A/N: Sorry that took so long! I've got the flu so it took me longer than expected. Hope you guys like this chapter!!

Disclaimer: Still not mine even though I watched them the whole time while I'm sick.

As Dean sat waiting for any word about his brother he realized that he had been quite cooperative. He fidgeted and tried to flip through an old magazine for the fiftieth time. He plopped it back down on the table and drummed on his knees. He started humming "Fire of Unknown Origin" but when he got to the part about taking my baby away, he decided to switch songs. He tried his old, faithful song, 'Some Kind of Monster" but that didn't work, considering the fact that Dean didn't know what kind of monster it was that hurt Sam. No song helped. He grabbed the TV remote and started flipping channels. He watched about fifteen seconds of a soap opera but he flipped when he say a young guy laying in a coma. He watched a couple minutes of the news and jotted down some possible future hunts. He flipped again and came to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"Are you kidding me? They made new ones? This sucks! Why can't they leave the good things in this world alone," Dean said to himself, somewhere in the back of his mind wishing that whatever that thing was it had left Sammy alone. A little girl in the corner of the waiting room laughed. Dean hadn't realized that he had been talking so loud and grinned apologetically. The girl was about seven and grinned back at him.

"I know what you mean. The originals were way better," she said. Dean looked at her. A little kid that wasn't hung up in the present? All right, so she wasn't so little but she sure wasn't as old as he was.

"You've seen the originals? The first ones? Not any other remakes they may have made?" Dean asked her. She gave him an annoyed look, just like the look Sammy had given him when they went to get the soda so many years ago.

"Yes, the originals. You know, not all kids are into Disney channel these days," she said, making Dean laugh. He quickly stopped when he thought back to Sam though. If Sam couldn't laugh, then Dean wouldn't laugh. Not even at a sarcastic little girl.

"All right then. I believe you," Dean said but in a different tone then he originally had. The little girl looked at him, concerned.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Why are you here?" Dean looked at her and she held his gaze for a moment.

"I might ask you the same question," he retorted. She glanced down quickly, a fleeting expression of sadness across her face. But she soon bounced back into her happy demeanor.

"I asked first. Are you sick? You don't look sick. You just look sad," she added. Smart little chick, Dean thought.

"Nah, I'm not sick. Too tough to get sick. My brother's sick," Dean said with a look that said "Don't ask." "Now, you answer. Why are you here?"

"My brother's sick too. He has leu- leukemia, I think. But the doctors are going to make him all better Mommy said. But I don't think Daddy thinks so. He walks around all the time and he doesn't look happy," she explained. Dean's face fell. Poor little girl, going through the same hell he was. But her brother didn't sound like he was going to get better. But he saw stranger things every day. "Are the doctors going to make your brother better too?" Dean swallowed and fought back tears.

"Yeah, yeah they are. Or they better or I'm gonna kick their…" Dean didn't finish, remembering who he was talking to innocent ears. She nodded at him to finish but he didn't.

"Going to kick their butt? Is that it?" she asked. Dean nodded. And he probably would. He was known for kicking…butt.

"How old is your brother?" Dean asked. She thought for a moment, counting on her fingers.

"He's three. He's still a little shrimp. But when the doctors make him better, he'll grow up to be bigger than me!" she exclaimed. Dean was struck with a feeling of déjà vu. "How old is your brother?" the little girl asked, oblivious to the sad expression that crossed Dean's face.

"He's twenty-six. And he used to be a shrimp, too, just like your brother. But now he's over six feet, taller than me. And I'm the older brother," Dean said. The little girl's eyes grew big.

"Over six feet? How tall is six feet?" she asked. Dean stood up and put his hand at about his nose area.

"I'm a little over six feet, so about here, I guess." Dean shrugged and sat back down. The little girl grinned. Dean gave her a small grin back. Usually he hated kids but this one wasn't as dumb as other kids he had met. She went in the list with Lucas and Michael.

"What's your name?" the little girl asked after a moment of silence. Dean wondered if he should give her a fake name. No, not to a little girl. Who was she going to tell anyway?

"My name is Dean, Dean Winchester. What's yours?" he asked. At that moment a short, plump lady came through the swinging doors. She looked frantically around the room until her gaze came to rest on the little girl. She sighed in relief.

"Why did you leave like that? You scared me!" the lady told the little girl. The little girl ducked her head shamefully.

"Sorry, Mommy. It got too cramped in Sammy's room," she said. Dean's ears perked up. He stared at the little girl who looked back at him with a confused glance.

"Wait, wait, wait. Your little brother's name is Sammy?" Dean asked. The little girl nodded and her mom pulled her closer, obviously trying to keep her safe from this man who knew about her children.

"Yeah, Sam Rivers," the little girl asked right before her mom shushed her into silence. She glared at her mom, as if she was ruining her chances of being best friends with Dean.

"Look, sir, I'm sorry if she bothered you, but we've really got to go now," the mother said. Dean stood up and held up his hand to stop them.

"Wait. My brother's name is Sammy, too. But he hates to be called Sammy," Dean told the little girl. She giggled.

"Do you call him Sammy anyway?" she asked. Dean gave her his infamous half grin.

"Of course. So when your brother gets older, you keep calling him Sammy too. It really gets my brother worked up. It's pretty funny to watch. Maybe you can come a visit him when he's getting better," Dean said, ignoring the mother's impatient foot tapping. The little girl smiled and nodded.

"And you can visit my little brother too!" she exclaimed. The mother smiled insincerely at Dean and gently pulled the little girl through the swinging doors. Dean sat back down in the chair. The escape was good while it had lasted but now he had to face his problems once again. He had a bit more hope for some reason. He allowed himself a little smile to stay permanently on his face.

An hour later, a grim faced doctor walked through the swinging doors and looked around the room.

"John Young? Mr. Young?" the doctor called. Dean jumped up and walked over to the doctor expectantly, his small smile still in place. He saw the grim look and the smile faded slightly.

"Where's my brother? Where's S- Robert?" Dean asked, almost slipping up and saying Sam's real name. Dean's frantic eyes searched the doctor's for any sign. He found none.

"I'm sorry, sir—"

"No! No! Where is my brother?! Let me see my brother! You're lying! Where is my little brother?!" Dean shouted. The doctor tried to calm him down but it was a futile attempt. Sam couldn't be gone. No, not Sam, not little Sammy. Not his Sam. Dean tried to move around the doctor but he wouldn't let Dean pass through those swinging doors. So Dean improvised. He shoved the doctor through the doors and the doctor fell to the ground. Dean ran through halls yelling his brother's name.

"Sam! Sammy! Where are you Sam? Talk to me man! Answer me when I call you! Sammy!" Dean cried, still not believing it. He looked through each window. He saw other brothers, sons, husbands. But not his brother. Dean became more and more frantic. Finally he reached the end of the hall and he bust open the door. It was the last door, Sam had to be in here. But no Sam.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Dean vaguely heard the little girl from the waiting room asked but he didn't answer. I must've missed a room, Dean thought.

"Sammy, this isn't funny! Come on man! Where are you? Sammy! You can't…You can't do this to me Sammy…" Dean ended in a whisper. He collapsed against the wall of the hospital and cried out in anguish. He felt a small hand on his shoulder and then felt soft, short hair against his face. He opened his eyes and wiped them on his shirt. The little girl was there again. She didn't understand what was going on but she knew how to comfort.

"It'll be okay Dean. Your brother'll get better. Just tell the doctors that you're going to kick their butts if they don't fix him," she said innocently. Dean slumped even farther on the floor in a fresh batch of tears. She hugged Dean gently and he let her. It was more than he ever had done to Sammy. God, if he could only change the past. There was so much he would change. He never would've taken that voodoo job in New Orleans. That was where it had all started. If he hadn't let John go to Jericho by himself, John might still be here and Sam might be alive.

"Sammy…Why, Sammy, why? Sam…" Dean gasped through heavy tears. He released the little girl from his arm but still grasped her seemingly tiny hand in his own. He stood up and the little girl stood up with him. She looked at him, concern written all over her face. She had finally realized what had happened. Then, she too began to cry, silently.

"Don't worry Dean. You can be my big brother. I've always wanted a big brother," she said. Dean placed his hand on her head and leaned against the wall, gasping sobs escaping his mouth. He looked up and down the halls, still expecting to see Sam poke his head out from one of the rooms with a video camera and laugh at him.

"Ha ha! That was great Dean! You really fell for it, didn't you? Come on man! Would I really let you go into a haunted building without knowing for sure what was in there?" Sam would smirk and run laughing down the hall as Dean chased him, threatening to kill him, the little girl laughing, in on the whole sick joke.

But it didn't happen. All Dean saw coming down the hall was the doctor. He groaned and let go of the little girl's hand. She stuck to his side though, refusing to leave.

"Mr. Young? Can I talk to you now?" the doctor asked. The little girl looked up at Dean, confused at why the doctor was calling Mr. Young. But she didn't say anything. Smart kid, Dean thought and silently thanked her for not blowing his cover.

"Whatever," Dean said miserably and quietly so that the doctor had to strain to hear. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder but he shrugged it off roughly. Dean looked up at the doctor with disgust on his face. He moved past the doctor and clipped shoulders with him. The little girl followed Dean and tried to clip shoulders too but wasn't tall enough, so she glared at him.

"He's gonna kick your butt, you know. He told me so," the little girl said. She reminded him of how Sammy was at that age. Always backing Dean up, whether he wanted him too or not. At any other time, Dean would've laughed but with Sammy gone, the world didn't seem funny or kind. The world seemed full of evil, hate, and unjust. Sam shouldn't have died. Sam knew it wasn't a rawhead. Dean should've been the one laying in that hospital bed with the sheet over his body, dead, not Sam. He vaguely heard the doctor say something about what to do for his funeral but Dean didn't stop walking. Dean walked through the swing doors again and the little girl tried to follow him but he stopped her.

"Not right now, okay?" he told her gently. She stopped following him and watched him as he walked out of the hospital and sat down on a bench.

He pulled out his cell phone and called Bobby. It rang three times.

"Yeah? What do yah want? I'm busy," Bobby answered. Normally Dean would've made fun of the way Bobby answered his cell phone, but not today. Maybe not ever.

"Bobby? It's Dean," he said weakly. God, he sounded so vulnerable. He hated it.

"Dean? You sound like crap. What's the matter? You sick or something?" Bobby asked unknowingly. Dean sighed. I wish, he thought.

"No. I just need a ride," he said. Bobby was close by. Bobby was reliable. Bobby wouldn't leave him alone like Sam had. Like Sam had those many times. Those times were bad enough but this time, this time Sam wasn't coming back.

"Yeah, sure Dean. Where are yah?" Bobby asked. Dean sighed again.

"At the hospital, Franklin Hospital," he replied, still sounding weaker than he would've liked.

"You okay Dean? Sam okay?" Bobby asked. Dean had to pause for a moment before he answered. He couldn't let Bobby hear him cry.

"No, no he's not," Dean said, voice cracking. Dean heard Bobby sigh.

"God…Dean, what happened?" Bobby asked. Dean shook his head and then remembered he was on the phone.

"I don't know Bobby. I'll try to explain when you get here. I just need a ride to the Impala." Dean hung up the phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope he hadn't realized was there. He fingered it, wondering if he should open it. He wanted to but he wasn't in the mood to do much of anything. He would open it later, once he found a hotel room.

He waited for about thirty minutes for Bobby to get there. Finally, he saw an old rusty car swerving into the hospital, getting a lot of honks because of it. Dean closed his eyes and shook his head when he saw Bobby giving them the finger. Bobby screeched to a stop in front of him and opened the passenger door.

"Hop in, Dean," Bobby said unnecessarily. Dean pulled himself in the car reluctantly. Dean sat in silence for the first ten minutes or so of the ride.

"Thanks, Bobby. You know, for picking me up," Dean said softly. Bobby grunted, his way of saying "You're welcome."

"Dean, what was it?" Bobby asked a few minutes later. Dean shrugged.

"Not a rawhead, that's for sure. Not a shape shifter or a black dog. A pagan god? Naw, what kind of pagan god could be found in a freakin' warehouse?" Dean rambled, partly to Bobby, partly just to hear something besides the silence.

"Come back to the shop with me. You can crash there and look through my books. Don't worry, we'll figure out whatever it is," Bobby reassured. The two men were silent the rest of the ride, the silence only breaking when Dean had to tell Bobby when to turn.

When they finally got to the Impala, Dean was glad. No more awkward silence. What was it Sam had told him once? Whenever there was an awkward silence someone was thinking about George Washington? Dean had brushed him off, ignoring him. He wished he hadn't now. He should've listened to every single thing Sam had ever said. Dean reached into his pocket to get the keys and felt the envelope again. I'll open it later, back at Bobby's, after I figure out what that thing is, he thought.

He stared warily at the crumbling building that Sam had been so fatally hurt in. Dean shook his head to try to clear the painful memory from his mind but it didn't work. He sat down in the Impala and started the engine. He pulled away from the place where his most awful memory was made and followed Bobby to his home away from home. Who was he kidding? Dean hadn't had a home in what? More than twenty years? He had lost count, but he did know one thing. He hadn't had a home since Mom died. But he had always thought of his family as his home. Now his family was dead. And family wasn't something you could replace. Homes, clothes, even his '67 Impala he could replace, but not family. So Dean held on tight to everything he had left, which was Bobby and the Impala.

Maybe he could even go to the Roadhouse and patch things up with Ellen and Jo. Surely Ellen didn't blame him for her husband's death. He wasn't like his dad in that way, he wouldn't put someone in immediate danger purposely. Or would he? He had put Michael in danger with the shtriga. He had put Sam in danger countless times. And he did blame himself for putting Jo in harm's way on the H.H. Holmes job. Ellen had every right to be mad at him. He just wished that Ellen could forgive him for his mistakes…and his dad's.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face to wake himself up and focus on the road ahead of him. He turned up the volume, not really caring what music came out. It was, of course, Metallica. Ironically, The Unforgiven. Dean quickly ejected the tape and popped in AC/DC and trusty Angus Young and Brian Johnson drowned out his mind with their heavy chords and vocals Dean had come to, not so much love, but need. He needed to get his mind off things, constantly, before this…this thing had ever happened.

A/N: Okay guys, hope you enjoyed that! Tell me if I'm doing something wrong with anything, if there's some aspect of the story you don't like or if I'm just writing a terrible plot. Oh and of course, tell me if you like it! So in short, please review!!