Author's Note: I had a couple of hours to spare, the Muses were cooperative, Cheryl (as always) managed to make time to help… So here's that second tag. I hope you like it!

Thanks to Klutzygirl33, Shakari, criminally charmed, stelladelnordxd, cold kagome, cookjar, fledglingfeathers, doyleshuny, Eavis, Jane88, Likaella, twomom, OutTonightAndForever, BerrySPNFMA, Katy M VT, BranchSuper, casammy, SPN Mum, Emmers224, SandyDee84, scootersmom, godsdaughter77, jensengirl4eva, battle at arizona and CeCe Away for the reviews!

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Summary: Tag to 7.02. In the ambulance on the way to Sioux Falls General, what's Sam thinking?


Nobody's Perfect

It's Lucifer.

He's standing in a corner of the ambulance, smiling and nodding, and no matter how hard I shake my head, how much I look away, how firmly I tell myself that he isn't real, every time I look back he's still there.

I vaguely remember Dean's hands on my head as he told me to hang on. I remember his voice. That was the only thing holding me, anchoring me, because the Leviathan's knock to my head had jolted everything askew and it felt like I was looking at the world, experiencing the world, through a fine mist.

It still feels like that. I'm in an ambulance. My head feels like it's about to explode. Dean is right next to me and he's begging – pleading with me. And Lucifer's right in front of me and he's not pleading. He's standing there with that sneer I know like I know my own face – or Dean's.

I can't tell which of them is real.

I can't tell what Dean's saying, although Lucifer's voice is coming through loud and clear. "I'm always going to be here," and, "When Dean gives up and leaves you in a psych ward, I'm going to be your roommate again," and, "Never going to get rid of me, Sammy, never ever ever."

I turn to Dean in desperation. Dean's talking, and it looks like he's talking to me, but I can't tell. I can't –

I reach for him. Someone pushes my hand back, something black blurs across my vision.

I hear Dean's voice again. He sounds angry and I can't hold back the whimper, although I know he's never going to let me live it down. I'm trying to deal with it, I'm trying to tell between what's real and what isn't, I'm trying and –

And there's a hand on my wrist, solid and reassuring. Dean's grip is strong. His voice is suddenly much closer to my ear, and this time I can almost make out words.

I look at Dean, blinking through the pain in my skull. He's smiling, I can tell now that he's closer, but it's not a happy smile. It's the smile I half-remember from Cold Oak, the smile from when I was seven and fell off the jungle gym and cracked my head. It's the smile that says, "I am not going to lose you, so let me just talk like everything's OK and when I finish this will turn out to not be happening."

"Dean," I mumble, and his smile widens, like I'm playing along. "Dean."

"I'm here."

"Worth it," I tell him, just in case I never get to speak to him again.

"Sammy, what are you –"

"Me." It hurts to get words out, but I have to say this while I'm still lucid. "Head injuries… Crazy person… Don't really… mix."

"Shut up, Sam."

"If I die… all worth it… Jumping –"

"Sam –"

"This –"

"Sam, if you –"

"You're safe… All I wanted."

"Sam!" Dean snaps. "Shut up. You do not get to make the goodbye speech. Nothing's going to happen to you. Not dying, not going crazy. You're going to be fine. You hear me? You're going to be a pain in my ass tomorrow morning, and every day after that, and when we go we're going together." Dean must've had his gurney rolled closer, because he's muttering all this an inch from my face. "You hearing me, Samantha?"

"Sorry… Dean…"

The world fades out.


It fades back in to chaos and people and light that's so bright it's painful. They're saying something. Everyone's talking at once and I can't tell what's going on.

I have a moment of fear – wasn't one of the doctors a Leviathan? What if one of these people is a Leviathan? Where's Dean?

I look around. Dean's not there, and the fear morphs into blind panic. What if it ate Dean? What am I going to do if –

I can't. I can't think that way. Dean's OK, he has to be OK. He's a hunter, a good one, and he's not busy spilling his marbles all over the floor. No way a Leviathan got the drop on him. He's probably just getting his leg casted. As soon as it's done he'll be here.

I sigh, letting myself fade into the beckoning darkness again.

He'll be here.


When I wake up again, Dean's there. He's sitting by my bed; I think he's in a wheelchair, but from the position I'm in, I can't really see.

I can't see much, actually. There's a stand by the bed with the usual clutter of medical equipment, a table with a jug, a bowl of flowers and a book someone's left lying around, and a plastic chair pushed back against the wall.

I try to ask Dean what's going on, but what comes out is a garbled non-word that not even he can understand. He hears it, and he smiles at me and pats my hand.

"Attaboy, Sammy. I knew you'd be OK. You ready to blow this joint now?" Dean pauses and then rolls his eyes. "Oh, wait, I forgot. You need rest because you finally found something hard enough to crack your thick skull. Bad enough when you were just crazy. Now you're crazy and concussed."

Not real. My mind, the rational part of it, snaps into action. Ignore him, Sammy. He isn't real.

"Of course I'm real, Sammy." Dean leans forward. "I'm your brother."

No, he isn't.

"Yes, I am."

No.

"Yes."

Wait a minute – I'm pretty sure my half of the conversation is going in inside my head. So how is Dean responding to it?

"I'm your brother," Dean says, nudging my arm. "I know you. I know what you're thinking." He squeezes my hand. I pull it away. "Sam." Dean grabs my wrist. "Don't be ridiculous. I know you're seeing triple, but I need you to hold it together. We're in a hospital. Anyone here realizes you're crazy and they'll put you in the special ward for dangerous patients."

Dangerous patients?

"Have you seen the size of you?" Dean demands. "You'll be lucky if they don't just shoot a little extra morphine into your IV. So shut up and do as I tell you." He pauses, eyes going to the door. "Or I might just give you that extra shot of morphine myself. It would be a kindness, huh, Sam? Like putting a dog to sleep… Well, not really. Like shooting a mad dog."

This can't be Dean.

"Like Gregory Peck," Dean goes on, and it's like he's seeing happy visions of it in his head. "Remember that movie, Sam? It would be quick – just one shot." He leans forward, finger brushing my temple. "Right there. Double tap to the brain. You wouldn't feel a thing."

"Dean," I manage to whisper. "Please."

"But that would be messy. I don't have a gun on me right now, anyway. So maybe…" Strong fingers are at my throat. "Maybe we'll just do this quick and dirty. Don't fight it, Sam. It'll be over soon." Dean's pressing down. Black spots are dancing across my vision.

"Dean, please."

Dean laughs. "Goodbye, Sam."

That's the last thing I know.


I wake up again. I keep my eyes shut this time, because now I'm dead, which means it's over, which means I'm back in the Cage, which means –

"Sammy! Come on, don't do this to me." The voice next to my ear is harsh. "Come on. You don't get to check out, not yet. I'm not – come on, Sam, stay with me. You die and I'm going to eat my gun, I swear. I am not doing this without you, Sam."

That doesn't sound like Lucifer or Michael.

I tilt my head towards the sound.

"That's my boy," Dean urges. "Come on, open your eyes. I know you're awake, Sam. Look at me. Hey, I'll even bring you breakfast in bed again. Who's going to give you a better deal than that?"

It's difficult, and it makes my head hurt, but I finally manage to open my eyes a tiny crack. Dean's face, floating blurrily above me, breaks into a wide, relieved grin.

"Sammy."

I don't know what to do. Is this Dean? Is this not Dean? Is this a Dean who's going to think I need to be put down like a rabid animal? I try to ask him what he wants. My voice won't work.

"Shut up," Dean says, leaning in closer. "He was here, wasn't he? Came here and freaked you out." One hand finds my head, but unlike the last Dean, who was trying to figure out where to put the bullet for a textbook execution, this Dean just smoothed my hair down. "You coded. God, Sammy, you scared me!"

"S'rry."

"You should be! Giant freak… What did he say to you, Sam?"

I try to remember – there's a vague flash of fingers brushing my temple, squeezing my hand hard enough to hurt, pressing down on my neck. It makes my head spin to think of it.

I can't help the flinch.

"Hey!" Dean soothes. "Hey, calm down. You're OK. It wasn't me. I'm here. Had to sweet talk about eight nurses to get them to let me sit here alone. Bobby's on his way."

I open my eyes fully. Bobby's alive?

Dean reads the unspoken question. "He's fine. He'll get us out." Dean holds up a book. "I found this – looks like the kind of thing you'd like. And it'll keep us both awake until Bobby gets here."

I couldn't help a grin. That was Dean.

He grins back, making himself comfortable with his elbows resting on the mattress. "Oh, and by the way, Sam," he says casually, "I don't know how hallucinations work in general, but the book was lying around and with a geek like you… If he said anything about shooting you like a mad dog, he was lying and I am going to kick his ass for even suggesting it. And when you're better, I'm going to kick your ass for thinking it. OK?"

My grin widens. Definitely Dean. Nobody can ever know me as well as my big brother does.

Dean just rolls his eyes and starts to read. "When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow…"


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