Author's Note: Hey everyone! Once again, thanks for all the wonderful reviews, PMs and e-mails. I appreciate each and every one :o) Here's the next chapter and I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Eric Kripke does. Lucky bum.

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Dean cleared his throat nervously, but excitedly, as he and Sam's doctor huddled together quietly in the hallway outside Sam's room.

It was just after 8:15 and Dean's heart had been pounding in his throat for nearly half an hour.

Sam had squeezed his hand.

His baby brother, his Sammy, had finally shown the smallest signs of life. In a perfect world, he would've opened his eyes, grinned and said Dean's name; but unfortunately, Dean Winchester wasn't living in a perfect world.

So he'd take whatever Sam was capable of giving.

Dr. Hogarth smiled gently, flipping through the enormous chart he held in his hands. "He squeezed your hand, this is incredibly positive."

Dean nodded tightly. "Does it mean he's wakin' up?"

"It could mean any number of things."

"Such as?"

"My first thought is that it's something called reactivity." The doctor explained in a soft voice, meeting Dean's eyes intensely. "This concept basically refers to the natural functions of the human brain; twitching in the eyes, responses to pain…sometimes a patient will turn their head in the direction of familiar sound-"

"But Sam squeezed my hand."

"Yes, it's very common for coma patients to move or make sounds…some openly display signs of agitation. It varies from patient to patient as functionality increases."

Dean swallowed hard, desperately trying to keep up. "So…that, in there, could've just been Sam reacting on instinct?"

The doctor nodded.

Dean had liked Dr. Hogarth right from the start. While some doctors threw around nothing but medical mumbo-jumbo, Hogarth knew and understood a lone older brother's need to completely understand; he was tolerant and kind, taking the time needed to put Dean at ease as much as possible. Dean was grateful.

Hogarth softened his voice even more. "The easiest way for me to explain this? Right now, as I said, Sam is showing signs of reactivity. In order for a person to come out of a comatose state, two things need to happen; one, a patient needs to show signs of reactivity-"

"Which you said Sam does."

"Yes he does."

"And the second thing?"

"Second, a patient needs to display signs of perceptivity, which basically means that the nervous system has rebooted itself and has started reacting to previously learned stimuli."

"Like what?"

Releasing a slow breath, Hogarth said, "Language…communication skills, natural reaction. For example, the instictual flinch that occurs after a loud jolt of sound. Shivering when feeling cold. Laughter, excitement…even something as simple as goosebumps would be signs of a newly reactive nervous system."

"Is Sam doin' any of that stuff?"

"So far we've only seen signs of reactivity-"

Dean couldn't help but sigh dejectedly.

Hogarth shook his head and placed a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "Don't start feeling negative, Dean, this is incredibly good news. When one starts, the other usually isn't too far behind. I wouldn't be surprised if he started showing signs either tonight or early tomorrow."

Dean dared to hope and he swallowed hard. "Really?"

"It's long and it's tedious, I know, but when a patient is in a state similar to Sam, any type of reaction is an enormous step in the right direction."

Raking a hand through his short hair, Dean swallowed hard again. "So he could be awake by tonight?"

Hogarth sighed gently. "In my medical opinion? Judging from past histories of other patients similar to your brother? I would say the chances are good. You're going to have to stick by him; talk to him, touch him, let him know you're here. It's going to take time…and a whole lotta patience."

Patience had never…ever… been Dean's forte.

**********

"So, all in all, the report was a good one."

Dean nodded slowly, letting out a breath. "Yeah, I guess. Doc says it's good news, so…"

"Like I said, he's a tough kid."

Turning slowly from his position near the window, Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, slowly walking back toward Sam's bed. "Yeah, I know."

"And look at it this way, at least you know now that he's gonna be alright. That's a big change from last night."

"But it still makes me nervous, Bobby—I mean, look at him-" He leaned down and rested his arms on the newly raised bedrail. "I can't stand seein' him so still."

"Yeah, but the doc says he's in the home stretch now. Just keep your head on straight."

"I know."

"You gotta keep patient."

Dean snorted quietly. "You know me, Bobby, I'm not a patient kinda guy…not when it comes to stuff like this."

All Bobby did was nod.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, the older man shifted in his seat and cleared his throat; Dean automatically looked at him with raised eyebrows. "So I've been meanin' to ask you…"

"Ask me what?"

The awkward expression on Bobby's face was almost painful, even from across the room. "Have you tried callin' your daddy again at all?"

At first, the mention of his father left Dean feeling absolutely nothing; no reaction, no emotion. But as Bobby's question hung in the air, the emotions came barreling into Dean's consciousness with a vengeance.

And they were anything but positive.

"No, Bobby."

"Dean-"

"I said…no." Dean narrowed his eyes, his usually rich and deep voice was sounding more and more like a menacing growl. "I'm not callin' him again."

"Maybe if I tried-"

"You think that'd make a difference?" Dean shook his head, releasing an angry breath. "I've called him a thousand times, nothin' but voicemail. Hell, I don't even know if he gets his messages."

"He's your father, Dean. You and Sam are his boys. He should be here."

"And if he gave a rat's ass, he would be here."

Judging from the expression on Bobby's face, Dean's angry reaction had been surprising. Incredibly surprising.

Dean Winchester had never been one to take crap. It wasn't in his programming to be a door mat…it wasn't entrenched in his psyche to be stepped on or swept under the rug. He didn't know how to be those things.

Sam had given him continuous crap over the years for always being the good little soldier, always following daddy's orders and doing what he was told. It was a routine that Dean was used to and the rules were simple; follow the orders and the family stays safe. Sammy stays safe. As an older brother—a man marked for a life of shielding and protecting—keeping his baby brother safe was his top priority. If that meant following crap orders from a man who knew more about barking than parenting? So be it.

Sam had never understood that. He'd never even bothered to try.

Part of following the rules meant keeping their dad on a pedestal. John Winchester had always been thought to be a superhero, a man who kicked ass and took names on a regular basis. Dean had always been proud of who his father was.

It had never occurred to him that his dad wouldn't drop everything and come running with Sam as far gone as he was.

Dean's life had always been full of rude shocks; the reality about where they stood with their own father was just another one to add to the constantly growing pile.

"You shouldn't talk 'bout him like that, kid, you know he loves you boys-"

"Then where is he?" Dean's voice was now dangerously matter-of-fact, as if he were venomously talking about the weather or the latest sports statistics on ESPN. "I called him, damn near begged him to come to Boston. He never called back and he never showed up."

"Dammit, Dean."

"He doesn't wanna be here, that's not our problem. We're doin' ok."

Bobby sighed helplessly and made a face, leaning back heavily in his chair. "Yeah…I know you are."

It was the last time the older hunter mentioned John Winchester.

***

The tennis ball impacted the brick wall violently, immediately bouncing off and rebounding back into the worn leather of Dean's over-used baseball glove.

The parking lot of the motel was completely deserted except for the small hatchback P.O.S. that the owner drove. Judging from the gurgling sound that emanated from under the rusted hood whenever she started it, Dean had surmised that the little car was on it's last legs.

It made him wish for the beautiful throaty rumble of his dad's car.

His dad.

If it were possible, his mood dropped another ten thousand points.

The tennis ball impacted the wall again.

"Dean?"

The little voice drew Dean's attention and he turned to look, his eyes falling on the awkward face of his baby brother. Sammy, in all his ten-year-old glory, stood there with his own baseball glove gripped tightly in his small hands.

Dean sighed. "What the hell are you doin' out here?"

"Just…wanted to know where you went."

"Yeah, well, you found me."

The rancor in Dean's voice didn't go unnoticed and Sam's eyes immediately dropped to the broken and stained pavement. His long and floppy bangs fell into his eyes, effectively shielding him as he spoke quietly. "Can I stay out here with you?"

"You're supposed to stay in the room."

"I'm supposed to stay wherever you are-"

"Dammit Sam, I don't want you hangin' around right now."

Sam shifted awkwardly. "What's wrong, Dean?"

"What's wrong? Right now you're what's wrong, you're pissin' me off."

When Sam raised his head, Dean couldn't help but see the teary shine in his eyes. The anger that was burning in Dean's chest started to cool just slightly.

In a newly shaky voice, all Sam said was, "Ok.", before turning and starting back towards their room, his baseball glove hanging loosely in his hand.

And as easily as that, Dean's anger now completely disappeared.

He felt like the world's biggest jerk.

Letting out a sigh he started after his little brother, walking into the cool shade of their small room only a minute after Sam.

He spotted him right away, lying on his bed on his side, his back to where Dean stood in the door. Looking closely, Dean could make out the gentle shake of Sam's shoulder.

The kid was crying.

Dean sighed again and pushed the door closed, tossing his baseball glove down onto the other bed. He then walked over to Sam's bed and very carefully sat himself down on the edge. "Sammy?" He wasn't expecting an answer, so he wasn't overly surprised when Sam said nothing. "Look, Sammy, I'm sorry, ok?"

Sam sniffled quietly. "Why are you so mad at me?"

Dean's heart clenched. "Dude, I'm not mad…not at you, anyway."

"Who are you mad at?"

"Dad."

That finally got Sam's attention. The little guy sniffled again and then slowly rolled back, turning his head and looking at Dean over his shoulder. His face was red and tear-stained. "Dad?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Pulling his eyes from his brother's, Dean shrugged and motioned around the room. "I'm sick of bein' left behind all the time. I just…wanted us to stay together, is all."

"Really?"

Dean nodded and then watched as Sam pushed himself into a sitting position; sitting cross-legged, they were only a few inches apart. Sam raised a hand and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. Dean cringed. "Eww, that's gross, dude." Grabbing a tissue from the box on the bedside table, Dean passed it over. "You're gonna get snot all over your shirt."

Holding the tissue under his nose, Sam looked slightly ashamed. "Sorry."

Once again faced with his baby brother, Dean felt his heart clench all over again. He really was the world's biggest jerk. "I'm sorry, Sammy." He nearly whispered, dipping his head down to get Sam's attention; Sam met his eyes, his expression still miserable. "I didn't mean it, ok?"

"Promise?"

Dean smiled gently. "Yeah, I promise."

"I don't want you to be mad, Dean."

In an action that made Dean want to laugh and cry at such a blatant display of innocence, Sam jutted out his lower lip; which, in true little brother fashion, immediately started trembling.

Dean frowned. "Hey, no fair-" He raised a finger and tenderly poked Sam's lip. "Put that back."

Without a single word, Sam un-crossed his legs and scooted across the bed, snuggling himself up against his older brother's side.

All Dean could do was wrap an arm around Sam's small shoulders and pull him close, pressing his face into the mess of dark chocolate brown hair.

***

Dean smiled to himself, discreetly trying to hide the sudden moisture pooling in his eyes. He reached down and ran his fingers through Sam's thick hair.

Yeah, they didn't need John Winchester.

They had each other.

They were going to be just fine.