."

"Sam knew you were comin'?"

"Might a mentioned somethin'. Now don't be lookin' at me like that. I been talkin' things over with Bill since you got took to hospital. I wanted to come fix the Camaro, kinda expressin' my appreciation for what he's done for you boys."

Dean grinned at him. "It's real good to see you, old man."

Bobby huffed at him and led the way into the motel.

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Dean raised a hand in farewell as they pulled out three days later. Bill grinned at him from his position slouched up against the repaired Camaro. He wondered if they'd ever meet the old man again, thought it would be kind of cool to have a grandfather like that.

They travelled in silence for a while. He could feel Sam looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He was impressed with Dean's physical recovery, although not as surprised as the doctors. That didn't stop him from being on high alert for psychological damage and he watched his brother like a hawk. It was starting to wear on Dean's nerves but he bit back the instinctive sharp retort.

"Watch the road dude," he said mildly. "I'm okay. Be good to get to Bobby's, start getting back to normal."

Sam snorted, his expression making clear his opinion of his brother's 'normal'.

"So, what you been talking over with Bobby?"

"Case, nothing you need to worry about."

Dean's lips tightened. "Don't mother-hen me. Couple of scans, bit of training and I'm back at the front line dude."

The bitch-face appeared immediately. Dean glared back. Maybe it was time to make a stand.

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