A/N: So hi again! Here's another chapter for you guys who are still supporting this story even though it's admittedly not so good. Anyway, a million thanks to Wesley1501 who's been a very supportive reader. Your review has made this chapter possible. Also, big thanks for the support from Iederra, IWishIWasACheescake, Lacuna Everspring, Crossing the Galaxy 22, AlexandriaClare, trins xxx and Lorier. Sooooo... Let's get this chapter rollin'! You guys stay awesome!

Disclaimer: No comment. *death glare*

CHAPTER THREE: The Fourth Horseman

Dean Winchester woke up calmly enough. He'd sort of gotten used to taking his sweet time with the Leesons. They were graceful hosts, and he will be forever grateful for them taking him in and nursing him back to health, but Dean just couldn't stay for the same reason he couldn't stay in Hell with Ariana.

Ariana. The name brought a lump to his throat that Dean had become quite familiar with. He swallowed it painfully, and shoved the thoughts of the older girl to the deepest darkest recesses of his mind. He'll deal with his emotions later on.

The Winchester got up from the bed and stretched instinctively. He yawned deeply, taking in that floral perfume Mikhail liked to use...or not. Dean took another experimental whiff, scrunching up his face in concentration. He still wouldn't open his heavy eyelids as he inhaled the air around him. Which was sterile-smelling. The unmistakable scent of disinfectant, old people and death hung thickly around him.

Finally, Dean got the courage to peek with one eye open. Confirming his worst suspicions, Dean realized in astonished horror that he was where he thought he was: the worst place in the world. Or at least second worst, he amended, having experienced Hell firsthand. He was in a hospital room.

The boy now opened both his eyes, glancing down at himself. His t-shirt slash memento from home was gone, replaced by a pristine white round-neck shirt. Pinstriped pajamas took the place of his blue jeans, and he was barefoot. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Dean snatched the dextrose off his left arm and padded towards the closed door. He opened it easily.

Walking down the hallways, Dean didn't mind that they were empty. He figured it was in the middle of the night maybe, though he didn't really check the windows when he woke up. The curtains were drawn. He didn't really bother to check if it was day or night because it seemed inconsequential at that time so- Stop, he told himself. You're thinking about the wrong things.

Before he had a full blown panic attack, Dean tried recalling what got him here in the first place. He remembered leaving the Leesons' residence in the dead of the night and wandering from place to place for what felt like months. He remembered seeing the date in the television, January 24th, and then getting hit by a truck. On impulse, Dean started checking himself for injury. There seemed to be none at all. Maybe I managed to dodge that truck after all, he theoretized. Oh man, I screwed up big time. Good news is, maybe the authorites got ahold of dad.

Dean rounded another corner subconsciously and was relieved to find actual people in the nurses' station. He hadn't even realized he was holding his breath for so long, having felt no pain in his chest whatsoever. He was marching right over to the desk when he heard the pretty lady in a white lab gown speaking about a traffic accident. He quickly changed tactics and hid in a nearby corner instead to listen in.

"The little boy got hit by a truck, Annie! I don't know what else to do. We'll perform the surgery tomorrow with or without parent permission, but I'm afraid the chances of him surviving this is very slim." The doctor's voice quivered on the last word. She took an unsteady breath before speaking again. "I feel so useless and pathetic! I'm a doctor and I can't save a little boy's life!"

"Don't blame yourself, doc. You're sure you did everything you could possibly do?" The doctor nodded. "Then you've done enough. We're just mortals. We're not God. We can't possibly save everyone." Pretty Lady nodded tightly again and, with a pat on her hand the nurse left her.

Dean's heart was thudding so hard in his chest already. They couldn't possibly be talking about me, could they? I feel perfectly fine! No, that's not me. Maybe another kid got hit by a truck too somewhere. Must be coincidence.

Creeping out of his corner, Dean called out to the doctor, "Hey, Doc!"

She ignored him. Dean was pretty sure she should've heard it since the hallways were dead silent. Thinking that maybe she was just very preoccupied with her thoughts, he approached her silently. If Dean was expecting some sort of recognition from her, he was disappointed. The lady didn't even look up from her sullen position behind the desk.

"Uhm, Doc?" Dean began hesitantly. No response. "Hey!" he shouted, slapping the desk hard with his hand.

The doctor looked up all of a sudden, showing Dean two dots of startling electric blue. The boy stumbled backwards in shock, but the doc stared right over his shoulder. Looking behind him, he was a little startled to see a bunch of medical people running towards a room. The room he just left.

Following them in a painstakingly slow manner, somehow, it didn't shock the little boy as much as he thought it should to see a perfect replica of himself lying deadly still on a hospital bed. All sorts of machinery were connected to his small body, working doubly hard to keep him breathing, but still losing the war futilely.

For one scary second, Dean felt like he was fading.

"Are you ready to go, Dean?"

Flabbergasted to hear someone address him, Dean fell hard on his ass in surprise. Besides where he used to stand was an unbearably thin man in black formal clothes typically worn by office workers. Or by people going to a funeral.

"Who the Hell are you?" he demanded. "How do you know me?"

"Winchesters," the man muttered. "Always asking the wrong questions." Then much audibly, he answered the boy. "Wouldn't it be more interesting to know how I can see you when others cannot?" At Dean's bewildered gaze, he continued without encouragement. "I am Death, the Fourth Horseman. As a hunter's son, surely you know who I am."

Dean felt like his brain has short-circuited and sending weird dreams in his head. "This isn't real," he told himself finally. "None of this is real. It's all in my head!"

"How do I make you believe that this is real? Really, if you Winchesters weren't such an interesting case, I wouldn't have bothered reaping you myself."

"I'm...dead?"

"Yes!" Death answered exasperatingly.

"But...I can't be...Sammy...I still need to find my baby brother. I-I can't die yet. You have to make an exception." Dean glanced back to his body and the living humans surrounding his bed. Somehow, they've restarted his heart again. He stopped flickering.

"Come with me."

Following Death is crazy in Dean's honest opinion. But what choice did he have? It's that or watching your body slowly give up on you, and he's not enough of a masochist yet to inflict that kind of torture on his young soul.

He walked in Death's wake, right to the other wing of the hospital. They came upon a door where a familiar name graced the nameplate. "S-Sammy's here!?" he choked out.

Upon Death's example, he crossed the threshold without much effort. Dean barely heard Death's voice the minute he saw his brother.

"I'll come back for your answer later, Dean Winchester. Remember that you can either come with me and I will take you to your rightful place, or you can stay here and become what you used to hunt."

~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~

It seemed like forever for Dean, but it really was just a few minutes since he came into Sammy's room. His brother was hooked up to a ventilator that helped with his breathing. For the millionth time, Dean felt utterly and completely useless. Sammy wouldn't be in this condition if he'd been there to take care of him. His father was often out on hunts, leaving just the two of them together, and if he wasn't there, who looked out for Sammy?

Standing beside his brother's bed, Dean reached out to ruffle Sammy's long hair. Only when his hand passed right through did he remember he wasn't a corporeal human being. With a huff of frustration, he resigned himself into watching the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest instead, hoping to calm himself down. It worked like a charm.

"I miss you, Sammy'" he sobbed. "I should've been there to protect you. Dad probably didn't know how to calm you down when you cried before going to bed. You've aways been such a bawler. I know. I should've been there. Sorry, li'l bro."

Just then, the door to the room opened. Dean's protective instincts took over and he felt a lot stronger with anger fueling his soul, anger directed both at himself and the unfairness of it all.

John Winchester paused at the threshold, feeling the sudden drop in temperature inside his youngest's room. He's always hated hospitals, mostly because it made it harder to protect his boys. Salt lines would be met with scrutiny and devil's traps would probably get him confined in the psyciatric ward for religious psychosis. But he had to get Sam confined after he had a hard time breathing crying his eyes out, wanting his older brother. Nothing short of baby sedatives could calm him down, and it broke John's heart all over again to see him turn blue from the exertion.

A hand propped over the gun tucked in his waistband, John's trained eyes surveyed the room quickly. Just as quickly as it had come, the temperature became normal again. Must've been paranoia, he told himself later on.

Dean relaxed exponentially when he saw his daddy. All the resentment building in his chest ever since that first encounter with George dissipated with just one look at his dad's form. He had sunken shadows in his eyes, no doubt a product of the sleepless nights his nightmares caused. Again, Dean felt the sharp stab of uselessness, hot and fast. If he'd been there, someone would wake his dad up from his nightly torture and usher him back to sleep to prevent him from drinking it all away. Alcohol was bad, he knew, and it wouldn't do for his dad to get sick, especially now.

Before Dean completely forgot, he tried moving a flask that stood on a bedside table. He knew it would be filled to the brim with holy water. As his dad sat down next to his brother's bed, Dean harnessed all of the emotions he's been burying deep inside and focused it all on that one item. He was John Winchester's son after all, and Winchesters don't take chances. Succeeding in his task, Dean knocked over the entire thing for its contents to spill on his dad's lap.

"Shit!" John exclaimed.

He righted the flask again, glancing around with more apprehension. Dean tried to do what he just did to materialize in front of his dad so he can at least talk to him, but he's used up all his energy protecting Sammy. He regretted nothing.

Tears sprung to John's eyes, his throat clenching tightly. "Dean?" he choked out. It was a long shot, but at this point, he was too desperate to care.

Dean gasped as his dad called his name. But what shocked him to his core was the moisture accumulating in his dad's eyes. "Dad, I'm here!" he screamed, waving his hands frantically in front of the man. He felt stinging in his own eyes-if that was real or just a lingering human sensation Dean will never know. "Dad, I'll always be here. I'll take care of Sammy, I promise," he said, although he knew his daddy couldn't hear him.

The man stood from his seat a minute later when a flurry of commotion started outside, pretending that he was fine when he was anything but. John asked a passing nurse what was happening.

"Just an emergency. The boy who got hit by a truck needs to be operated on again. We would've done it as soon as he was brought in, but his parents are MIA," she responded briskly.

Sounds of rustling blankets caught John's attention before he could process what the nurse just said. He said a mumbled thanks and returned beside his son's bed.

The sensation of fading came over Dean again. Somehow, Dean knew he didn't have any more time. "I love you daddy," he said in a heart-broken voice. Giving his brother a last once-over, he continued, feeling silly for talking when he was certain nobody can hear him. "Take care of yourself, Sammy. I love you."

Running outside, Dean was just in time to see his body being rolled away to the emergency room. He passed right through the door and saw the doctors doing God-knows-what to him.

The man from before claiming to be Death materialized beside him. "It's time, Dean."

A/N: Aaaand cut! Whaddya guys think? Fluffy Dean, huh? Lol. I just thought he would've been a real sweet kid before hunting and soldier training taught him how to control his emotions. If you liked this chapter as much as I loved writing it, please take a moment to leave a review. And keep your ears on the ground for the next chapter, y'hear? Stay awesome!