Chapter 6, people. And does it make me an evil person if your frantic reviews made me smile and go all like "Yesss, my pretties, let the feels flow through you?"

*dodges more projectiles* READ THE CHAPTER BEFORE THROWING THINGS, PLEASE!

Dean saw the eighteen-wheeler rig a split-second before hearing the deafening CRASH and seeing the Impala cave in on itself. He swerved his own car out of the way, getting out before it could even stop, and yelling "SAM!"

Dammit, sonovabitch, no this can't be happening, he thought as he raced forward to where his pretzel of a car was located, the eighteen-wheeler coming to a screeching halt nearby. Its driver jumped out and ran towards Dean, yelling, "Oh my God, what have I done?"

But Dean had eyes and ears only for the limp figure half-hanging out of what had been his pride and joy. Ripping off the Impala's door, he pulled Sam out on the asphalt and shook him, saying feverishly, "Come on, Sammy, wake up, oh my God–"

His brother was covered in blood from head to toe, his clothes and hair soaked through with it. His arm was bent at a strange angle, and Dean could see white bone sticking out from his forearm, gleaming in the moonlight–

"Oh my God," the trucker whispered, then turned away and quietly vomited.

"Call 911!" Dean roared at him. "Now!"

Wiping his mouth, the trucker nodded and extracted his cell phone from his pocket. Meanwhile Dean gently gathered Sam's broken and bloody form in his arms and held him close, letting his tears fall. "Oh God, Sammy," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should have never let you go."

Beep, beep, beep...

Oh my God this hurts. I think I might be on fire. Why does it hurt so much?

"Sammy? Sammy!"

Sam forced his eyes open, millimeter by millimeter, until he was squinting up at a blurry face right above his. "D-Deeaaaannn...?"

"Shh, don't speak, just listen to me," Dean was saying, though it sounded muffled. "You're alright, you're okay, you're in an ambulance, they're going to fix you..."

Sam tried to raise his hand to quiet Dean, but it hurt to move and besides someone else was holding him down and saying, "Relax, Sam, don't move your arm, it's broken..."

But Sam wanted to say something to Dean, he had to say it, it was important. "Deeeaaaannn..." God, it hurt to speak, but he had to, it was important Dean knew. "'M S-sorrrryyyyy..."

"I know, Sammy, shh." Why was Dean crying? Sam didn't understand why Dean was crying.

"D-Deaaann, n-no – don' cryyy," Sam offered. Dean shouldn't be crying, he hadn't done anything wrong. Sam was the one who was wrong.

"I'm not crying, Sammy." But he was. Did that mean he was lying? Or that Sam was wrong again?

"D-don't go, Dean." His most coherent sentence so far.

The flesh-colored blob that was Dean's head nodded. "I won't," he swore.

Reassured, Sam smiled and passed out again.

Sam was wheeled away the moment they reached the hospital, leaving Dean to sit in the waiting room and deal with the mess inside his head. He was still finding it hard to process everything that had happened since he'd found Sam. They'd fought, Sam had taken off – and now he was fighting to stay alive. How had things gotten so out of control? Since when had Dean gotten so bad at protecting his little brother?

There were only a few other people in the waiting room – a young man whose wife was in the labor room, a mother whose son had broken his arm, an old man reading a magazine, and Dean. None of them looked as haggard as he did, and he was sure none of them felt as shitty either. After all, how many of them had just seen their little brother crash into an eighteen-wheeler?

A nurse came over with a clipboard and handed it to Dean. He stared, uncomprehending, at the insurance and medical history forms, not really seeing them. The image of Sam's broken body was forever burned into the back of his eyelids, and it was all his brain kept returning to. The nurse waited for a minute before saying, "Sir, you've got to fill these in, it's a necessity."

Dean blinked up at her, and then nodded. "Okay," he said tonelessly, and watched as the stout middle-aged woman walked away towards the nearest nurses' station. He looked down at the forms in his hand and began filling in the details of the latest insurance company they were conning, as well as Sam's previous medical history. Patient has history of getting hurt under big brother's watch, he thought wryly as he wrote. For best interests of patient, wrap in cotton wool, put in big brother's car and take far far away.

He gave back the forms and then sat back in the hard plastic chair, his brain in overdrive. First Sam had gotten injured and lost his memory. Because Dean had figured he wouldn't need to watch Sam's back. Then Sam had gotten kidnapped by a sick, sadistic bastard. Because Dean had left him alone, thinking him capable of looking after himself, even in that confused, vulnerable state. And now Sam was in the hospital, swaying between life and death, because an eighteen-wheeler had decided to take a bite out of him. Because Dean had hit him and driven him away.

The sense of deja-vu was almost overwhelming. Dean was turning into John Winchester again. He was turning to harsh words and dirty tricks and violence to solve his issues. He was focusing on other things instead of what was really important – family. He was shutting out the one person who cared for him. Well, said person also had his own secrets, but when had all of this started?

Dean thought back to a few years ago, when he'd returned from Hell. He'd lied to Sam, and Sam had lied right back. They'd kept so many secrets that the mistrust just kept piling, until one day Dean had realized they weren't brothers anymore. They were strangers, kept together only by blood and secrets and lies and a shared responsibility to stop what they'd started.

They'd come clean after that, built up their relationship once again – and then Dean had taken a field trip into Purgatory. The events after that were a messy whirlwind of fear and anger and insecurities. Dean remembered being shocked at the Sam he'd met after Purgatory, the Sam that seemed independent and capable and didn't need his big brother. He remembered being angry that Sam hadn't gone looking for him. And the moment he found out Sam had been living with a girl, he'd begun using that as an excuse to put Sam down. Of course, he hadn't missed Sam's hurt expressions every time he said it, but he'd ignored that – he felt justified, entitled to hurt Sam after all the hurting he'd done.

He'd chosen not to tell Sam about Benny, knowing that Sam would get angry. He'd iced Amy, hadn't he? Even though Sam had asked him to trust him. How could he ask Sam to trust him on Benny, after not having trusted Sam? He'd also decided not to tell Sam exactly what had went down in Purgatory, what it had been like for him. And then he'd gotten angry at Sam for keeping secrets.

Of course, it all made sense now, now that there was a real chance of Dean losing his brother. He hadn't looked too good when the doctors had wheeled him in, and with every minute that passed the sickness in Dean's stomach grew. He knew it had to be bad, if they were taking this long.

Without really wanting to Dean began recapping on the past couple of months. He'd come back from Purgatory determined and changed, and it turned out he wasn't the only one. Sam had changed too, in so many ways that Dean couldn't even think of them all, and he was determined too. This was going to be the last favor Sam did the world. Once the gates of Hell were closed and Crowley was defeated, this would be it for Sam. No more hunting. And for once, he didn't care if Dean came along with him.

Now that he thought about it he couldn't really blame Sam for keeping secrets. Wasn't he, Dean, doing the exact same thing? For every time Dean had accused Sam of choosing Ruby over him, hadn't he also once chosen Cas over his brother? Wasn't he, even now, choosing Benny over Sam? He had secrets too, things he wasn't ready to tell Sam. Maybe it was the same for Sam. Maybe he also just wanted to wait a bit before telling Dean.

The sound of double doors opening grabbed Dean's attention, and he looked up. The doctor that had exited asked, "Family of Sam Hetfield?"

Dean couldn't help but smile a little as he recalled Sam's resistance to having a rockstar's last name on his ID. He'd given in though, after blackmail (read: after being threatened with listening to hours of Slipknot). "That's me," Dean called out as he walked towards the doctor.

The doctor looked at him suspiciously. "And you're his... what?"

"Brother," Dean answered. "My name's Dean." Unable to resist asking, "Is he okay?"

The doctor heaved a sigh. "How about you come up to my office?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, his heart beating against his chest like a frightened animal. "Is it that bad?"

"Why don't you come up to my office and we'll discuss it there," suggested the doctor, more insistently this time. Worried and scared (not that he'd admit it), Dean nodded and followed him.

The moment the door to the office had closed behind him Dean began asking question upon question. "Is he alright? How bad is it? He's going to be fine, right?"

"Sit down, sir," the doctor said, looking impatiently at Dean. Just wanting answers, and wanting them quick, Dean complied.

"Well?" he said with a raised eyebrow, once he was seated.

The doctor sat down in his chair before saying, "From what we could tell, his head was hit pretty hard, but there is no hemorrhaging and that's a good sign. However we can't tell how far his brain might have been affected until he wakes up."

"What do you mean 'until he wakes up'?" asked Dean fearfully. If Sam wasn't going to be okay Dean was going to kill himself.

"Let me finish, Mr. Hetfield," the doctor chided. "He's broken a lot of bones – four ribs broken, three cracked, and radius snapped cleanly into two. His left leg is also broken. He has lost a lot of blood, which we've replaced but it still doesn't put him entirely out of the woods, because his blood pressure's still on the low side. There's been some hemorrhaging in his abdomen but we've also fixed that. Overall he should be doing well, physically, but as for mentally we can't be sure."

Dean, who'd heaved a relieved sigh at the former part of the doctor's last sentence, couldn't help but narrow his eyes at the latter part. "What do you mean?"

"He might have lost his memory," the doctor clarified. "With a head trauma like that, it isn't uncommon."

Dean slumped in his chair. Damn. "But doc," he began, "he's already lost all his memories."

The doctor looked interested. "Really? Can you tell me more?"

Dean shifted, trying to come up with a suitable lie. "Well, he sort of slipped on water," he invented, hoping Sam wouldn't kill him for this. "He spilled some and then slipped on that, in our kitchen you see, and he hit his head pretty hard. Forgot everything after that."

"Did you see a doctor about that?" asked this one, whose nametag and desk plate said he was Dr. Robert Cochran.

Dean nodded. "He said to talk to him, keep him around familiar things and places."

"And did it help?"

Dean nodded again. "Yeah, he was beginning to remember some things."

"Well, damn," said the doctor.

"What's wrong?" asked Dean, warning bells screeching inside his head.

"Well, if he'd already lost his memory, there's no telling what another knock to the head will do," explained the doctor. "Worst case, he'll regress back to childhood."

Shit. "And best case?" asked Dean, speaking past the lump in his throat.

"Best case, it won't make a difference," the doctor said. Spotting the look on Dean's face, he added, "But you shouldn't get your hopes up. Be prepared for anything."

Aren't we always, thought Dean before saying, "Sure thing, doc. Can I go see him now?" He was practically bouncing in his chair.

The doctor nodded. "Ask one of the nurses, and they'll take you."

Dean was out of the chair and exiting the office before the doctor had even finished talking.

Yeah, I like messing with your feels, people *nods seriously*

*runs and hides behind rock as more things are thrown her way*

Reviews are nice :3

*goes into Jigsaw mood* I WANT TO PLAY A GAME. The more reviews I get on this one, the fluffier the next chapter gets! :D Seeing as y'all want some positive feels now...

God, when did I get this manipulative? Must have been taking lessons from the girls in my class...

-Peace