Sam sat up with a start, and quickly discovered that any movement he made sent a shooting pain through his entire body. Carefully lowering himself back down to the bed, he began taking in his surroundings. White. Everywhere. White walls, floor, ceiling, bedding. So, he was in the hospital. Great. He glanced down at his hand, which he saw had needles secured into the back of it with medical tape. He followed the tubes with his eyes, up to a large machine where they were attached to two bags: one filled with a clear substance, one with blood. How much had he lost?

Then an entirely new thought entered his mind. How had he gotten to the hospital in the first place? He'd been home alone. No one had been there to see what had happened. Had someone heard? Oh, god, no. Please no. Sam remembered seeing the wendigo's body crash to the floor before pulling himself onto the bed and losing consciousness. If someone had come in and seen the carcass of that thing... Sam shuddered. Maybe it had been someone who knew, his mind compromised. Maybe another hunter who had been close. Still, even if it wasn't someone he'd have to explain the dead wendigo to, that didn't mean it was someone he knew personally, which gave him a pretty large chance of being alone. Sam was a big boy. He didn't need to be attached to someone at the hip 24/7, but there was one place Sam could not stand being without anyone he knew. And that was a hospital. Once it sunk in that this was most likely the case, his mind began reeling, and he could feel himself slipping into panic-mode. He couldn't handle this. No other place in the world made him more uncomfortable, and he could not be trapped inside a hospital without his father, or especially without...

That was when it hit him. Dean. He'd been picking up his phone to call Dean when he'd heard the monster break into the apartment. Dean knew that he'd never forget to call. Dean would've been worried. Dean would've tried to call him instead, and when he didn't pick up... Before Sam could form another coherent thought, his brother's name was ripped from his throat so forcefully that it could most likely be heard through his closed door and down the hallway.

Instantly, Dean was there, throwing open the door and rushing to Sam's side, the doctor on his heels. He took Sam's hand, careful to avoid the IV ports. "It's okay, baby boy. I'm right here. We just went out to talk for a minute so we wouldn't wake you up, 'cause you need as much rest as you can get. It's okay."

"Did I... Am I okay?" Sam stuttered.

Dean nodded. "You're gonna be fine. Just gotta take it easy for a little while. And I'll take care of you. Make sure you've got everything you need. Sound good?"

Sam smiled tentatively. "You always do."

Dean grinned back at him. "'S right. I always do. Because that's my job."

Sam squeezed Dean's hand gratefully.

An expression resembling confusion and then one of understanding flitted over the doctor's face. "Oh, I see." He held up his fingers to air-quote, obviously referring to something Dean had been saying outside. "'Brothers.' It's okay, boys. You're among friends here. No need to hide anything."

Both Sam and Dean stared back at the doctor with puzzled looks on their faces, until Sam put two and two together and let out a small laugh. "No, no, we really are brothers."

The doctor's face immediately flushed, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but Dean cut him off.

"Don't worry about it, man. Seriously, that's not the first time someone's gotten the idea that we were together. You'd be surprised how often it happens, actually. But we don't take it offensively or anything, right, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head and smiled. "Nah. No harm done."

"Well, I hope you'll excuse me for being presumptuous," the doctor said. "I'm not usually one to assume, but I just thought you seemed a bit... closer than brothers."

"Dean just... handles things like this. When I'm sick or hurt or something," Sam clarified. "I can see how that could seem like something different than it is."

The doctor nodded. "I see. Well, if you don't mind me asking, where are your parents?"

"Our dad's out in the lobby," Dean explained, not bothering to mention their mother. "This isn't really his scene, and, like he said," Dean gestured toward his brother, "I handle these things."

The doctor didn't press the issue, and turned toward the bed. "How're you feeling... Sam, is it?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Sam. I'm okay. Little sore, but I'll live."

"How would you rate your pain right now on a scale of one to ten?" the doctor asked, pulling a pen from his pocket.

Sam thought for a moment and answered, "Five, six, maybe."

The doctor circled something on a piece of paper he was holding on a clipboard. "You've got a high pain tolerance, Sam. You have a couple of broken ribs and some pretty serious lacerations on your thighs and stomach. Normally, people rate those kinds of injuries an eight at the lowest, and that's with more medication than we've given you."

Sam shrugged. "I was a clumsy kid. Got used to bruised knees and bloody elbows pretty fast, I guess."

Dean chuckled. "Got that right."

Sam shot him a bitchface that fell at about a four on the scale. "Like you weren't exactly the same way. Shutup."

The doctor smiled at their banter and turned back to Dean. "Well, I'll leave you to it, since he seems to be doing alright for now. I'll send someone in to check his vitals soon, and if you need anything, I'm right down the hall."

"Thanks," Dean said as the doctor exited the room.

Sam sighed and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "How much longer am I gonna have to stay in here?"

"Not too long," Dean assured him. "He said you might be out before tomorrow if everything stays stable."

Sam nodded. "Good. Hate hospitals."

Dean pushed Sam's hair back, running his fingers through it slowly. "I know you do."

"So, what's the story?" Sam asked. "What'd you tell them happened?"

"Bear," Dean informed him. "Said you were out in the woods and it attacked."

Sam gave him a half-smile. "Should've guessed."

"How'd it really go down, Sammy? Can you remember?"

Sam drew in a deep breath and blew it out, cracking his knuckles. "Um... Well, I was about to call you, and then... I heard it open the door, and..." He paused. "I only remember bits and pieces, but I know we ended up in the living room, and it kept knocking stuff down because I was dodging it. Flipped the table over, I think. And then... we got into the bedroom, somehow, and I think it had already scratched my legs by that point, because it was kind of hard to walk, but I don't actually remember that happening. And then I remembered the flare gun you put in the top dresser drawer, and it got me in the stomach while I was pulling that out, but then I shot it, and it went down, and I did, too, and then I pulled myself up on the bed, and I passed out. Which, now that I think about it, was probably from blood loss."

Dean looked down, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry, baby boy. I never should've left you alone."

Sam placed his hand on Dean's thigh, because it was the furthest he could reach with the tubes and all. "Don't do that. Please. It wasn't your fault."

Dean didn't argue, but he obviously didn't agree. "Yeah, well. I'm just glad you're okay."

Sam let out a hard laugh. "Me, too."

"So, were you telling the truth when the doctor asked how bad you were hurting, or is it worse?"

Sam scrunched up his face in thought for a moment. "No. It's not too bad. Getting a little bit worse now, but I think that's just because I'm starting to get tired again."

"Wanna go back to sleep?" Dean asked softly.

"I think... Yeah," Sam replied, and then closed his hand into a fist, encasing the fabric around the edge of Dean's jacket. "But, could you just... not leave?"

Dean leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Sam's forehead. "Of course. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake up, okay? I promise."

Sam smiled contentedly and drifted off to sleep, still holding onto Dean.