WOW. I cannot begin to explain how grateful I am for all of your kind reviews. They definitely spurred my muses into overdrive, which means a new chapter several DAYS sooner than I expected to crank one out. You guys rock. On a related note, thanks to the reviewer who clued me in to my mistake. I thought towheaded meant shaggy haired, not blonde. Silly me :P Also, for those curious, this is NOT a death fic...we just like to skate close to the edge every now and then :D Now, on with the show!

The silence in the car was tangible, and hung between the oldest Winchester and the youngest like a thick blanket. Normally Sam made a huge production of trying to fight Dean for shotgun, and if Dean wasn't there he always rode in the front seat, but this time he was in the back, as though by the act of reserving the front for Dean he could make everything ok.

"Dad, tell me again what you heard."

John turned an annoyed look to his son in the rearview mirror. This wasn't, of course, all Sam's fault. Sam had been acting like an immature child, but how was he to know that Dean would meet trouble while looking for him? There was no way for him to know, and snapping at him now wasn't going to solve anything, but damned if that wasn't exactly what John wanted to do. Those traumatic minutes of listening to the thief steal Dean's wallet, followed by the unmistakable roar of a gun and silence were etched in his memory forever, and the last thing he wanted to do was recount them over and over again with Sammy.

Goddamn it, John thought, they didn't even have any clue of where to start looking. That was going to be his first lesson to the boys in the future, he thought. Start each conversation out with your location, and go from there.

"Dad..." Sam pressed.

John opened his mouth, nearly ready to explode, but the one more look at Sam in the mirror stopped him. Sam's shaggy hair fell into his eyes and made him look like he was five years old, even if he was getting taller by the day. He was just a kid, doing the best that he could to find a way to get his big brother back.

"The phone rang. It was your brother. He said he still couldn't find you, but that he was going to look into a few back alley places, and then I heard another voice, a guy, demand his wallet. Dean told him to be calm, and I guess handed his wallet over, then there was a scuffle and s—GODDAMN IT."

John slammed on the breaks, nearly hitting the bawling woman who had thrown herself out into the street instead of just waving from the side of the road for help.

"What are you trying to do, woman, get yourself killed?"

"Please, you have to help..." She motioned at a gas station behind her, where a boy about Sam's age was standing behind the counter looking white as a ghost.

"Ma'am, we're looking for my son. I don't think we have time t—"

"No, please!" She raked a hand through her hair, looking seconds away from a severe mental breakdown.

Suddenly, for no reason that he could place, Sam got a feeling that he had never had before. It was a sinking, dreadful sort of feeling that made him feel a rush of adrenaline and nausea at once. Though he didn't know how he knew, suddenly he did know with every fiber of his being that Dean was here, and they weren't going to like what they saw.

John was still arguing with the woman, his car blocking the lane of the street when Sam opened his door and barreled out, racing into the store. He could hear the frustration in his Dad's voice as he shouted for him to come back, but Sam ignored it. He had to get into the store.

He ignored the boy behind the counter, even though he looked like he was in shock. Two feet down an aisle he saw the bloody footprints, and even though his heart was hammering in his throat, he followed them.

He followed them to Dean.

The sight of his brother was horrific at best.

Dean Winchester was never still. He was always talking or laughing or moving, or fiddling with something. Even in sleep he tossed and turned and snored...but now he was laying completely still. His face was so pale it was almost white, and when you considered the small lake of blood Dean was laying in, Sam had to wonder if Dean had any blood left at all.

Sam watched him, waiting on Dean to take a breath.

He waited.

And waited.

But Dean only continued to lay completely motionless.

"Dean..." Sam whispered, anguish clear in his voice. "Dean come back."

But Dean Winchester, wherever he was, showed no sign of hearing him.

Sam wasn't sure how long it took for John to decide to park the car and come inside, but when the bell above the door rang and he felt his father's imposing presence come in the store, he was grateful that he had. He turned around, locked his tearfilled eyes on John, and somehow managed to voice the fear that was gripping him so tightly he could barely breathe himself.

"Dad, Dean's dead."

It took John forever to get the car parked and shake himself free of the woman, but several long minutes after Sam had taken off into the store, he finally was ready to get out of the Impala. What had gotten into that kid? He knew better than that, didn't he? He had been raised to know better than that, that was for damned sure. However, once he was in the store, and saw the bloody footprints, something within him changed, and he reached instinctively for his gun.

When he saw Dean laying there, so pale and still, his heart stopped for a moment, and when Sammy told him Dean was dead, something within him broke.

No.

No, they weren't going to lose Dean too. Wasn't it enough that Mary had been taken from them? Sam lost his Mom before he was even old enough to remember her, the kid deserved to at least have his big brother. John knew that Dean was the most important person in his son's life, and he had no qualms in admitting it. Dean was the father figure who taught Sammy how to ride a bike. He was the mother figure who made the boy mac and cheese. He was brother and friend and confidant and opponent when it came to games...Dean was Sam's everything, and he meant a hell of a lot to John too. John couldn't just let him die.

"No, no, Sammy, he's not dead. He's not, don't you say that..." even to his own ears the denial felt like an after the fact protest, like too little too late.

He knelt down next to his son, fingers searching Dean's neck frantically for a pulse. It was there, but it was thready and fading fast. He looked to Sam, who was standing eerily still, shock and horror rapidly setting in to his face.

Dammit.

"Come on Dean, breathe!" John shook Dean's shoulders, then took in a large breath of air and blew into Dean's mouth. He did it again and again, over and over as his own heart started to hammer in his chest. The seconds turned in to minutes as he gave breath after breath to his son, practically willing the life back into him. This wasn't fair, John thought. Dean wasn't even a legal adult yet. He gave his whole life to help others, to save other families. He deserved a freaking medal, not to die here like this. Parents were supposed to go first. They weren't supposed to bury their kid. He was going into full panic mode, until he drew back to take another breath to give Dean.

"Come on, Dean, come on. You don't get to do this. You don't get to quit, you come back now, son, you hear me? Breathe. Take a breath." He shook his son roughly, trying to illicit some sort of response. If Dean didn't breathe on his own soon, his heart was going to stop, and if it stopped John could do CPR, but Dean's odds of making it were going to go down and fast.

That was when he heard the cough.

It was tiny and weak, and woefully ineffective by the sounds of it, but it was a sign of life where there had been precious little before. It was also enough to break the spell of shock that Sammy seemed to be under.

"DEAN!" his youngest rushed forward, sliding on the wet, bloody floor, but he didn't care when he went down because Dean was perking up. The cough led way to a ragged breath and then to Dean's eyes opening. "Dean!"

"Sam?" One corner of Dean's mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. "Sure am glad to see you, kiddo, I was worried about you."

There was a lot of irony there, the the one who had been shot and was now bleeding out was worried about him, but Sam knew that was just Dean. Dean was always trying to look out for him, always worried that Sam might be sick or hurt or unhappy.

"I'm so sorry." He said, looking down at Dean with frightened eyes. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I shouldn't have said it. I want to take it back Dean."

Dean was hovering some place in between comforting darkness and the place with bright light and pain when he heard his father's voice in full on order mode.

I'm so tired, he thought. I know I should obey, but I'm just so fucking tired. Can't I just rest? Rest for a little while?

Evidently the answer to that question was no, because John shook him hard.

He tried to breathe, but the coppery gunk was in his throat again, so he coughed, bringing up a little of it, then took a breath, just as John had ordered. He stared up at the florescent lighting on the ceiling and tried to catch his breath.

And then he saw Sam. His kid brother looked near tears and frantic, but he was safe and unshot and that was the important part. Dean couldn't help but grin. Sam was his brother and he loved him, and even when he was acting like a jackass and running off to go do stupid things, Dean didn't want anything to happen to him. That was why Dean bothered to go after him, why he walked in the cold, why he took time away from relaxing or sleeping or watching TV to try to repair wounds from a fight he had had no part in.

He told Sam how happy he was to see him, and looked away. John ordered him to breathe, and now he was breathing. Surely they wouldn't care if he took just a little nap...

However, before his eyes could even shut Sam was babbling on and on in an apology. What was it he wanted to take back? Why was he sorry? He knew that he should remember these things, but suddenly his mind felt foggy and unworkable. And the exhaustion increased tenfold.

" 's ok, Sammy." Dean muttered, confused as to why it was such a struggle to even speak. "Whatever it was, it's o-"

Dean trailed off, his eyes rolling back as his head lulled to the side.

John swore and reached again to Dean's neck, seeking the comforting reassurance of some sort of pulse. He tried several different spots, pressing his fingers hard into Dean's skin in the vain hope that one was there only very weak, but there was nothing.

"Dammit, boy, don't you die on me. You hear me?" John started compressions on his son's chest, forcing himself to not stop when he heard the unkind crack of bone from his actions. He had to get Dean's heart going again. They could worry about broken ribs later. "Come on, Dean, come on, you fight this. You're stronger than this."

Sam watched the horrific scene in shock. He saw his father get more and more covered in Dean's blood as he pressed on the chest that looked like ground up meat as it was. He saw Dean's lips turn blue, and his nail beds turn a grayish pink color. He heard the ambulance sirens, but he didn't place where they were coming from until two stocky men shoved him out of the way and wheeled a stretcher over to Dean. Sam could tell from their expressions that even they had never seen something quite so gut wrenching before.

Somehow, one of them managed to pull John off of Dean.

"That's my boy." John told the man desperately. "You fix him. You bring him back. He doesn't deserve this." The paramedic said something to John in a low, gentle tone, then John went to stand next to Sam, looking as though he was going to be ill any minute.

Sam watched it all. He was afraid to come any closer to Dean, afraid that somehow he'd make matters worse or get in the way. He was afraid that he'd say the wrong thing again, just as he'd said the wrong thing the last time he talked to Dean before he stormed out. Sam was shutting down, locking himself inside until things made more sense.

"Still no pulse." One of the paramedics commented when the other took a momentary break from the compressions to see if Dean's heart was going to restart. "I think this is a lost cause but, let's get him into the ambulance, give the kid a fighting chance."

The other paramedic, clearly more aware of the two men watching at the side, shot the first a harsh look. "If we can get him into surgery fast enough, Perkins, the kid might have a chance so zip your trap and move your ass."

There was nothing John and Sam could do as the paramedics lifted the stretcher up and started jogging with it out toward the ambulance. John followed them, and Sam followed numbly behind John, but the paramedics refused to let either of them come, somehow sensing that the ride to the hospital would be something that neither family member could tolerate seeing.

When the ambulance pulled away, it was carrying Dean, the heart of the Winchester family, and as John and Sam stood numbly as the red and blue lights faded in the distance, Sam wondered if there would be any family left if Dean was gone.