Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta'ing this and for all her help and encouragement through the writing process.

Chapter Four

Dean's knuckles were white on the steering wheel as he drove, and his heart was thumping against his ribcage.

Sam had been in an accident. Sam was hurt.

The words didn't make sense. Sam was supposed to be out there somewhere in a snit. He wasn't supposed to be in a hospital.

"Tell me what they said," Dean demanded.

"I already told ya. They said he had been in an accident and that he's in Bozeman County General. That's all they said."

"That can't be all!"

"I'm telling you it is. Look, boy, I know you're scared, but panicking isn't going to get us there any faster."

Bobby was scared, too. The fact it was a nurse and not Sam himself that had called with the news meant that Sam was in a bad way. How bad, Bobby didn't want to think. He remembered nothing of leaving the diner and getting into the car. Everything had taken on a surreal feeling as if it was a dream. But this was no dream; it was a nightmare.

Dean slammed his foot down on the accelerator. He couldn't seem to make the car go fast enough. He wished for his baby. She would have got them there faster than the paltry pace the Ford was capable of. They were two hours out of Bozeman, and no journey had ever seemed longer.

"They didn't even say what kind of accident?" Dean asked.

"Could be anything." Bobby clasped his hands between his knees. "He could have been hurt in a hunt."

Dean blanched. He knew the creatures they came across and the damage they could do. Images of Sam covered in blood with gored flesh flashed through his mind, and he swallowed thickly.

"I'm sure he's okay," Bobby said bracingly. "He's probably just got a busted leg or something."

Dean nodded. That had to be it. He knew how miserable Sam would be with a broken leg. It wasn't that long ago that Dean himself had got his cast off, but that was better than what he was imagining. He fixed the image of Sam with a casted leg in his mind to stave off the other horrific images his mind had to offer.

Bobby rallied for a topic that would draw Dean's mind from the dark path he was sure they were on. "What do you think he's doing in Bozeman anyway?"

Dean thought for a moment. "Maybe he was on his way home. You said he'd come back when he was ready; maybe he was finally ready. It's been a couple of weeks after all."

It was a pleasant thought that Sam was finally ready to forgive and forget. It made Dean feel better. As it was, he was worried enough about seeing his brother, he didn't want to think that Sam would still be angry with him when he did.

Thoughts of Sam's anger toward him took Dean's thoughts on a different path, a different reason for Sam being in Bozeman.

"Dammit!" he hissed.

"What? What is it?"

"He wasn't coming back to us. He was going after the kid."

"What kid?"

"The kitsune I killed, Amy, she had a kid."

"You killed a mother?" There was no judgment in Bobby's tone, only shock. He was surprised that Dean, having lost his own mother, would be able to do that.

Dean didn't hear the subtle nuance of emotion in Bobby's tone; he only heard the shock. "I had no choice, Bobby. She was killing people."

"No judgment here, son," Bobby said, raising his hands.

Dean scoffed. "Sure there isn't."

"Oh, give it up," Bobby snapped. "Tell me about this kid."

Dean held back a shudder. Killing Amy wasn't one of his proudest moments, despite the fact he did it for the right reasons, and having her son witness the act was one of the decidedly darker moments of his life.

"The kid was there," he said quietly, fixing his eyes firmly on the road ahead. "Her son, Jacob, he was there and saw what I did. What if Sam went back for him?"

"You think he was the one that hurt Sam? But he's just a kid."

"Twelve or thirteen, maybe. But he said…" Dean swallowed. "He said he'd kill me one day. What if Sam came first instead?"

Bobby's mind automatically shied away from thoughts of how Sam had come to be hurt, but he forced it to consider the possibility. Dean said the boy was young, twelve or thirteen. That was young, but kitsunes had formidable strength. Enough to overpower Sam?

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "You managed to overpower the mother, and no offence, but Sam is much stronger than you. He's more than capable of protecting himself against a kid."

"A kid with claws," Dean said. His mind was awash with new images. Sam laid out on a mortuary slab. He flinched and the car swerved into the other lane. He corrected it instantly, but not before Bobby had muttered a low oath and cast him a panicked look.

"An ambulance will definitely get us there faster," he said. "But we won't be much good to Sam if you lay us both up wrapping the car around the guardrail."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that, Bobby. I never would have thought of that on my own."

"Now listen to me, boy. I know you're scared, I am too, but you talk to me like that again, and I'll whoop your ass."

Dean laughed. It wasn't a true laugh, it had a hint of hysteria to it, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Bobby looked at him, concern furrowing his brow. "Dean?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "Me, I'm fine. My brother, on the other hand, is stuck in a hospital and this piece of crap car is incapable of getting us there in time."

"In time for what?" Bobby asked worriedly. "I'm sure he's fine, Dean. We'll get there and find him sitting up in bed and bitching about the bad food. He'll be absolutely fine."

Bobby knew he was rambling, but he couldn't stop himself. Dean's fear was infecting him. He was now being assaulted by his own images of a mortally injured Sam.

"You really think he's okay?" Dean asked in a soft tone. He was like a child seeking reassurance that the monster under the bed wasn't real. Except it was real. Sam was hurt, and nothing Bobby could say would change that.

Bobby knew that, and yet he tried to reassure Dean anyway. "I'm sure he is."

Nodding to himself, and trying to block the images in his mind, Dean steered them towards Bozeman and Sam.

In a quiet room of the Bozeman County General Charlotte bustled around the bed of John Smith. She rearranged his blankets and checked his stats recorded on the monitor beside the bed. All was well, or as well as was to be expected in the situation.

"You should have visitors soon, John," she said. "We finally found Bobby."

John Smith slept on, unaware of what she was saying.

"We're wondering who Bobby is, of course," she continued. "Is he family or a friend? Whoever he is, he's coming to see you. It would be great if you could wake up for him. I bet he'd like to talk to you when he arrives."

She searched the patient for any sign of reaction, but there was none. She didn't really expect any, he was deeply unconscious, but it did no harm to hope.

"We can at least make you presentable for your company," she said.

She pulled the privacy curtain around the bed, and set about bathing her patient. He was a powerfully built man, muscular and tall. She wondered how he would look standing. As she ran the washcloth over his abdomen, she noticed something amiss. His abdomen was distended. Feeling a surge of panic, she slammed her hand on the call button, summoning help.

Another nurse rushed into the room. "What's wrong?"

"His abdomen. It looks distended."

The second nurse, Beth, examined the patient. "You're right. Someone page Doctor Saunders. I think we have a bleed here."

Charlotte gulped. She had feared as much. She was scared for her patient, but she was also scared for herself. The oversight that had almost killed John Smith—the lack of an MRI—had been bad, and the ER team were still waiting on tenterhooks to see what would happen about it. If there had been a secondary abdominal bleed that had been missed, it meant the ICU team were liable.

"Hey!" Beth snapped her fingers in front of Charlotte's face. "Don't worry about that now. We need to help him."

Charlotte nodded, and drew up a vial of blood from John Smith's IV to send to the lab. If John Smith was bleeding out, there would be signs.

At that moment, Doctor Saunders bustled into the room. "What have we got here?" she asked.

"We're seeing distention in the abdomen. We're thinking…."

"A bleed." The doctor sighed and raked a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's get him down to radiology to see what we've got. Have you drawn blood?"

Charlotte nodded and held up the vial.

"Good. Let's get that off to the lab and him to the scanner. If we're right, he's OR bound."

There was a flurry of movement in the room as orderlies arrived to take John Smith away.

Both nurses watched him wheeled away, and their thoughts both dwelled on what had happened and what it could mean for John Smith.

Throughout it all, John Smith slept on, unaware of the latest crisis. Not knowing that his family was frantically driving to him at that moment.

Dean pulled the Ford to a halt in the parking lot of the hospital and jumped from the car. He was close to Sam now, and his patience was gone.

Bobby followed him out and together they jogged through the main doors of the ER. They were sure that was where they would find Sam.

They burst into the lobby and made their way to the front desk. The receptionist's head snapped up at their noisy arrival.

"My brother, John Smith," Dean panted. "We got a call."

The receptionist blanched. News had spread through the hospital of John Smith and what had happened to him. Even she, inculpable as she was, had been dreading the arrival of his family. She had friends within the ER team that had treated him.

Dean saw her color fade and his heart contracted painfully. Were they too late? The thought stole the strength from his legs and it was only his grip on the desk that kept him standing. Bobby braced a hand on his shoulder in a mute gesture of comfort.

"John Smith," Bobby prompted. "Where is he?"

The receptionist checked the computer for the information. The last she'd heard, John Smith had been in the ICU, but she didn't want to send these dangerous looking men to the wrong place. There had already been too many mistakes where John Smith was concerned.

"He's on the third floor, ICU," she said.

All color leeched from Dean's face. ICU was bad. ICU meant that Sam was bad.

In that moment, Dean wanted to be anywhere but in that hospital. He would rather face a hundred leviathans than face the fact that his brother was so gravely injured.

"If you take the elevator up to the third floor, someone will be able to help you," the receptionist said. She wanted the men away. They were making her nervous. Especially the younger of the two. There was something about him that didn't bode well for the people that had failed in John Smith's care.

"Thank you," Bobby said automatically. He took Dean's arm and led him to the bank of elevators. He pressed the button and waited for the car to arrive. "He's gonna be okay," he said in a soft tone. He was reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring Dean. "He's strong."

Dean nodded, trying to believe Bobby's words. Sam was strong. Dean knew that better than anyone. Sam had beaten the devil after all. But that didn't comfort him much at the moment. This wasn't like facing a fallen archangel. This was dealing with physical injury, and Sam was only human.

The elevator car arrived, and Dean and Bobby stepped in. Bobby pressed the button for the third floor and kept one hand tight on Dean's shoulder. He had a very real fear that if he didn't keep contact with the younger man, he would shatter into a thousand pieces.

They stepped out of the elevator and into a different world. Unlike the ER with its hustle and bustle, everything here was quiet and muted.

Beth, standing at the nurse's station, looked up at their arrival and walked towards them. She suspected that this was Bobby Singer, but she didn't know the other man.

"Can I help you?"

"My brother," the younger man croaked. "John Smith. We were told he was here."

Beth was surprised but pleased to learn that John Smith had family after all. It didn't help her immediate predicament though. She had to tell them that their loved one was in surgery. Again.

"If you can come with me," she said, gesturing them towards the family room. "I can page a doctor to speak with you."

"I don't want to see a doctor," Dean snapped. "I want to see my brother."

Dr Saunders stepped out of a patient's room at that moment. She knew immediately that this was John Smith's family without Beth's explanation.

"I'm Doctor Christine Saunders," she said to the two men. "If you could come with me, I can explain everything."

Dean had a mulish expression that Bobby recognized at once. It spelled trouble.

"C'mon, Dean," he said. "Let's go somewhere private so we can talk."

"I don't want to talk," Dean said. "I want to see my brother."

"I'm afraid you can't, Mr. Smith." Doctor Saunders said.

"Why the hell not?" Dean demanded.

Doctor Saunders drew a deep breath. "Because he's still in surgery."

Dean's hands fisted at his sides. "What the hell happened to my brother?"

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