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Chapter 2

There was no ways knowing that Dean would dump his brother in some nursing home, no way, not happening. As soon as Dean was out of the hospital he started making arrangements, trying to figure everything out.

They needed a place to stay, there was no way that they could be staying in motel rooms, from what the medical staff had told Dean, there would be a large volume of medical equipment needed, and

Where do you go when you know that your life as you knew it is over? You go home, you go back to the place you felt safe, where your parents cared for you, where everything was alright.

Granted, Lawrence didn't hold just good memories for Dean, the opposite in fact, but it felt like the right choice. Their father was still MIA, the only family they had lived in Lawrence, and Dean knew that as much as he loved his brother, even though he would do anything for him, he couldn't do this alone.

Dean was sitting in his motel room, searching through phone books and records for details of his extended family, family he was only connected to by blood. He had started out with the intention of finding support for him and Sam, but it turned in to much more.

Dean found out through a series of phone calls that no one on his mother's side of the family was alive, they had apparently died in a number of unrelated accidents, but Dean saw through that, they had been murdered, but he didn't know why, and right now he needed to focus on his brother. On his father's side though. John Winchester's parents, Cecilia and Fredrick Winchester were still living in Lawrence, as were their four other children, John's siblings, Grace, Phillip, Eleanor, and Ray, all of whom were married with children.

Dean had gotten phone numbers for the family he hadn't known he had from directory assistance, and after more than a few minutes of hesitation he picked up his cell phone, and punched in the first number, the number for his grandparents.

Dean was visibly shaking as he listened to the phone ringing, the last time he had seen these people was when he was four years old. In the back of his mind Dean couldn't help but wonder whether they would actually care enough about them to help.

An elderly woman answered the phone, his grandmother. "Hello?"

Dean gulped nervously, he couldn't get the words out.

"Hello??" Cecilia repeated. "Who is this?"

"...It's Dean," Dean said uncertainly, he was very tempted just to hang up, but that wouldn't help anything.

"Dean who?"

"Dean Winchester."

There was a harsh intake of breath heard through the phone. Cecilia Winchester and her family had lost contact with her eldest son and his children just months after the fire that had killed his wife, and now here was her grandson on the phone. "Oh my... Dean. We thought..." She had so many questions, but they had to wait.

"I'm in Denver, Sam too. I need help, we need help."

"I don't know where to, we didn't even know if you boys were alive," Cecilia murmured in shock.

Dean felt for this woman, his grandmother, it must be a shock, but he needed to get back to the hospital, back to Sam, so he had to speed this along. "Listen, I can't believe this either, but I need help, and I've got no one else, so please, I'm saying please, we were in a car accident a few days ago, Sam's hurt, really hurt, and I need help."

Needless to say Cecilia's maternal instinct kicked in hearing those words. "Whatever you need," Cecilia paused as she heard her husband come downstairs to see who she was speaking to.

Dean could hear a muffled conversation, which went on for quite some time before another voice came over the line.

"Dean, this is... this is your grandfather, Fred. It's been a long time, you probably don't even remember me. Cissi and I have talked, and we want to do whatever we can. Would it be best if we came up to meet you?"

"I guess so. Look, no offence but I've got to get going, I've left Sam at the hospital, and I need to get back there. I can give you the address of the motel I'm at, and I can meet you there whenever."

"Alrighty, Cissi said you were in Denver, it will probably take a day or so to get up there. Will you be alright until then son?"

Dean was given pause when this man, a nearly perfect stranger to him referred to him as a relation. "...That's fine. You gotta a pen ready, I've got the address for here."

"Go ahead."

"'kay. It's Westside Lodge, 1659 Peoria street, Aurora, Denver. And if you need to call, my cell number is 866-907-3235."

"Okay, got it. I suppose we can just give you a call when we arrive in town?"

"Whatever works for you. Sorry, look I've really got to go."

"Oh of course, yes, go on. We will call you. Take care."

Dean took the phone away from his ear, and he ended the call, then he just sat there, he was still shaking. He had just spoken to his grandparents for the first time in twenty two years, and he couldn't stop shaking, his life was going to change, it was changing, his brother was still in an induced coma, and he most likely would be for at least another couple of days, their grandparents were coming, when they arrived Dean still intended to ask for their support in caring for Sam when he was discharged from the hospital, and he still despite dozens of messages left on his father's cell had heard nothing from his missing parent, at least they knew he was alive, probably.

Luckily for Dean the social worker at the hospital had found him an accessible room at a motel adjacent to the hospital grounds, and as Dean's car was wrecked, a fact that hadn't truly hit him yet, and even if it was running there was no way he would be able to drive, it was an ideal position as Dean was able to wheel himself across to the hospital, where he would stay until he couldn't.

Dean was spending every waking hour at his brother's side.

Sam didn't even know.

John Winchester had disappeared off the face of the earth when five months earlier he had finally after twenty two years found a lead on what had brutally murdered his wife, it was a demon, and John was more focused than ever on hunting down the son of a bitch, and killing it, avenging Mary's death, getting revenge for the pain this thing had caused his family.

Each time Dean would leave a message on his phone, John justified not responding as a necessity to keep his boys safe, but when after having had his phone off for days, he switched it on to find that there were forty one messages, he hadn't even known that it could hold that many, his heart began to pound, something was wrong, something had to be very wrong.

He sat on the edge of the motel bed as he listened to the first message, he stayed there until he had heard every message, though they were much the same, only increasing in urgency with each message. John was in shock.

There had been an accident, his boys had been hurt.

John was in two minds after having heard the messages.

As a father he nearly bolted out the door, but as a hunter, a hunter who was going after something so big it placed everyone around him in danger, especially his boys. By no means was it an easy call.

After much deliberation, John decided that at very least he had to return his eldest son's call.

Dean had been down in the hospital cafeteria, grabbing some lunch while Sam was having yet another scan, when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID as he answered the phone, and he nearly collapsed in relief to see that it was his father calling, he answered the call sheerly with a sigh of relief, "Dad, damn it's good to hear from you. Things have been bad."

"I know son, I got your messages. Where abouts are you? How's Sam?"

"Denver, University of Colorado Hospital. It's bad, Dad," Dean began, in the messages he had only said that Sam was hurt badly, it wasn't the sort of news you could leave in message bank.

"How bad are you talking, Dean? Concussion? Broken arm? Internal bleeding? What?"

Dean was silent for a long time, before he sadly told his father of their injuries, "I've busted both my legs and my wrist, and got a skull fracture, concussion. But Dad, Sammy he's, he's in the ICU, Dad, they don't think he's going to come through this, they're saying he's got brain damage and he'll be paralysed, they've got him in a coma."

There was dead silence.

After a moment Dean looked at the phone's screen, John had hung up.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed in frustration. How could his father just hang up, just turn his back on them?

But John hadn't turned his back on his sons, as Dean discovered the next morning. Dean had been sitting with Sam, absentmindedly reminiscing of their childhood, telling Sam a constant stream of stories, otherwise he would have to start thinking about the present, about the fact that the brother he knew was gone.

John had left the motel he had been at in a big hurry, and had driven through the night to reach his sons.

And upon arriving in Denver, John had wasted no time in going to the hospital, and then there he was, standing in the doorway of the ICU room that housed his youngest.

He muttered more than a few words at the sight of Sam, he looked quite frankly like he was dead, if it wasn't for the steady machine generated rise and fall of his chest, and the heart rhythm showing on the monitor, John, well as was mentioned before, he thought that he could have been dead. Sam's right arm was in a cast from his fingertips to his armpit, John could also see a piece of metal which was clearly a part of the cast, which went from about the elbow point of the cast, towards Sam's body, assumingly to another piece. There were tubes in all directions, including to his horror, drainage tubes running from Sam's chest and head, another line which ran from Sam's head, somewhere under the thick white gauze dressing which encircled his head, up to a monitor which John couldn't make sense of and had never seen before. And the visible areas of Sam's face were black and blue with bruises and littered with cuts, some sutured, some just held closed by steri-strips, John could only imagine what the rest of Sam's body, what was being covered by blankets must look like.

They'd all gotten busted up on hunts from time to time, but this was easily worse than the worst.

Dean must have heard him approaching, because he had stopped speaking, and had then turned in his wheelchair to come face to face with his father.

There was an awkward silence, only broken by the steady beep of monitors.

It was John who broke the silence, "Can I come in?" It was a rare show of consideration on the part of the Winchester patriarch.

"Yeah, 'course."

As Sam and Dean's grandparents drove towards Denver, they couldn't help but to pause when Cecilia called the hospital to enquire about Sam's condition, only to find out that there was no Samuel Winchester listed as a patient, and that there was however a Samuel Deacon, everything the receptionist would tell them over the phone had made it clear to them that this was their Sam, same date of birth, same injuries, next of kin listed as a Dean Deacon.

Surely, they thought, there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, but then again, what did they really know about the happenings of their son and grandsons since they had seen them last, and the police had never been able to find the "Winchesters", maybe they had changed their names.

They agreed that the only thing to do was to ask Dean when they got there.

Dean must have forgotten to mention that his grandparents, his father's parents, people they hadn't seen in years were coming, because when they arrived at the hospital, when they walked into Sam's hospital room, when John saw them, the look on John's face clearly betrayed everything he was feeling, there were more emotions for him, seeing his parents than words can do justice.

Grandma and Grandpa Winchester were oblivious to the tension that ran as an undercurrent in the room between father and son. Cecilia went straight to her son, and she embraced him tightly, lovingly. "Johnny."

Once Cecilia had let her son out of her embrace, Fred took his turn to shake his son's hand, and greet him. They had so much they wanted to ask, but this wasn't the place.

The family moment ended quickly, and the tone in the room turned sombre as the group's attention was turned to Sam.

The last time Cissi and Fred Winchester had seen their grandsons, Dean and Sam, they had been four years old and eight months old respectively, and now they were, well, they were all grown up, and hurt.

John had broken off all contact with everyone but his sons after he left Lawrence all those years ago, so of course his parents were oblivious to what he had been doing in the past years, to the things he had seen and done.

TBC...

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