Author's Note: I just watched 'Scarecrow" and I LOVED IT! But I was going to kick Sam at the end for pulling away from Dean when he said he wanted to be held. Dumb-ass, now he's the "chick flick" phobic. So, forgive me for lack of recent update. I was completely swamped.

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7:58 PM

Sam shook his head as he stared at the clock for the millionth time the past six hours. On "ER" (at least the first couple seasons), the second a person was taken to the Emergency Room, they were quickly whisked away for professional treatment of ailments from coughs to amputations caused by disasters. Diagnostic tests only took seconds to perform, bloodwork was instantaneous, and the nurses were the kindest, most generous individuals in the entire facility. The doctors, of course, could do no wrong and knew everything.

Unfortunately, this was not Cook Country General and Dean's doctor was not George Clooney. He'd only seen him for about a minute and a half before the man ran off to check on his pager that hadn't stopped beeping the entire time he'd been in the room. He left the room, leaving his physician's assistant to order the tests, administer medications, and instruct the nurses. Dean's nurse, of course, had to check up on fifteen of her other patients because of the severe short-staffing before coming in to take care of his brother. He'd, literally, been to every floor of the hospital going for a MRI, CT, and EEG of the brain.

The entire situation made him want to scream. Dean had been unconscious for almost seven or eight hours. He wasn't moving, wasn't making jokes or laughing; he was moaning in his sleep, as if he was unable to wake from a nightmare.

It was a feeling of helplessness that he hadn't felt since Jess had died. As he watched her body burning on his ceiling as she screamed for him, unable to do anything but stare at her.

He was tired of it: the hunting, the danger, the pain that came along with it all, but he couldn't stop. Sam wanted—no needed to find the monster that had killed both his mother and girlfriend. It was an obsession that he shared with his father—it was the only thing they shared now.

He looked at the clock once more.

8:13 PM

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and began to pace the small room, ignoring the look of his brother's bloody and beaten roommate as he too waited to be seen by a doctor. Running a hand through his messy hair, he swore under his breath, muttering and grunting his displeasure with the staff.

"Mmmm."

Dean had moaned loudly, his hands flexing as if he was pushing someone or something away from himself. Sam ran over to his side within a heartbeat. "Dean?" Sam called out to him, gently taking the hand closest to his within his own, and pushing a stray hair from his forehead. "Dean, you waking up?"

Dean moaned again, his head leaning into the touch. He gulped a couple times before trying to speak. "Dad?"

Sam blinked back his surprise before answering his brother. "No, Dean. It's Sam. Can you open your eyes?"

He didn't answer, blinking a few times, but unable to complete the seemingly simple request. He called out again, "Dad? Sammy?"

"I'm right here, Dean. Are you with me?" Sam tightened his hold on his brother's hand before pushing the nurse's call button.

The intercom system flashed before the nurse at the other end answered. "Is there something wrong?"

Answering for his brother, Sam told her that his brother was waking up. She told him that she'd page his doctor as soon as possible, and then the intercom blinked off.

The door opened as the nurse who had spoken to him walked in, clipboard in hand. The woman started taking vital signs, writing them on the clipboard.

Meanwhile, Sam tried to get his brother to respond. "Hey, Dean. Come on now. Wake up!" It was spoken sharply, meant to be an order.

His brother was nothing if not predictable. His eyes flew open, the light in the room making him wince, while involuntary tears streamed down his cheeks.

Sam smiled, using his thumbs to wipe away the tearstains.

Dean's eyes widened, jerking away from the touch. A cry flew from his lips, it was practically a scream.

"Dean?" He spoke it softly, gently moving his hand away from Dean's face. He put his hands out in front of him, trying to calm his brother. "Dean, it's Sam. It's alright. You're okay."

Sam watched with shock as the tears that he'd wiped away were replaced with others. Dean, the rock, the anti-chick flick moment guy, was sobbing. And through it all, kept calling out for their father.

The doctor had walked into the room; and began to speak. The man had been monotonously saying something about possible brain damage, diagnostic scans, and medical therapies. Sam didn't even notice him, didn't hear him or care anymore.

There was something seriously wrong with his brother and not a single person in the room had even looked at him as he cried.

Sam's patience ran out. "Shut up!" He said it softly, but edged with malice.

Dean jerked at the sound, whimpering softly. He had stopped crying and was now looking at Sam with fear filled eyes.

Sam slowly edged towards the bed, their eyes were locked. He lowered the railing slowly, purposefully. "Dean?" forcing his voice to warm, not to scare the man in front of him. "Dean, do you know who I am?"

He curled up into a ball, wrapping his arms around his legs before resting his chin on his knees. Dean shook his head 'no'. "Where's my dad? Where's Sammy?"

Sam's heart stopped. He had no idea what to say. He felt like passing out.

The doctor jumped in, using his silence to question his patient. "I'm Dr. Peters. Do you know your name?"

The head bobbed up and down. The doctor smiled tolerantly, "Can you tell me?"

"I'm Dean. Dean Winchester." He said it quietly, as if he was shy. Sam shook his head internally; Dean was never shy—he was the outgoing flirt, the B.S. King; he could talk about anything and everything.

"Do you know where you are?" The nurse asked this time.

Dean looked around the room, taking it all in. "In a hospital. Where's my dad? Where's my little brother?" He asked it again, becoming more and more upset that no one would answer him. "Where's Sammy?" He was shouting now, pushing his blankets off and trying to get out of bed—most likely to try to find him.

Sam stepped towards him, making him jump back against the headboard to avoid his touch. "Dad—your dad isn't here, Dean. He's—um—on a hunting trip." That was something Dean could understand; their father was always on a hunting trip. He didn't want to lie to his brother because in that moment, all Sam wanted to do was cry; his brother didn't recognize him. He didn't need the doctor to tell him—obviously Dean had suffered some kind of brain damage during the attack. Dean was confused enough without Sam lying to him.

The eyes that stared back at him were filled with suspicion. "Dad went on a hunting trip? Then where's my little brother?"

Sam swallowed, "He's safe. He's with family." It wasn't a lie. He was with his brother. Sam smiled, though the smile didn't reach his soul, "My name is Sam."

Dean looked at him, the suspicion slowly fading, yet not completely gone yet. "That's my brother's name, too. 'Cept me and my dad call him Sammy."

"Yeah? I'll bet you are a great big brother, huh?" Sam just chatted, his mind was reeling. He truly didn't understand how things had gotten this bad.

The doctor was off to the side of the room, flipping through Dean's medical reports. "Dean, can I ask you a question?" He waited for the young man to nod. "How old are you?"

Sam closed his eyes; he didn't want to know. He wanted to wake up from this nightmare in an old tacky motel room with his brother lying in the bed next to him. He wanted to wake up screaming. Dean would wake up and go to him. He'd ask him if he was okay, and as always Sam would lie and tell him he was fine. Dean would make them some coffee, silently agreeing that he'd ignore the current round of nightmares—giving him some time to himself. They'd stay up all night, watch stupid infomercials and laugh about how they could come up with better products. It would be comforting—their idea of normal.

He didn't want to hear his answer. He didn't want to lose his brother. Steeling himself, he couldn't stop the gasp when he'd heard Dean's answer.

"I'm nine years old."

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To Be Continued…

Well, what do you think? Good twist? Bad twist?

Hate it? Love it?

You think I'm crazy?

The only way I'm going to know what you think, is if you review. So, please do so. (I'm dying here.)