Disclaimer: I don't own Bobby, Dean, Sam, or anything else you recognize.

The next morning, James Riley left for work early; he was eager to see how his two youngest patients were doing. Something about the two had captured his heart, and they were under his skin. Plus, Dean could come out of his coma at any time, and he wanted to make sure that he was there for it.

These two kids had gotten under his skin like no other patient had before, and he couldn't let them die.

He walked into Dean's room and checked his vitals; his heart rate had been steady all night, and his O2 stats were holding. He had moved in response to painful stimuli, but that was it. Today, he'd undergo a spinal tap to confirm menegitis; if there were no complications, it would be a simple procedure.

"You're going to be okay, Dean," he said, leaning towards the child-wait, did he just blink?

"Dean?" he repeated. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly but surely, the child opened his eyes-it was the most beautiful thing that James had ever seen. He lifted his arms, trying to pull off the mask-James signaled for him to stop.

"Let me help you," he said.

Keeping an eye on Dean's O2 stats, he slowly lifted the mask off of Dean's face. He opened his mouth- of course, it would be dry-and gestured to the water bottle. James picked it up and held it to the child's lips and waited as he took a sip. And then-

"Where's-where's Sammy?" He rasped-his O2 stats were dropping, but not by much; he would probably be able to function on a nasal cannula.

"He's in the room across the hall with Bobby," James answered.

"Can I see him?" Dean's voice was growing stronger, but it was still a harsh whisper.

"If you want, I can get you a room with him," he responded, and smiled as Dean's face lit up. "Would you like that?"

"Definately," Dean smiled.

Bobby was in the cafeteria grabbing a coffee; it had been a long night. Sam had a nightmare and wet the bed, and changing the sheets had turned into an ordeal for the nurses; every time they tried to move him, an IV would get twisted the wrong way or his heart moniter would fall off. He'd finally fallen asleep again around three, and he was still sleeping.

When he saw Dr. Riley walking towards him, he panicked. What had gone wrong? Had Sam stopped breathing? Was Dean taking a turn for the worse?

"Mr. Singer, I have really good news," he said, smiling. "Dean's awake."

Bobby sighed in relief, and then the full magnitude of what the doctor had said sunk in.

"He's awake?" Bobby exclaimed.

"Yes," he answered. "They're moving him into Sam's room now; I figured I'd tell you so you're not suprised."

"Thanks, Doc," Bobby answered, getting up. "I'll see you."

When Dean saw Sammy, his heart broke in two. The poor kid was dead asleep, tear tracks on his face, with IVs sticking out of the back of his hand. Sammy hated needles.

There was a hot twenty-four year old nurse helping him move rooms; her name was Kelly, and she had brought him a soda. That, in his eight-year-old mind, equaled the perfect woman.

"Dean, I know you love your brother," Kelly began. "But you need to take care of yourself."

"Don't worry about it, sugar," Dean smiled-he'd heard his Dad say that before to pretty waitresses at the diners they ate at. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, Romeo," Kelly laughed, hanging the antibiotics on the IV stand. "You're all set."

She left, and Dean was left alone with Sammy. Dean felt terrible-he hadn't been there for the toddler when he really needed him. Dad had only given him one mission when they left him at Bobby's-take care of Sammy. And he had failed.

Bobby walked into the room, and practically broke down in tears when he saw Dean sitting up in bed, awake and alert. Sure, the kid was on oxygen, but he was much better than the last time Bobby had seen him.

"Hey Bobby," Dean whispered, looking up quickly-were those tears in his eyes?

"What's wrong, Dean?" Bobby asked, frantic. "What hurts?"

"Nothing," Dean responded. "I just-I should have been there for Sammy."

"What?" Bobby said, incredalous. "You were in a coma."

"I know, but I should have been there. I should have been here to hold his hand and make sure that he was alright. I failed him, and I failed Dad," Dean sobbed.

Bobby was heartbroken; here was an eight year old boy, still incrediabley sick, feeling guilty for being in a coma. What exactly had John done to his boys?

"Dean. Listen to me," Dean looked up, into Bobby's face. "You're sick. Even sicker than Sammy. I know you love your brother, and want to be there for him-but you have to take care of yourself. You didn't fail Sam, and you sure as hell didn't fail your Daddy. You need to know that."

"But-" Dean began, but Bobby cut him off.

"Dean, I'm proud of you. For being so strong. For being such a good big brother. But most of all, for being you."

Tears fell freely from the boy's eyes. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Well, it's true," Bobby gave the boy a hug. "I'm glad your awake."

"Bobby," Dean said. "Thanks."

I'm sorry for the really boring chapter, but it's a bridge to the next one. Reviews are amazing.