Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

NOTE TO READERS: Thanks for all of the reviews for chapter 6. I appreciate them all. This chapter will also use time advances. I hope you're still enjoying the story :-)

Chapter Seven

Cleave

By Dawn Nyberg

"… Don't hang on, nothing last's forever, but the earth and sky, it slips away, all your money won't another minute buy. Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind." Excerpt from Kansas, Dust in the Wind

The Emergency Room

"How's Sammy?" John asked quickly his face a mask of worry and fear.

"Let's sit," the doctor's voice was tight. Kirk's face wasn't comforting. John felt a heavy coldness settle inside his chest.

"Please, just tell me how my son is," John asked urgently as he took a seat, his full attention on the doctor.

"John," Kirk Odden began tentatively as his eyes shifted from Sam's father to his friend Jim Murphy. "Has Sam complained of headaches or a stiff neck?"

"No, but he isn't very good about saying he doesn't feel well. He might say his stomach hurts or something, but it's just he doesn't really have the vocabulary to tell us when something is wrong. I knew he was a little warm before we left the house…"

"Has he been acting like himself?" The doctor knew that it was true Sam simply didn't have the communication skills or vocabulary to fully describe how he feels. In a lot of ways trying to diagnose a child with cognitive problems and brain injury could be like trying to decipher a baby's tears … is it a wet diaper or is there something causing pain?

"No, the last couple days he's seemed a little off, but he just kept plugging along. I thought it might just be a cold, but then today I thought maybe it was flu coming on or something, please," he begged. "You know what's wrong with my boy … what is it?"

"Kirk what is it?" Jim urged.

"We had to do a spinal tap and it was conclusive," he started. "I'm sorry, but the test came back positive for bacterial meningitis."

"Meningitis?" John blurted. "But, that's treatable, right? Bed rest, fluids … but, he had a seizure, was it because of the fever?"

"John," the doctor's voice was soft and John's fear flared once again. "Had it been viral meningitis then yes that is very treatable with very minimal problems, but bacterial is much more uncommon and can be deadly if not caught in time. Unfortunately, seizures are a sign of bacterial meningitis in its advanced stages. We're treating it aggressively, but Sam is very sick. I suspect he started coming down with it a few days ago, but only started getting the major effects over the last couple days. Please, don't blame yourself, any parent might have missed the early stages and with Sam's disabilities and limited vocabulary he just can't communicate as effectively as he did before the accident."

"What could happen? He won't die, will he? I mean he's fourteen and strong, he'll be okay, right?" John was grasping for whatever hope the doctor was willing to throw his direction.

"John, there are numerous problems that can result from bacterial meningitis for survivors … they can have long term complications like hearing loss, paralysis, develop seizure disorders, coma, brain damage and yes, even death." John felt the bile rise in the back of his throat.

"Brain damage? But, Sammy's…"

"I know your worries John I do, but we're doing everything we can for him right now."

"But, what could happen … I mean he's already …" John couldn't bring himself to say brain damaged when talking about his little boy.

"If Sam were to become further impaired then he could end of having profound retardation, but we haven't crossed that bridge and we won't know the long range outcome until we can get Sam past this part of the infection. Now, I've already called his school and advised them that everyone that has been in contact with Sam needs to take preventative medications, and the staff, you, and Jim will most certainly need to take the seven day course of meds."

"I want to see him," John stood up. "I want to see my son."

"We're settling him in the PICU and once he's settled I'll personally take you up to him."

"Is he awake?" John saw the doctor's eyes darken.

"No, he's unresponsive right now and we're trying to get his fever under control with a cooling blanket and fever reducers."

"Unresponsive," Jim spoke up. "Kirk just tell us."

"Sam's neuro exam is conclusive he's fallen into a medium level coma, but it isn't uncommon with advanced bacterial meningitis."

"Coma …" John's voice shook.

"John, it's not deep and that's good …"

"But, you said he's unresponsive …"

"His pupil response to light is sluggish, and he has shown slight reaction to deep pain stimuli, but admittedly it is very slight."

"Is he … is he…" John fought to say the words. "Is he breathing on his own?" He finally forced the words past his dry throat. The doctor shook his head slightly.

"He is, but he doesn't have a responsive gag reflex right now, so to insure his airway stays protected and that he doesn't aspirate into his lungs I've had him intubated for precaution, but he is breathing on his own and triggering the vent when he breathes, so that's very good." John still didn't feel comforted.

One Hour Later – PICU

"I should call Dean," he whispered to Jim who sat next to him as they both watched Sam lie unmoving under wires and machines. "But, he's in the middle of mid terms right now before the holiday break in a couple weeks for the fall Thanksgiving break."

"He'll never forgive you John if you keep this a secret. I'm sure Sammy will be fine, but…" John turned his eyes toward his friends and he knew what unspoken words he was saying … Dean would never forgive you if he didn't get to see Sammy and say goodbye if he doesn't survive this … John nodded.

"Will you stay with Sammy? I'm going to go call him," he glanced at his watch and sighed. "Dammit, it's after ten there … the phone ringing this late is going to worry him anyway."

"John it has to be done." Jim offered quietly. John nodded and left.

MIT Campus Apartments, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Dean was closing the refrigerator with a satisfied sigh. He was glad he had managed to get his mid-terms all complete and even took one early today, so he could have a long weekend off and maybe try a surprise visit home. He missed his family and hadn't seen them since late August. The phone rang and drew Dean's immediate attention. He knew Sammy was trick or treating tonight and hoped it was his dad calling him with hilarious tales of Sam's first real beggar's night. He looked at the caller ID and frowned: Pay phone … 945-555-4210 … it was a Blue Earth prefix, but a pay phone? He snatched it up.

"Hello? Dad?"

"Yeah, son it's me," John tried to sound up beat. "How are you? How's exams?"

"I finished early … why you calling me from a pay phone?"

"Huh?"

"Caller ID, Dad," Dean offered.

"Oh yeah," John answered absently.

"Dad? What is it?"

"Dean," he began and stopped. "Sammy got sick while trick or treating…"

"Sick? You mean the crazy kid ate all his stash and now he's an unhappy camper with a chocolate overdose?" Dean mused as he began to relax a slight fraction, but there was something in his father's voice that was still sending up red flags.

"No, he had a seizure," John said softly. Dean gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

"A seizure! Dad, he's okay, right? I mean …"

"Dean, Dr. Odden did a spinal tap on Sammy … he's got bacterial meningitis."

"I'm comin' home," Dean shouted.

"Dean …"

"Fuck it Dad!" Dean shouted. "I'm coming home. Where is Sammy now?"

"The PICU," John answered evenly unaffected by his eldest son's outburst.

"How bad?"

"Bad," John's voice shook. Dean felt hot tears sting in his eyes as they welled up.

"Could he … could he die?" Dean's voice trembled. There was a long silence on the phone. "Dad?" Dean's voice was desperate.

"Yes," the answer was almost a whisper as if John himself wanted to avoid the dark truth that they could still lose Sammy despite everything they had overcome in the previous year following the drowning.

"I'm coming home."

"I'll have Jim get you at the airport just call when you have your flight schedule." John proceeded to give Dean the number to PICU, so he could in fact call in to his father at the nurse's desk. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You be careful driving to the airport I can't handle worrying about both of my boys."

"Okay, Dad."

Three Days Later, PICU

Dean sat at his brother's side as he had been since his plane landed two days ago. His father and Jim were having a conference with Dr. Odden. Sam had slipped into a deeper coma and had become completely unresponsive. The doctor had been trying to softly prepare the family for the possibility that Sam may not survive. The IV meds weren't taking effect as soon as the doctor would like. His blood pressure was low and they had trouble keeping it up. The latest MRI had shown that the brain swelling from the meningitis hadn't abated and even seemed slightly more pronounced. Sam had quit triggering the ventilator on his own a day and a half ago, and that had been another dark cloud that settled over the Winchester family. It had been easier looking at the tube in Sam's mouth when they knew he was breathing on his own, and that it was just there to make sure his airway was okay, but now the reality that the machine was accounting for 100 percent of the breaths that the boy was taking ate at the souls of John, Dean and Jim.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke softly as he reached up and pushed back his little brother's bangs. "Come on kiddo," Dean urged fighting to keep his voice strong. "You know Duncan doesn't like to play with anyone else as much as he does you," he encouraged. "He's waiting for you to throw sticks for him." Sam remained unmoving and the only movement was the mechanical rise and fall of his young chest. "You're missin' a lot of school Sammy," Dean prompted. "You know you love school." Dean watched his brother's face for any movement, but there was none. "Hey, Sammy," Dean offered excitedly. "Dad told me you can tie your shoes now. I'm proud of you kiddo. He says you've been working on buttons now too, but they're giving you a little trouble," Dean smiled softly at his little brother. "I had trouble too," he provided. "Trying to shove that button through a little hole isn't easy. You'll get it buddy," he continued to stroke his brother's hair and forehead in repetitive motions.

"I love you kiddo, come on," Dean felt his lower lip tremble as his emotions began to leak out of him against his will. He tried to steel himself. "Sammy, please…" Dean's thoughts were broken violently by the sudden shrill sound of his little brother's heart monitor. Dean's frantic eyes jerked toward the monitor and saw that the thin blue line no longer had sharp arching waves indicating his sibling's heart was beating. "Sam! Sammy!" Dean was quickly ushered out of Sam's PICU room as the staff and Code team swarmed into the room with a crash cart and closed the door. Dean stood outside his brother's room watching through the window's partially open blinds. He watched them pull his brother's gown down exposing his chest. He saw them roll his brother on his side as they slid a CPR board under him and began compressions while meds were being injected. He saw them disconnect him from the ventilator and attach his breathing tube to a bag a nurse was squeezing. He couldn't hear what was being said through the glass and closed door, but he could see the doctor speaking urgently and staff following orders.

Meanwhile, Family Conference Rooms, PICU

"The new meds are going to work, right?" John leaned forward on the table. "I mean, you said the brain swelling is getting worse not better."

"John, I've only just switched Sam's IV regimen yesterday. The Ampicillin and Chloramphenical weren't working, so I've started him on Claforan. The drug needs a chance to get a therapeutic level in his blood and I'm hoping we start to see a change in a day or two."

"You hope?" John hissed. "My son's brain can't take anymore injury and you know it. That kid has fought back from so much … and you've already started paving the way to tell me I'm gonna lose my child, I'm not stupid," he spat.

"John," Jim placed a calming hand on his friend. "You know that Kirk is doing everything he can for Sammy. Give the medication time."

"Sam doesn't have time Jim," John lamented. "The infection is causing swelling, his blood pressure is low and dammit he isn't even breathing on his own anymore."

"John I promise I am doing every thing I can think of and if the new IV meds don't work I have more options to try. I'm not giving up on your son ..." The doctor's sentence was cut off by his pager beeping. He looked down at the text message: CODE BLUE, PICU RM. 2B. He stood up abruptly and his facial expression was all John or Jim needed.

"Sammy?" John's face paled as he said his son's name. Dr. Odden nodded grimly.

"He's arrested they are coding him right now. I have to go." John and Jim rushed from the room and followed the doctor.

PICU, Outside Sam's Room

Dean's hands were both planted on the glass as he watched them try to resuscitate his little brother. He watched them shock his sibling and his young chest arch upward as the electricity flowed through his still heart. They had started compressions again just as Dr. Odden flew by Dean and through the door. Dean looked up and his anguished eyes fell on his father's face. John was looking through the slightly open blinds; his face couldn't mask the agony and fear as he watched his child's chest compressed repeatedly. Jim stood silent and stoic next to John and Dean as he said a silent prayer for Sam's young heart to beat again. John and Dean watched Dr. Odden bark orders as he took over directing Sam's resuscitation. They watched more drugs pushed into various IV's and CPR continued on.

Dr. Odden looked at the heart monitor and continued compressions. "Dad?" Dean's voice shook as his eyes never left Sam. "Why aren't they shocking Sammy's heart anymore?"

John said nothing. He could only watch. Jim placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Because they can't son," he said softly.

"Why? They were before you and Dad got here. They can make his heart beat again … they have to shock him again."

"Dean," Jim began tentatively. He could see that John was fixated on his child behind the glass. He also knew that John was well aware why they weren't using the defibrillator on Sam. "Dean," Jim began again. "They can only shock Sammy's heart if he has a certain kind of rhythm." Dean turned tear filled eyes toward Jim.

"What's that mean?" He asked desperately. Jim just looked at Dean, so Dean turned panicked eyes to his father. He needed John to make it all better. "Dad, what does Jim mean? What's that mean?" The desperation in his eldest son's voice broke through John's agony and he turned to look at him.

"It means Sammy's heart isn't beating at all Dean," he answered gruffly. "It means there is nothing to shock." Dean turned back to watching the medical staff working on his brother. His mind refused to accept what his father's words implied.

Inside Sam's Room

"Dammit, come on!" The doctor barked. "When was his last epi?"

"Five minutes ago," an intern answered.

"How long has he been down?"

"Twenty-two minutes." Dr. Odden let out an angry sigh as he continued to do compressions. "Okay, holding compressions." All eyes shifted to Sam's heart monitor and the thin blue line was unwavering and the single word above the blue line was mocking them all as it continued to display 'asystole'.

"Okay, any ideas people?" the doctor spoke urgently as he continued with compressions.

"He's been down for a while," the intern suggested. "He's been out of V-fib for over eighteen minutes Dr. Odden. The kid's flat line."

"Sonofabitch, this isn't happening," Kirk Odden hissed. "Push 2 cc's of Atropine. Take over compressions," he looked pointedly at a nurse and she did so.

"Atropine in," another nurse spoke out. The doctor watched the clock.

"Okay, hold compressions." He called out and the nurse stopped compressing, but left her hands in place to begin again when instructed.

"No change," the intern called out. "Still asystole."

"Continue CPR," he barked and the nurse started up again. "Push another high dose Epi and Lidocaine bolus."

"Dr. Odden," the intern spoke hesitantly. "It's been thirty-six minutes now. He's gone." Kirk Odden looked up and could see his patient's family outside watching through the blinds. He dropped his eyes unwilling to meet their eyes.

"I'm not ready to call it yet," he hissed. "And, would someone, please go close the blinds the family is watching." John watched in horror as a nurse walked over to the window and offered a sympathetic look and slowly closed the blinds. The last thing John, Dean and Jim saw was the doctor taking over compressions once again from the nurse before the blinds closed. John stepped back and walked over to a wall facing Sam's room. His knees felt weak.

"Why'd they do that?" Dean barked.

"Dean, it's protocol," Jim assured. "I'm surprised they let us watch as long as we have." He put a comforting hand on Dean's arm and the youth jerked away angry.

"No! Something's wrong … they don't want us to see," Dean felt on the verge of hysterics.

"Dean," John's voice was suddenly even and strong. "Come here," he urged and Dean walked to his father only to be pulled into a hug and John held his son tightly. "I'm here kiddo." He comforted and Dean wrapped his fingers tightly into his father's flannel shirt.

"Anything?" Dr. Odden stopped compressions.

"No, he's still asystole. He's maxed out on Epi and Lidocaine. You want me to push another Atropine?" Dr. Odden shook his head sadly and stepped back as he nodded at a nurse and she stepped up to continue compressions.

"Down time?"

"Fifty-two minutes," the intern answered.

"Stop CPR," Kirk Odden placed his stethoscope on Sam's chest and listened. There was no heart beat. He placed his fingers on Sam's carotid artery and felt no pulse. He lifted one of Sam's eyelids and shined a penlight back and forth across the pupil. He stepped back. "Continue compressions," he instructed. "Push another atropine."

"What?" the intern couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was looking at a dead kid and he was pretty sure the rest of the staff felt the same way, too. "Dr. Odden, how long are you going to keep flogging this poor kid. He's gone. He's been down for almost an hour." Dr. Odden looked sharply at the young intern.

"Then you check his goddamn pupils!" he shouted at the intern. "Push the damn atropine," he barked to a nurse whose hand hovered with the syringe ready to deliver the cardiac stimulating drug to Sam's IV port. The intern bent over Sam and shined a penlight into each eye and watched the sluggish response. They weren't fixed and dilated as he expected, but were still reacting to light albeit sluggish. "He's not brain dead, so as long as he's fighting, we fight, got it!" the doctor commanded.

"It's only because the compressions and ventilation are enough to profuse his brain, but he's gone." The intern countered.

"I'm running this code and I'm not prepared to call it yet." Dr. Odden's tone was controlled and dangerous. Things continued at a fever pitch for a while as they worked on Sam. "Down time?"

"Sixty-seven minutes," the intern answered.

Dr. Odden grunted in frustration. "Stop compressions." They had been able to deliver another Epi bolus finally, but to no avail it didn't produce a cardiac response from Sam. They all looked at the monitor, and the flat blue line continued to scream to them and 'asystole' continued to blink.

"Well?" the intern unwilling to over step his bounds anymore than he already had earlier.

"I'll call it," Dr. Odden's voice was both exhausted and sad. "Time of…"

"Wait, holy crap!" the intern snapped. "Is that PEA on the monitor?" Dr. Odden's eyes darted to the monitor.

"Continue compressions. Charge the paddles to 220 jules. Hyperventilate him! Come on Sam," he encouraged. "Come on kiddo." The doctor placed the paddles against his patient's chest. "Clear!" The shock caused Sam to arch upward and he fell limply back to his bed. His head lulled to the side for a moment before a nurse turned it once again aligning his air way and continued to ventilate him with a bright orange ambu bag.

"No response."

"Again at 220, clear!"

"He's in a strong V-fib," the intern barked.

"Inject 2cc's of atropine." The doctor commanded as he delivered vigorous compressions to Sam's chest trying desperately to circulate the cardiac drug. "Charge the paddles to 240. Come on Sam," Dr. Odden begged. "240, clear!"

Ten Minutes Later

Staff began to file out of the room and John, Dean and Jim were all trying to scan their faces for some hint of what news was coming their way. Had they lost their Sammy? Finally, Dr. Odden emerged from Sam's room. He looked tired. "We got him back," were his first words to Sam's family. "It was close, too close, but he's stabilized for now. He was down a long time."

"You were in there for over an hour. What happened?" John asked as he stood flanked by Dean and Jim on each of his shoulders.

"There was a blood pressure drop that I'm guessing precipitated a cardiac arrhythmia that induced the cardiac arrest …"

"You said Sam was down for a long time … how long? What about his brain?" John felt half sick at the possible implications of his little boy's heart having been stopped for such a long time.

"The CPR and ventilating appears to have provided sufficient profusion to Sam's brain. His pupil's remain sluggish and slightly dilated, however they are responding to light and that's a good thing."

"But," John paused. "What about brain activity?" He had been through this before with the lake drowning. John knew that pupil's reacting to light, although a good sign didn't mean his son would be okay, not by a long shot.

"I've ordered an EEG for later today," Dr. Odden commented.

"Dad, Sammy's going to pull through this you'll see," Dean replied. He turned his attention back to the doctor. "I want to see my brother?" Dean's request sounded more like a demand. The doctor understood.

"You can go in," he encouraged. Dean didn't need to be told twice and walked the few feet to his brother's room quickly leaving his father and Jim with the doctor.

Dean entered the room tentatively there was a nurse making adjustments to his little brother's IV's and checking his ventilator settings. She smiled. "It's okay to come in. I'm almost finished." Dean offered her a thin smile and stepped up to his little brother's bedside.

"Is it okay to touch him?" Dean's voice sounded frightened even to his own ears.

"Of course, sweetie," she replied. "Just watch his IV lines … talk to him," she urged. "I believe it helps."

"You think he hears me?"

"Yes, on some level I think he does." Dean smiled again and the nurse charted a few notes in Sam's bedside chart and excused herself leaving Dean alone with his brother.

"Hey Sammy," he reached out a stroked his brother's left cheek avoiding the mouth piece holding the ventilator tubing in place. His sibling's skin felt cold to the touch and he was deathly pale. There was just a hint of redness beginning to creep back into Sam's face as the fever that had abated when his heart stopped was beginning to lay claim to his young body again. "You know," he began with a shaking voice. "You really scared me little man … Sammy you gotta fight this, okay. Dad and me … we need you here. Look you survived a freakin' icy lake and you came back to us then … you can't let a little rinky-dinky infection take you down … you're a Winchester dammit. You hear me?" Dean tried to be forceful, but the tears silently cascading down his cheeks betrayed his stoic nature. "I love you Sammy," his voice was soft. "Please, kiddo …" he leaned over and kissed the top of his brother's head relishing the vanilla scent that was his Sammy.

Meanwhile, Outside Sam's Room

"When are we going to know if the new meds are working on my son?"

"Today, is the first full day on the new IV meds, so by tomorrow we should be reaching a therapeutic level and we'll see how he's doing. I want to keep him on the new drug for at least three to four days before we try something else, unless he continues to get worse and I may switch sooner." John nodded tightly.

"I'll be with my son," he started to turn to go and looked back at the doctor. "Thank you for not giving up on Sammy." The doctor smiled softly, but before he could reply John turned and walked into his child's room.

"Kirk," Jim spoke softly. "I can't thank you enough. It's just," Jim stopped as he felt his emotions choke up into his throat. Kirk Odden reached up a hand and clasped his friend's shoulder.

"Easy Jim," he comforted. "That kid in there is one hell of a fighter. I was just about to call it when he decided to give us a rhythm we could work with. He's not giving up, he's fighting and so will we, okay?"

"Thanks," Jim replied.

Meanwhile, Sam's PICU Room

John walked in a looked at both his children. One stood watch over the other just as he always had since Sammy came into this world. He gently dropped an arm across Dean's shoulder as he stood as his brother's bedside. "You okay, son?" John asked softly.

"Don't worry about me Dad. It's Sammy we should worry about," Dean replied without removing his concentrated gaze from his little brother's silent and still features.

"Hey, you're both my children and I worry about both my boys," John answered gently. "I am worried about Sammy, but I'm also worried about his big brother. It's a part of the job description you know…" Dean looked at his father and smiled warmly.

"Yeah, you're right, I guess," Dean relented. John smiled.

"Well, kiddo just you wait … one day you'll be a father and you'll understand." Dean made a face.

"Kids? Me?"

"Of course, but don't make me a grandpa just yet," he said teasingly.

"Yeah, no worries there," he countered. "I've been so busy with classes that I hardly have any time to date. I'm not sure I'm cut out for it you know?"

"Dean, you'll make a wonderful father someday." Dean looked from his father to his brother and John could see a bit of sadness in his firstborn's eyes. "What is it son?" Dean turned bright eyes toward his father.

"Sammy would have been better," he choked. "At being a dad, you know…" John felt his throat tighten. He tried more often lately to not remind himself of the certain milestones in life his baby boy would never have with his disabilities from the drowning, although nothing is impossible … it seemed highly unlikely that his son would ever reach the cognitive levels to run his own household without a lot of help let alone marry and have children. John didn't like to think anything was impossible for his child, but he was also a realist when it came to what Sam's likely limitations would probably be in the long run. John simply smiled at his oldest child and squeezed his arm that still remained across his son's shoulders.

"I think Sammy would have made a wonderful father Dean, but you can give him the opportunity to be a wonderful Uncle, if and when you're ready. I truly believe you'll do 1,000 times better than I ever did Dean. I'm already so proud of both my boys."

"You're a good Dad," Dean answered softly as he met his father's eyes.

"I've made a lot of mistakes with both you boys," John paused as he reached down and stroked Sam's bangs. "I'm sorry for those mistakes Dean."

"Stop Dad," Dean raised his voice just a bit above a whisper in his brother's hospital room. "Look at how you've been with Sammy since the accident. You've been great and with my college … Dad you're doing a good job." John and Dean fell into a moment of silence and then both turned their attention back to Sam.

Three Days Later, PICU

"The fever broke John and the EEG still remains positive for higher brain activity. The latest MRI was conclusive the brain swelling has diminished and now it's up to Sam."

"The infection," John started. "What about the meningitis?"

"It's under control John and I suspect another few days of IV meds and his next spinal tap should come back negative."

"But, the coma," John's voice held a hint of fatigue and stress. "He hasn't opened his eyes."

"No, not yet, but he has begun to trigger the vent more often each hour," the doctor assured. "And, he is reacting to deep pain stimuli. I'm confident he'll start moving toward consciousness soon."

Later that Afternoon, Sam's Room

Dean looked up as his father walked in. "Did you call Jim?"

"Yeah, I told him the latest reports on Sammy. He wished he could be here, but the church had that seminar planned and he's the keynote speaker, so…" John eyes trailed to his youngest child as he approached the bed. "Has he moved or anything?"

"A couple fingers about twenty minutes ago, but the nurse said it was probably just a muscle spasm."

"What do you think?" John said with a warm knowing smile. Dean returned the smile as he reached out for his little brother's hand.

"I think Sammy moved his fingers," he paused for a second. "No, scratch that … I know he moved his fingers. I don't care what the nurse thinks.

"That's my boy," John answered with pride directed at his eldest. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You talk to your counselor at MIT?"

"Dad," Dean complained.

"I'm serious Dean. I know we're both worrying about Sammy, but you also have to keep your ducks in a row," the older man admonished.

"I talked to him earlier. They know I have a family emergency, so they understand. I don't know they talked about arranging some kind of video conferencing for me at the high school until the semester ends, so I don't miss lectures and I can submit my work by fax."

"By fax?"

"Yeah, something about wanting to see calculations done by hand," Dean replied. "You know you can never be too careful with the calculations for a Thermal Dynamics class." John just shook his head. He wasn't a stupid man and had always been good with calculations, but his son's books were even beyond him. "I got it under control. They're on fall break right now anyway, and even when they go back there's only three weeks of class left and then we're out until after the first of the year."

"How'd you do on mid terms? Are the grades out yet?"

"Not officially, but they told me mine," Dean started.

"And?"

"Three A's and a B+" Dean said the last part with a bit of venom.

"What? You have a problem with a B+?"

"Yeah, I was robbed," Dean complained. John laughed. "What?"

"Nothing," John raised a placating hand with a glint in his eye. Dean scrunched his eyebrows at his father.

"Well, I was…" Dean retorted.

Two Months Later, Christmas Day, Jim's House

"Daddy! I gg…gg…got Nnn…Nintendo," Sam stammered in excitement as he sat by the Christmas tree surrounded by wrapping paper and bows scattered everywhere. His speech had suffered some mild setbacks after the meningitis and coma while escaping other complications that could have happened, and his family was thankful because it could have been much worse. He still had a few more presents to open. Dean, Jim and John sat patiently opening their own gifts, but seemed more interested in Sam's excitement.

"Nintendo, huh? From who?" He played dumb. Sam looked at the tag and frowned.

"No rrr…read Daddy," Sam lifted the tag toward his father. "You read." John took the tag knowing full well it was his handwriting. He had been handing Sam his presents most of the morning and saying if it was from him, Dean or Jim, but it was the gifts from Santa that had Sam giddy.

"Hmm," he said as he looked at it. "It says here, from Santa." Sam smiled.

"Santa give me lot. He come all the way from Nnn…north Pole with Rrr…Rudolph." John smiled. Sam had been parked in front of the TV over the last couple days watching Christmas specials and he was still talking about Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.

"That's right Sammy. Now, you know Santa only gave you this video game because Robert your new therapist in PT said it would be good for your reflexes." John wanted to make sure his child wasn't going to park himself in front of a television playing video games, although he'd been careful to make sure he bought mostly educational ones that he could learn from while getting practice with his fine motor skills and reflexes.

"Robbie fun," Sam chirped. "Dean," Sam looked at his brother as he opened a small box with a new watch.

"Yeah, Sammy," he said looking up from his new watch.

"What Santa get you?"

"I'm too old for Santa Sammy," Dean answered honestly. "Um, Santa just delivers to little kids. I'm all grown." Sam frowned. He reached over and grabbed a new green stuffed frog that had also been a gift from Santa he stood up and made his way over to his big brother and held it out to him. Dean quirked an eyebrow at his sibling, "What's this for Sammy, this is your present."

"Fff…from Santa, but I give you … I share … his name Jumper," he beamed at his big brother. Dean smiled.

"Jumper, huh? Why'd you name him that?" Sam hadn't handed off the toy yet, as he answered.

"Cause frogs jump, silly," he giggled. Dean felt his heart swell for his little brother. He looked at his sibling and clearly saw the fourteen year old young man he was, but he knew his brother was merely still a child in his mind.

"Thanks kiddo, but I think Jumper will be a lot happier with you here at Uncle Jim's, maybe you can keep him for me while I'm at school. I think he'd like that." Sam studied his brother as if he were trying to work out the logic. He giggled suddenly and held the stuffed toy close to himself.

"Okay, Dee, I keep him safe for you," Dean smiled. He hadn't heard Sam fall back on his name as Dee for a while. It was sort of nice now because he knew it was just his brother's nickname for him now rather than it being the only way he could say his name. "Dean?" Sam looked serious.

"Yes?" Dean wasn't sure what his brother was going to ask.

"Why Santa no give presents to big boys? That mean when I big boy he not come anymore?" He looked distraught as his eyes shifted to every family member in the room hoping for an answer. John leaned forward and put a hand on Dean's knee.

"I got this one son," John indicated to Dean and his eldest smiled in relief.

"Sammy," John began. "Santa will keep bringing presents to you every Christmas for as long as you want him to."

"But, Dean said no big boys…"

"Well, that's true," John began tentatively. "But, big boys decide when they want Santa to stop coming."

"How they do that?"

"When they stop writing letters to Santa or they stop visiting, you know like you did at your school's Christmas festival… when you stop that sort of thing Santa knows you're a big boy then and doesn't come anymore, but you'll still get presents from us."

"I like Santa," Sam hurried on. "I www…want him to still come." John chuckled.

"He will Sammy until you don't want him to anymore."

"But, then I never be a big boy…" Sam's young eyes were wide. "I want to be big boy."

"Well, when you're a big boy you'll be ready to let Santa go Sammy and he can visit more little children. There's no hurry," John added when he could see how torn his baby boy was at the prospect of no Santa."

"What about…" Sam's mind was working and John and the other could see his wheels turning. "What about thh…the Easter bunny?"

"Boy, nothing gets by you does it kiddo," John was proud of his little boys progress. There were moments when John allowed himself to believe that Sam's cognitive abilities were improving and at times it did seem like that, but there was always some dose of reality that curbed the hopefulness. Sam was reasoning and thinking, but he was also a fourteen year old who was reasoning about still wanting Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny in his life. It was a dichotomy that the entire Murphy-Winchester family had trouble with at times. "Same thing," John answered. "When you're a big boy you won't want the Easter bunny around anymore and he'll deliver chocolate to other kid's."

"Okay," Sam answered suddenly as he turned to go back to his spot by the tree and finish opening his gifts.

"Okay?" Dean spoke up now just as Sam sat down on the floor.

"It okay," Sam started. "I not big boy yet," he smiled wide and went back to his gifts. Dean looked at his father and smiled. John could see within his son's smile was a mixture of deep love and affection for his sibling, but also sadness at the Sammy that was gone forever, he knew how his child felt. He reached out a dropped a comforting hand on his firstborn's shoulder and squeezed. Dean smiled and nodded in acknowledgment at his Dad. Father and Son were in silent understanding. Jim sat and watched silently. He had been happy that John and the boys had attended Christmas service this morning at church and he was equally happy to be sitting around the tree in the late morning watching his family open their gifts.

Two Hours Later

Dean walked into the kitchen. "You need any help?" He asked as he surveyed the kitchen as his father and Jim went about cooking the Christmas meal.

"We're good," John answered. "What's your brother up to? I haven't heard him for a while."

"Passed out under the tree and curled up in tissue paper with his stuffed frog. Duncan's in there with him on his dog pillow." John looked at his son for a long second and then chuckled.

"Busy morning for him," he answered casually. "Well, when he wakes up show him how to bunch up the gift wrap and tissue paper, and put it in a trash bag, okay?"

"Yeah, no problem," Dean answered easily. "So, no help then?"

"We got it, right?" John cast a look at Jim.

"Yeah, we're good Dean. It should be ready in another hour or two."

"Okay, then I'll just read over some school stuff for next semester and watch some TV in there while Sam is zonked out." John nodded. Dean left the kitchen.

"He's really blossoming at MIT," Jim commented.

"Yeah, I couldn't be more proud. I think he's going to have trouble leaving and going back though. He hasn't been away from Sammy since he came back when he was sick."

"Yeah, you're probably right about that, but he'll adjust."

"Yeah," John agreed.

Four Months Later, April 1998

"Sam," Ms. Penny asked from the front of the classroom. "What's this a picture of?" She lifted up a large color picture and Sam looked at it pensively. A girl sitting next to him was raising her hand and waving it in an uncoordinated fashion. The teacher smiled, "No, Chelsea, you answered the last one, it's Sam's turn. "Sam?"

"Sss…" he started. He was still improving from the additional speech deficits he'd incurred from the meningitis, but he was improving. "Sss…scissors," he answered tentatively.

"Good Sam, nice job," she encouraged. Sam offered a dimpled smile. He was pleased with himself. The pictures had been difficult over the last couple weeks, but his father and Jim had been taking turns with flashcards the school had given them to work with Sam at home.

Later that Afternoon on the School Playground

"Sammy," Chloe squealed as she ran up to him. "You smart today with Ms. Penny," she patted Sam on the back.

"My daddy and Uncle Jim, help me," he answered.

"My mommy help me," Chloe replied in return. "But, daddy go away … he work a lot."

"My mommy in heaven, but my daddy's home at night," Sam answered proudly. "He read me stories and play hide and seek."

"Your daddy sound like he a good daddy," Chloe replied. "My daddy good, too. He always bring me present from where he at when he go bye-bye."

"Really?" Sam smiled. "My daddy work on cars … he make them better like a doctor," he boasted. "My big brother Dean send me stuff from his school with a big yard and fff…fountain. He send me this," he leaned back and pointed to his sweatshirt with the initials, MIT across the front.

"He nice to send you presents," Chloe reached out and touched the raised embroidered lettering on the sweatshirt. "Soft," she answered quietly. "What it say?"

"Daddy said it the name of Dean's school, he call it M … I … T, but Daddy say they letters like the alphabet, but this not a word." Chloe seemed to try and take in the info, but it was obvious at some point the logic was beyond what her mind would allow. She smiled and laughed. She reached up and gently poked her index finger into one of Sam's dimples. "What that? Your face has a hole, but only show when you smile."

"My Daddy calls them dimples."

"Oh." She smiled. "I like them." She answered quietly. Sam smiled in return.

It wasn't long before a few other children from the class came over and they soon were all playing a game of duck-duck-goose and laughing.

May 2, 1998, Jim's House

"Lord, give me strength," John lamented as he hurried around the kitchen. Jim chuckled behind him. John turned and glared at his old friend. "What?"

"Hey, don't look at me you're the one that caved into giving Sammy a birthday party at home and inviting the kids from his class and their parents. We could have just gone to the Chucky Cheese twenty minutes away, but…"

"Fine," John sighed. "You want me to say you were right and I was wrong. That I didn't have a clue about birthday parties and kids, fine you were right oh wise one," John groused. "Look even Dean didn't have his first party until he was four and Mary put that together."

"John he's having a ball," Jim said with a smile and the children's parents are enjoying themselves, too. I just came in to take the cupcakes out to the picnic tables. The natives are getting restless." John glanced out at the various picnic tables they had set up and could see the parents talking, but keeping a watchful eye on the group of children making sure none wandered off toward the direction of the pond. "I'm going to take these out and you grab the piñata, okay? Tie it to the oak tree with the tire swing." John rolled his eyes and nodded. Jim smiled and walked out. John looked at the multi-colored horse standing in the corner of the kitchen.

"Well, today's not your lucky day," John spoke to the papier-mâché animal. "But, it should be over quick," he mused. There was a sound from the front of the house that caught John's attention. He thought he heard the front door opening up, so he poked his head into the living room knowing the party guests were all accounted for and presently in the backyard. He smiled as he saw the head of his son coming through the open door with a bag in hand and a gift bag in the other. "Dean?" He stepped into the room fully and approached his son. "I thought you were stuck on campus."

"Hey Dad," Dean leaned into his father's embrace and hugged him. "I finished up. I couldn't miss Sammy's birthday." Dean glanced around. "Looks like you've got a full house out there and let me guess you wrangled Jim into dealing with the masses," he commented with a wry smile.

"Hey, he's better with crowd control and kids than I am," John answered easily. Dean laughed. "Here," John reached for his son's bag. "Let me take this and I'll put it in yours and Sam's room. How long you here for?"

"I gotta fly out tomorrow late afternoon," Dean lamented. John saw the guilt in his son's eyes.

"Hey, we didn't even expect you and Sammy will be thrilled to see you. Go out there and see him."

Dean walked out the backdoor and caught Jim's watchful eye and saw the older man smile and inclined his head at the table Sam was sitting at currently licking the vanilla icing off his cupcake. Dean was almost to the table when his little brother looked up and saw his older sibling. "Dean!" Sam yelled and smiled as he hurried to stand up and run to his brother. The first thing that struck Dean was that his brother must have sprouted a good four inches since he'd last seen him and now Sam was near the height of his chin and he silently thought back to a conversation he'd had with his father a long while ago, and he was certain that his little brother would pass him up in height before he stopped growing.

Sam's run was still uncoordinated as his right side still wanted to hesitate, but he hurried to his brother and threw his arms around him. "Dean! You did come," he spoke quickly.

"Of course I did kiddo," Dean returned the hug. "But, I gotta leave tomorrow for school again." Sam studied his brother and smiled.

"It okay," he answered happily. "You here now. Come on!" He pulled his brother toward the tables and announced loudly and proudly. "This my big brother Dean." Sam replied. "Dean these my friends from school." Dean smiled at them all.

"Hi," Dean smiled at all of Sam's school friends.

"Hey," John's voice broke in. "The piñata is hung and ready for all of you." Sam hurried up to his father and wrapped his arms around his father and hugged him.

"Thanks for the best birthday Daddy!" Sam looked up into his father's face with his wide dark eyes and the eldest Winchester could see his child's happiness. He also noted that soon his son would be eye to eye with him. John hugged him back.

"You're welcome Sammy. You're happy?" Sam smiled in reply.

"I fifteen today that's this many fingers," Sam displayed ten fingers proudly and then closed his hands and quickly displayed five more fingers. "That fifteen."

"That's right kiddo," John answered warmly. "Where'd you learn that?" John knew Sam still had difficulty with mathematics and still hadn't moved beyond a third grade level for his math skills, but his reading was improving and he tested around a fourth grade level for that, but again he still had difficulties. His handwriting was improving, but still resembled that of a kindergarten or first grade student, large and wobbly. They worked nightly on various school lessons the learning academy sent home. Sam attended classes five days a week and John had enrolled him in a weekend day camp for special education children where they worked on art projects and practiced life skills, but today he'd kept Sam home for his birthday.

"Uncle Jim teach me last night. I mmm…mem…" Sam's forehead creased as he searched his mind for the word. "I mem…" John smiled softly.

"You memorized how to do it?" John offered quietly. Sam nodded quickly.

"That a big word," he admonished.

"Yes, it is," John agreed. "Well, you better get over to Uncle Jim and your friends. They can't start without the birthday boy." Sam hurried off, but not before hugging his father again. John had quickly become adjusted to how much more affectionate his child was after the accident and in many ways Sammy seemed so innocent to John that he wanted to always make sure his little boy felt loved and protected. The parents had got up and went to watch the piñata game that Jim seemed to be enjoying as he dodged a few precarious swings of a stick from a blind-folded child swinging wildly at the air trying to make contact with the hanging horse.

"He's got so big dad," Dean commented as he stepped up beside his father.

"Yeah, he's growing like a weed."

"How's he doing school wise?"

"They tested the kids again and they said that Sammy's made progress. I mean when he first game out of the coma from the drowning they had classified him with severe mental retardation they said his IQ was around 32, but he's continued to improve. It wasn't, but a handful of months and he was trying to speak and follow commands and they tested him again and said his IQ was 45 and he had moderate MR, and he's continued to do much better with the schooling and continued rehab."

"What did the new testing say?"

"Sammy's IQ is around 66 to 67 they say, I guess that's considered mild mental retardation, but the rehab says that those with mild MR as adults can in some instances live by themselves, but need help with certain things. Sammy's math and reading skills have sort of hit a plateau, but could still improve and his life skills therapist thinks he could maybe live on his own in a group situation where they had their own rooms, but that he'd need help managing his affairs." Dean looked at his father as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns and hooves.

"Dad, no disrespect, but you've got a screw loose if you think I'm ever going to let Sammy live in some freakin' group home." John didn't take offense to his son's hot words.

"Dean, I know that and he won't. Sammy belongs with his family and I think he'll be just fine with the status quo, but Dean," John began hesitantly as he looked across the large backyard and watched his son stand still while Jim tied a bandanna over his eyes and handed Sam the stick to hit the piñata with. "Dean, I'm not getting any younger, Jim isn't either and there's always the chance you'll go before Sammy…" Dean looked at his father wide-eyed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He said under his breath so the young party goers wouldn't hear him. "You're talkin' like you and Jim are old men or something and last time I checked I'm only nineteen … hardly signing up for my social security benefits." John chuckled.

"Dean, I don't have plans for leaving you boys anytime soon and God forbid anything happen to you, it's just I'm Sam's father and I have to make sure that he's going to be taken care of if something were to happen to either of us."

"Jim would take him Dad, but nothin' is going to happen. It's not like you're still hunting, so you'll be around until your pushing a walker." John smiled.

"Like I said son, I have no plans on buying the farm anytime soon, but there's illness and accidents, you never know. I never really thought about this stuff when we hunted. I mean, I worried about you boys getting hurt and I guess I always figured if something happened to me Jim would take you in or maybe even Bobby." Dean remembered Bobby Singer they had met him quite a few times while growing up, but hadn't seen the man in a long time. It's just that after Sammy's accident I couldn't kid myself anymore and things are never going to be easy for your little brother. He's always going to have obstacles to get past and some he may never overcome."

"Dad, when Sammy's old enough I want him with me," Dean replied quietly.

"I know Dean, but you're going to have your own life. You'll marry and have children of your own. What about that young lady you've mentioned to me … Julie?"

"We're just seeing each other Dad … it's not like I'm out shopping for a ring or something. I'm nineteen."

"I know, but one day. Dean, Sammy's happy here and he likes his school and his rehab is here. He has a routine he likes and uprooting him doesn't seem like the thing to do."

"Then I'll move back when I graduate from school," Dean hurried on.

"Like Hell Dean. Son, you're already in an advanced degree program that you'll basically be walking away with a bachelors and graduate degree when you graduate. Also, you already mentioned that internship with that engineering company."

"Dad, I've been thinking when I'm done at MIT I'd like to live nearby. There are opportunities not far from Blue Earth that I could look into after I finish my degree and I can commute and if and when it comes time I want Sammy … even if it's after …" Dean's words drifted off. He knew his father would die one day, he knew even parent's didn't live forever, but he still wasn't at the point he could actually say it." John smiled knowing his child's hidden thoughts.

"Hey son," John placed a hand on his child's shoulder. "Like I said I've got no plans to check out anytime soon." John paused. "Um, you might want to talk to Jim about a few things though."

"Jim? Why?"

"Well, he was mentioning his will the other day … anyway he sort of mentioned that he planned on leaving you the house and his estate. It's a big house and it's paid for and we've been renovating when we can and …"

"The house? Really? But, why?"

"Well, who else is he going to leave it to? You're Jim's family Dean and he thinks of you and your brother as his nephews. He can't leave it to Sammy, so it's yours. And, Sam really loves it here Dean and Blue Earth is good for him. The people are great here and I think Sammy will have a better life here than some big city." Dean agreed with the logic.

"Really? He's leaving all this to me?" Dean glanced over at Jim, the man he considered as his Uncle. He watched the religious man with Sam and the other children. Dean couldn't get his mind around the fact Jim intended to leave him his house. He let out a big sigh. "How'd we get on this maudlin conversation about who'll take care of Sammy and last will and testaments?" John smiled.

"I believe it started with you asking how Sammy was doing in school and discussions of IQ scores."

"Dean! I did it! Daddy look," Sam's happy shouts broke into their conversation across the yard and they looked as candy and tiny toys fell from the broken piñata that still bobbed and danced on its tether. Sam had a huge smile on his face as his friends descended on the candy treats and toys falling from the horse.

"Way to go Sammy," Dean yelled across the yard as he and his father walked toward their youngest family member. Sam waved and turned back to his friends as he started to dig through the candy and mini toys.

Later that Night

Dean lied in bed staring at the ceiling and watched the outside lights from the backyard play against the shadows on the high old ceiling. He could hear Sammy breathing quietly in sleep in the bed next to him. He turned his face and looked at his brother. Sam's twin bed still had the toddler bars raised at night, so he wouldn't roll out of bed in his sleep, even with an area rug on the hard oak floors it would be a hard hit if he fell out of bed. Sam was curled on his side facing his brother. His hand was wrapped around a stuffed bear and he held it close to him in sleep. His little brother was fifteen today and Dean looked at him and saw just a kid sleeping with his stuffed bear completely content with his life. Sammy had no recollection or understanding of the person he was before he fell into the cold lake that horrible afternoon and Dean was thankful.

The evening had ended with Jim talking to Dean about the house and his estate. It was just a formality, but Dean still didn't like to think that one day his family wouldn't all be together. Jim had been pragmatic in his response Dean … son, we can't live forever, I just want to be sure you boys always have a home and Sammy loves it here. He's happy. It was true Sam was happy here and the people here accepted him and Dean didn't really fear his brother being rejected or seen as differently. Maybe, it was because the town loved Jim so much that they accept Sammy, but the kid did grow on you, even with strangers. A whimper from Sam's side of the room drew Dean out of his thoughts. He watched Sam move restlessly in his blankets and then quiet before he could get out of bed to comfort his brother from his nightmare. Dean watched silently for a few minutes and when he was sure the nightmare had passed he slid back under the covers and decided to shut his mind off for the night and sleep.

The thunder and lightening cracked and banged outside, Sam's eyes snapped open and he hurried out of his covers and was about to go to his father's room when he realized as his sleepy mind recalled his big brother was here. "Dean?" Sam's voice broke into Dean's sleep. "Dean?" the voice was his little brother's and it sounded scared. Dean opened his eyes and saw his sibling standing by his bed.

"What's wrong kiddo?" he asked just as another loud thunder clap and lightening happened. "Scared of the storm little man," he could see the fear in his brother's eyes.

"Dean, I sleep with you, please," his voice hurried along in it's new timbre that Dean hadn't totally become accustomed to as his brother's body embraced puberty.

"Sammy it's just a storm. You're okay."

"Please," and Dean saw a slight tremor work its way through his little brother's lanky body. He smiled softly and sighed as he scooted over in his own twin bed and lifted the blanket.

"Come on," he encouraged and Sam smiled as he slid in putting his back against his big brother's chest. Dean dropped the blanket down and tucked it around his brother. He put his arm over his brother protectively. "Now go to sleep Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Uncle Jim says thunder … is God moving his fff…furn…" Sam sighed when the word wouldn't form.

"Furniture," Dean added with an amused face his brother couldn't see … only Jim would try to allay his sibling's fears with an anecdote about thunder being God making noise moving furniture around.

"Yeah," Sam replied happily at the provided word. "But, it still scare me. Why he so loud?" Dean chuckled against his best efforts not too. "What funny?" Sam huffed and squirmed over onto his back and turned to face Dean.

"Nothin' Sammy, sorry I laughed. Now, turn back over and go to sleep." Sam did as told and Dean settled his arm back over his brother.

"Dean?"

"What now Sam?"

"I miss you when you at your school. I glad you here for my bbb…birthday." Dean felt his chest ache at his baby brother's words.

"I miss you too kiddo. Happy birthday Sammy."

"You best present I got," Sam answered quietly as sleep claimed him and he drifted off under the safety of his brother's protective arm. Dean nestled closer to his little brother and was glad that Sam couldn't see the silent tears that cascaded down his cheeks.

To Be Continued

Well, you should expect some larger time leaps occurring in the next chapters.

Thanks for reading! I hope you're still enjoying it, I hope.