Dean wandered back to the apartment as the sun rose, collapsing onto the worn couch as soon as the door clicked shut. The strange events at the factory seemed to have leeched away his last reserves, leaving a swirl of confusion. Mark Pullman attacked Jess. Todd Pullman shot Sam when his brother died. Dean went after Todd. It all seemed so linear, right up to finding Todd salted. Unless I've been doing some kick ass sleep walking, there's a disconnect there...

He knew Sam needed him at the hospital, but he needed him coherent. At the moment the drained hunter would have been hard pressed to recall his own name. Then again, that wasn't as easy as it sounded if you lived like Dean. Jessica would just have to handle the morning shift at the hospital by herself. Snoring filled the room before he could ponder any further.

Jessica was indeed handling the morning shift, restlessly pacing the hallway that separated her from Sam. Seven o'clock finally graced the world and she was allowed back into the ICU.

"Morning Ms. Moore." A young man in rumpled black scrubs was consulting a laptop before tapping in new settings on the ventilator beside the bed.

"Morning. Just Jessica's fine. Are you Sam's nurse today?" She frowned at the tapping, wondering what else could go wrong. "Everything ok?"

"I'm not his nurse today. Melanie is." He paused to point out a tiny brunette at the desk. "Navy scrubs for the nurses, black ones are for respiratory therapy, remember?"

Jess rubbed her eyes. "Yeah, I do remember that. Sorry, it's early and I slept in the waiting room again. So, the vent?" She nodded back to where he continued to make adjustments.

"Dr. Sawter discussed it with Dr. BIinnis, the pulmonologist, on rounds this morning. They decided the lab work had improved enough for a breathing trial."

"A what?'

"I'll gradually cut back on the number of breaths a minute the machine supplies. It was set at 18, I just changed it to 14, and we'll see if Sam picks up the slack. If not, the tube's still in place, so it's easy to change back to full support. It'll probably take most of the day to see how it goes."

"Can I still sit with him?"

"Sure. This could even take a few days, so doesn't change anything about visiting. I doubt you'll notice anything different for awhile anyway. I'll be by again in an hour."

Jess sat as he left the room, first planting a quick kiss on Sam's forehead. "Here I thought midterms were over and you've gone and found yourself another test. Well, you've never flunked one yet. So were you really moving those fingers around for me last night or just being a big tease?" She hopefully took one of his hands in both of hers. Nothing. "No command performances, huh love? It's ok, I can wait."

She spent the remainder of the hour on a unilateral stream of chatter, running the gambit from Dean's revelation's of the day before to whether or not the apartment needed a new egg timer. Anything to fill the void of silence where Sam should be.

Dean arrived early for noon visiting, finding Jessica again perched in the ever present grey tweed.

"Hey, you get any sleep here last night?"

She stifled another yawn, blearily peering up a Dean. "A little. How 'bout you?"

Dean turned on his best grin. "Me? Slept like a baby all night. Why don't you go home for a few hours and I'll take the noon and four o'clock visiting, then we can meet back here before eight?"

"Sure." Jessica gauged the still visible circles under his eyes with some suspicion. They'd faded from a deep purple to a sooty grey smudge, but they weren't exactly gone. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Where'd you go yesterday?"

He hesitated, deciding how far to stray from the truth. Something about this new world of Sam's seemed to demand a degree of honesty. He'd have to make sure to squash that habit like a crawly bug when he left. "I went to look for Todd Pullman."

"You still think he did this?"

"Convinced." The green eyes had lost all their warmth at the mention of Pullman's name.

"Did you find him?"

There was a limit to how far a new honesty habit should go. "No, no I didn't. How's Sam this morning?"

Jess sighed. "He looks about the same, but they're doing a breathing test." She filled in the details, including the twitching fingers of the night before.

"That has to be good, right?" Dean's usual swagger faltered a bit as the conversation returned to Sam's ongoing inability to breathe for himself.

Jess nodded, each of them trying to convince the other.

"Take care of him while I'm gone, ok?" She forced a smile, not having any easier a time leaving the hospital than Dean had. "I'll be back by seven with some sandwiches."

Dean returned to Sam's room the instant the clock released him from waiting room purgatory, steeling himself once more for Sam's motionless form.

"Hi Sam; me again. I'm tellin' you, ya gotta redecorate the place if you're gonna stay here much longer. This chair, I'm gonna seriously need a chiropractor, dude. You remember that chiroprator that had the office across from that old hotel in Columbus? She got everything of mine adjusted just fine, thanks. What was her name? Oh well, can't remember. Karen? Kara? Cora? Kate?... Her alignment though, now that was memorable. Yeah, I know, I've got gutter brain. What'd you expect, leaving me talking to myself this long? Apparently they're tired of providing you air around this place, princess, you are officially on rationing. Going to have to wake up and get your own."

Dean took a look at the numbers on the ventilator screen. Unlike Jessica, he'd memorized them all two days ago, unsure of what they meant, but wanting to be instantly aware of any change. Sure enough, a fourteen had replaced the glowing green eighteen of yesterday. "I tracked Todd Pullman down, Sammy. He was, ah, dead when I got there. Salted and burned, actually, got my own ideas on that. Anyhow, he's gone, the police arrested his friend, and you got his brother, so this is over.

I've been meaning to talk to you about good ol' Mark anyway. Thought I was the one with the temper control issues! I talked to the police a few times, which I wouldn't do for anyone but you by the way; it seems you're off the hook as far as that goes. I'm guessing the whole shot in the back thing notched up the 'not my fault' sympathy factor for killing the guy."

Dean gently tapped his finger against Sam's temple. "No need for hiding out in here now."

The therapist was back halfway through the hour, a twelve now replacing the fourteen on the vent screen. Fifteen minutes later, Dean felt the first twinge from Sam. Not much, a feeble little jerk of his chin.

"Sammy? You hear me? Sam?" He stood, the vantage point making it easier to see Sam's face. No answer, but his brother's eyebrows pulled together. Dean pushed the call button for the nurse.

"He's frowning at me, moving his head a bit. Respiratory changed the vent again a few minutes ago." Dean's voice held a note of uncertainity.

Melanie went to the opposite side of the bed, pulling a stethoscope from around her neck as she walked. She took a quick listen to Sam's chest, then pulled open his eyes to swoop in with a pen light. She smiled when Sam definitely didn't care for that.

"Well, I don't think he's frowning at you per se, he's not that awake, but it's a good start. He's doing some of the breathing work for himself now, too. I'll let Dr. Sawter know. Meanwhile, I'm going to ask you to step back out to the waiting room so we can get a better look at him."

Dean reluctantly left, craning his head back over his shoulder. He hated the idea that Sam might wake up to find neither he nor Jessica there. Would have waited to say anything if I'd known it was going to get me exiled.

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It had taken a day to turn over the North Carolina job to Caleb and three nights in seven run down bars to hustle enough pool money for the plane ticket to California and back. John sank backward into the uncomfortable cabin seat, bookended by business travelers and their corporate trappings. That was a world he'd never understand. He turned to staring at his own lap, hoping to avoid idle chatter. A small scar on his left thumb caught his eye. A hunting scar of sorts, the first one he'd ever gotten. One of the few he'd never discussed with Dean. It was a tiny thing, no more than an inch long, certainly unimpressive in the midst of his larger collection. Except. Except that it didn't come from a spirit, or a wendigo, or werewolf. No, not any of those....

"John, behind you!"

John whirled in the fetid air, unable to see either the threat or whoever whispered the harsh warning. He heard the scrape of knife on bone, a sickening plop as a boy converted into a corpse and tumbled onto his boots. He grimaced at the now permanently surprised face. What was his name? Schubert? Shoeman? Something like that. The kid had only been in country three days. Never gonna see four. He tugged his toe from beneath the body and resumed his silent search in the dark, a gun uselessly slung across his shoulder. Firing in this humid blackness was as likely to kill friend as foe. He tightened his grip on the knife in his hands. If he could get to the clearing, he just might survive this night. If he could get to the clearing, he could extract payment for the six others who had not. It had to be close now. Another dozen yards. A lifetime.

He paused at the jungle clearing's edge, sweat running into his eyes, skittering down the muscles of his back. He heard nothing of the enemy he knew was before him. Nothing of the help that should have been behind. He was alone. Nineteen, alone, and scared. One more step should give him enough light to see across to where he could feel them waiting. How many men were there? Three or four probably. More? He tucked the his knife away, positioned his rifle. He was a good shot, hours of practice on the firing range would attest to that, but this felt different. John had never killed before.

He stepped forward, leaving the cloying cover and refocusing his eyes. The shadow still hid him somewhat, but he could now make out the two dark shapes across from him. Only two. He had a chance then. Not daring to breathe he sighted the rifle.

It changed in a second, the crumpled bodies now on the ground before him, a shrieking form on his back wrapping massive arms around his neck. No doubt the knife owner that had dispatched Schubert moments ago. John dropped his gun, desperately trying to hold the hands, and the other knife in them, away from his throat. His attacker was persistent and somewhere in the course of the struggle the knife sliced into his thumb, grating against the bone. He slammed his own back repeatedly into the trees, finally dislodging his foe. As they fell to the ground, he retrieved his gun, firing an additional round.

He'd thought he was alone ten minutes earlier. Now he realized that wasn't the case. Ten minutes ago he was friendless, but not alone. Now there were three dead bodies at his feet, returning in death to the near children they were. Now the innocent Kansas upbringing was over. Now he'd become a killer for the first time. Now he was alone.

John ran the tip of his finger over the faded white line on his thumb. Of all the lines criss-crossing his hide, this was the only one that still gave him pause. He didn't regret what he'd done that night; it wasn't that at all. He was proud of his service in the marines. He did regret that necessity of it. The loss of that little part of your soul that goes when you kill another human. For all that he'd raised Dean and Sam to be hunters, he'd never wanted them confronted with that. Killing evil was different. John had very intentionally not taught them to kill men. Now inspite of his best efforts, Mark Pullman had introduced his younger son to that hell. Damned if he'd been willing to let Todd do the same to the elder.

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Four o'clock finally rolled around, Dean front and center of the small line of relatives waiting to get back into the ICU. Not that the other families were less eager to see their loved ones - just something about the stance of the young man in the leather jacket announced he was first. He rounded the corner into Sam's room, skidding to a complete stop at the foot of the bed.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes instantly took in the fine sweat keeping the bangs plastered to his brother's forehead, the rapid rise and fall of the chest. Sam's long fingers trembled slightly against the sheet, as if he were trying to grasp the fabric.

"Sam? What's going on with you? You ok, dude, 'cause you've looked better?" Although he'd begged his brother to awaken, panic intruded into the moment. "Sam??"

Dean glared at the now cursed chair, offended by its continued calm existence. Sitting there beside the bed like a week of this watching-your-brother-try-to-die crap was a damn spectator sport. Something was different, was wrong, with Sam and the last thing Dean wanted was to flop into that chair and keep some kind of score. He shoved it into the corner and stood beside the bed, making sure he was in Sam's line of sight. Now if he would just open those hazel eyes....

A garbled choking sound startled Dean, Sam suddenly trying to toss his head to the side, back arching against the bed. Beeping started from two places at once, the heart monitor above registering 120 and the ventilator blinking a red 30 where the nice green 12 had been. Dean grabbed Sam's hand as it made a more serious attempt to move, fingers beginning to curl around the corrogated plastic tubing.

"Sammy?!?" Dean kept a grip on Sam's hand, other hand fumbling for the call button. Forget that. "Melanie!"

As soon as he bellowed her name, he realized the nurse was already behind him, looking at the monitors and then at her suddenly restless patient. She ignored Dean to call for colleague. "Patrick, come in here a minute, will ya? He's bucking the vent."

Sam's other hand made a tentative move toward the vent tubing, but she caught it in both of hers, pushing it back to his side. The other nurse, Patrick, arrived, laying his torso across the younger Winchester's.

"There are restraints in the bottom drawer of the cart, grab 'em and pass them up here." Her voice gave away how much effort it was taking to hold Sam.

"Wait a minute. Restraints!? No way. What's wrong with him? Can't you give him something?" Everything in Dean rebelled at helping strangers tie his helpless brother down.

"Mr. Winchester, I'll explain in a minute, but for right now either help us or get out of the way."

In the end it took rather longer than a minute, and a heartsick Dean did help them pin an increasingly combative Sam. Finally padded white straps encirled both ankles and wrists, pulled tight to the side rails of bed. The heart monitor alarm stopped, the rate once again below 100 after a dose of something slipped in the IV, but the baleful red light of the ventilator flashed sullenly on.

The two nurses walked to the hall outside the door, beckoning for Dean to follow.

"I'm hoping there's a helluva reason I just trussed up my own brother." Dean shot a murderous look at the both of them.

"Patrick, go ahead back to your patient, I got this." She took a deep breath and turned back to Dean. "There is. I know that little scene looked cruel, but it's a good sign, at least potentially. He's waking up and starting to fight with the tube in his throat, take breaths on his own. As he feels something gagging him and trying to force air down his throat, he's bound to get panicky. It's a natural response. That's why his heart's beating faster, too. Unfortunately, until he opens his eyes and at starts to understand where he is, we can't simply pull the tube out. I could call the doctor for a sedative order, but I doubt I'd get it. Putting him back to sleep isn't the answer here."

Dean turned his glare down a few notches. He wasn't excited about admitting it, but that made a certain degree of sense. "What you gave him wasn't a sedative?"

"No, a beta blocker. It will slow down his heart, but it won't put him back to sleep. It's not something we want to use a lot of either; it isn't always great for breathing. You're missing the upside here."

"My brother freaked out and we tied him down. Not seeing an upside."

The nurse out a hand on Dean's arm, understanding better than he thought. "Freaking out, as you put it, takes a certain amount of awareness. Maybe your brother's still in there."

He better be.... Dean managed a clipped nod. "So now what?"

"Now you go back in there and try to calm him down. If he's thrashing this much, he'll hear you, eyes open or not. Inspite of what I said, if he gets too rambunctious we may have to sedate him and that'll set us back a day or two on trying to extubate him. Familar voices work best, so head in there and just talk."

Been doing that for a week, genius.

"So, Sam, you know that old one about this is for your own good?" Dean walked back into the room, resting a hand on Sam's good shoulder and pushing his hair back again with the other. He felt the tension in the muscle of the arm radiate up through his fingers, saw the darting of eyes beneath the closed lids. "Yeah, I never really bought that one either. Sorry. Warden Nightengale out there thinks you're gonna hurt yourself. Quite a display you put on there, little brother, I can see where she got that idea. Let me give you a word of advice though. You decide to let some chick spread eagle you to a bed, a hospital gown is so not the way to go." A half hearted smile pulled at the corner if Dean's mouth, but it still physically hurt to look at bindings on Sam. The ventilator, the bandages, the wires strung like tinsel, all of that was bad enough, but at least he hadn't helped put it there.

Gradually, the tense arms relaxed, the breathing slowed. Dean noted that their breathing patterns were now the same. Huh. Had he matched his to Sam's or the other way around? He kept talking through the rest of the hour, looking up as Dr Sawter entered at five pm.

"Why don't you stay, Dean? Melanie filed me in on earlier, apparently you've got the magic touch on settling him down. That'll help him more than sticking to visiting hours will."

Dean nodded, mentally dismissing the older man, attention already returned to Sam. Jessica arrived at seven with the promised sandwiches, hastily eaten in the hall. Even in the seven minutes it took to do that, Sam's heartrate increased by a third. He needed Dean.

Jessica and Dean alternated the night in twenty minute shifts, periods of talking constantly to Sam in soft low tones traded off for brisks walks in the cool air of the hospital coutyard to stay awake. It was toward four that Dean noticed Jessica wasn't talking as he entered the room. The soft singing was barely audible, but it almost looked as if Sam was trying to smile.

"Jessica?"

She startled slightly at the sound of his voice.

"Sorry, Dean, I didn't hear you. I think he's starting to flutter his eyes a little. I'll be back in twenty." She gave Sam's hand a quick squeeze before leaving the room.

The ICU residents made it in at five-thirty, once again finding Dean beside the bed. He'd apparently signed a peace treaty with the chair, which had been rescued from the corner and forced to support his frame. After a fair amount of flipping through the chart and prodding at Sam, they decided the breathing tube was coming out as soon as Sam opened his eyes. That was all Dean needed to hear. 'Make enough noise to wake the dead' was not an idle expression here. After all, the waking dead was a Winchester specialty. A quarter past eight and a few shift changes later, and those eyes finally blinked.

"Sam? Thank God. Scared me kiddo." Dean put a hand on Sam's arm when he saw his brother tug at the restraint. "Oh no you don't. You're in the hospital. I know that all feels awful, got enough junk stuck to you to restock Bobby's place." He searched for recognition in the wild hazel eyes, but found only confusion.

Sam's eyes got wider as he became aware that he was held fast, unable to free himself from the choking pressure in his throat, dull pain blooming through his back and chest. He was trapped, he couldn't breathe, had to get loose....

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A/N - Hi everybody - thank you so much for the reviews - and reading this story .Hope you're still enjoying, let me know :)