A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing! Huge hugs to you all. I know I'm a little behind with posting on this one, so I thought you would like a nice long chapter. The recipes for the French toast and the roast are at muffymorrigan (dot) com, click on Muffy's Cookbook. Thank you to PADavis. Abni and TraSan for help and all with this chapter, you guys rock! Not just very small rocks, either.

Gifts

Chapter Seven

French Toast and Surprises

The sound of the shower turning on woke Sam. He'd been dreaming, half nightmare, half something else, when the noise pulled him from sleep. The scent of coffee filled the room, Sam glanced to his right and saw a cup of coffee sitting within reach on his bedside table. He picked it up and sipped, Dean always had the correct mixture of milk and sugar.

Sam stared up at the ceiling. Dean was hurting, he could tell. He really had no idea what happened between the time he'd been shot and when he woke up in the ICU with Dean beside him. In fact, a lot of the time in ICU was hazy. Sam sighed, wondering if knowing helped or not, wondering if knowing how bad it really was would make it worse. Some days he thought if he could just get out from under the continual pain and ongoing exhaustion from the infection for just an hour everything would change. It just seemed never-ending and every hour it lasted just added to his inability to cope. He kept hoping the pain would diminish, or the infection would get better. Or I could take a step on my own. Nothing changed, and it was dragging him down.

The depression was getting worse, he didn't know how to tell Dean. The loss of the Impala wounded him and he had no idea how Dean could let his baby go so easily. Sam missed the large black car like one of the family was gone, and he figured it had to be much worse for Dean. An idea was beginning to form, he wondered if he could manage it, maybe it would make things easier for his brother. Sam took a deep breath, pain slid through his body as his chest muscles expanded, and let it out slowly. The thought floated around the top of his mind, a leaf caught in a whirlpool.

"You're awake!" Dean's voice startled him.

"Yeah."

"Breakfast? Shower?"

"I'm not really hungry, Dean," Sam said, looking over at his brother. For just an instant he saw Dean's face fall, but he recovered quickly. "And I took a shower before bed."

"Then breakfast it is."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm making French toast."

"French toast?"

"With vanilla," Dean smiled.

"What do you want to eat?" His fourteen-year-old brother asked Sam.

"I don't know, Dean, I still don't feel really good, my throat hurts."

"I know, strep sucks. What about French toast?"

"Like Bobby's?" Sam asked with a grimace.

"I think I can avoid burning it to a crisp."

"Yeah, 'cause you know, burned eggs are gross."

"I know, Sammy. I thought I'd try adding a little vanilla to it, whatcha think?" Dean smiled.

"Vanilla's my favorite!"

"Yep, be right back." Dean wandered over to the kitchenette of the motel room and started cooking, a few minutes later he presented Sam with a plate of food, soaked in butter and syrup. "Go ahead, try it," Dean said, bouncing on his toes.

Sam took a cautious bite, chewed and swallowed, the soft food was gentle on his throat and even better than that… "It's better than the restaurant kind, Dean!"

"Good." Dean grinned at him and grabbed a plate for himself. Over the years it had become Dean's way to bribe Sam—into eating when he was ill, into helping with chores when Sam didn't want to, into apologizing to their father after a fight. It was also something Dean always dragged out on special occasions. To Sam, Christmas and birthdays would always smell like his brother's French toast.

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, smiling. "A little French toast sounds good."

"That's my boy." Dean rolled the wheelchair over, turned off the oxygen and helped Sam into the chair. He rolled it out into the living room, bright autumn sun was pouring through the windows. Dean poured Sam another cup of coffee and started making breakfast. "Alan's coming for dinner tonight, I thought I'd try a roast."

"Isn't that a little ambitious?" Sam asked dubiously.

"The recipe looks pretty easy, we'll see." Dean put a plate in front of Sam.

"Thanks." There was only one piece on the plate. Dean understood his appetite was affected by everything. Eating one piece didn't seem that hard. Sam picked up his fork and tried a piece. It was one of the rituals, he had to try it before Dean would eat. "Perfect as always, Dean."

"Good, I was worried, I used that fancy bread and didn't know how well it would work."

"It works fine." Sam hesitated, took a deep breath and blurted out, "Can we skip the park today?"

"Why?" Dean frowned at him.

"I don't want to get cold today, maybe we could hang around here, try out the hot tub instead?"

"Sounds good, we'll break in the exercise room," Dean said.

"Dean…"

"Nope, Sammy, therapy one way or the other, either at the lake or here. We can do a little more here."

"Okay, Dean." To Sam's surprise his brother burst out laughing. "What?" Dean shook his head and kept laughing. "Dude, what?"

"Sorry," Dean said, wiping his eyes. "But you haven't managed that tone in years."

"Oh." Sam smiled. "That was really good, thanks. Can I watch a little TV before we start?"

"Sure." Dean wheeled Sam over to the chair in the living room and helped him sit down. He handed Sam the remote and disappeared into the bedroom. He came back through a minute later with sheets in his arms and walked into the pantry. Sam flipped on the TV, but listened to Dean singing in the laundry room. It has to bother him, all this domestic stuff. He sighed and found a show on the history of canned goods on one channel and settled in to watch.

"Soup?" Dean said, flopping down on the chair beside Sam. "It's a show about soup?"

"It's a show about canning."

"Looks like soup."

"Right now it's about soup, it was about vegetables a few minutes ago," Sam said with an eye roll, Dean chuckled. "There's one about beer on after this one."

"Okay, Sammy, let me get us another cup of coffee and we'll watch your stupid soup show, then the beer show, then therapy."

"Okay." Sam leaned back in the chair, before the first show was over he was dozing, listening to the drone of the show and his brother's running commentary. "They drank beer for breakfast? Cool. Pumpkin ale, gross…" It went on for the whole show. Sam never dropped all the way off, instead drifting along on the edge of awareness, until he felt Dean's hand on his arm. He opened his eyes, Dean smiled at him. "What?"

"Let me check on the roast and then we'll get a little therapy in." Sam watched as his brother poked at the roast in the fridge. "Looks all thaw-y."

"Looks thaw-y?"

"Yep, I know you don't recognize it, but that's chef's talk."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Yeah, bite me." Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair and pushed him into the second bedroom, full of gleaming equipment. "We'll take it easy today, Sammy." Dean stopped the chair by a massage table and helped Sam onto it. "We'll see if all that training pays off."

"Training?" Sam asked.

"Alan arranged for me to work with the PT so I'd know what to do when we came home," Dean said with a smile. "Let's do this, we'll start with the stretches."

"Okay, Dean." A few minutes later, Sam was impressed with the amount of therapy Dean had learned. He carefully took Sam through the exercises that Sam had done in the physical therapy room at the hospital. Sam concentrated on making it through without groaning too much, instead focusing on Dean's humming. It always amazed Sam that Dean seemed to have a soundtrack running in his head at all times, task appropriate music—and without the stereo even being on.

"Now we're going to try that left arm a little more, Sammy," Dean said.

"I don't know if I can." Sam accepted Dean's help so he could sit up. Dean took his left hand and gently rubbed the arm for a moment. "Dean…"

"No, try, just a little." Dean put a little pressure on Sam's hand. "Push up, Sammy." Sam took a deep breath and tried to push against Dean's hand. "A little more." Dean said quietly. Sam tried harder, he couldn't move Dean's hand at all. "Just a moment more, Sam." Sam pushed, felt the burn in his muscles as he did and then felt Dean's hand shift a tiny bit. "Good! I knew you could do it." Dean looked at him with a silly grin on his face. "Awesome job, Sammy." He patted Sam's shoulder and got the wheelchair.

"I barely moved at all, Dean."

"You moved," Dean said firmly. "Hot tub time."

"Okay." Sam let Dean help him into swim trunks and a robe, then into the chair. "Are you wearing that?"

"No, I have my stuff on under my sweats," Dean said, pushing Sam through the apartment and out the door into the garden,

Sam looked around as they went. He hadn't been out the back of the complex. There was a small garden in the patio of their apartment, then a larger one in the center of the courtyard. Most of the trees were covered in bright reds and yellows and the fall flowers were all in bloom. Sam sighed, it was good to be outside, and he half regretted not going to the lake.

"We'll try out the barbeque some night," Dean said. "We can use it, we just have to reserve the space to let other tenants know. Maybe in a week."

"Maybe."

"Here we are." Dean opened a door to the building at the far end of the courtyard. As they entered Sam could smell chlorine. Off to the left, he heard the funny echo swimming pools always seemed to have. Dean steered him to the right, past a bank of soft drink and snack machines. Dean opened another door and pushed Sam in, he could hear the rumble and bubble of the jets for the hot tub. It was on a platform, there were steps and a small ramp leading up to it. "They let me put the ramp in, they weren't handicap compliant."

"You did it?" Sam felt tears in his eyes.

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "I know you like hot tubs, and it's a good place for a little more therapy." Dean rolled him up the ramp and helped him into the warm water. Dean dropped into the tub with a sigh. "Good stuff. I'll let you relax for a minute, then we'll do a few more stretches." Dean kept one hand on Sam, propping him firmly against the side of the tub.

"I can sit up on my own, Dean," Sam said quietly. Please, Dean, I feel helpless enough…

"I know, Sammy, I just wanted you to get used to the jets for a sec," Dean replied easily. He patted Sam's shoulder and dropped his hand.

"Oh, sorry." Sam couldn't help the flush of embarrassment that ran up his cheeks. Dean probably was just letting him adjust. His brother had always seemed to understand when Sam needed help and when help would push him over the edge. He often wondered just how Dean knew. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back, letting the warm water ease the pain in his back and chest. His arms floated on the surface of the water, moved by the swirling water. I can do this, I can do this.

"Ready for a few more stretches?" Dean said sometime later. Sam opened his eyes and looked at his brother. "Just a few?"

"Sure, can I have something to drink first?" Sam asked, smiling at Dean.

"Will you be okay?"

"Dean, we've been sitting here for fifteen minute, you're just going out into the lobby, I'll be fine." Sam put enough annoyance into his tone that Dean chuckled a little and stepped out of the tub.

Sam waited until he heard the door close. He knew he didn't have long. I just want to see if I can… He shoved himself away from the support of the wall. Warm water closed over his head and as usual, he sank right to the bottom.

"I can't float, Dean," Sam said to his thirteen-year-old brother after swim classes one evening.

"It's your own fault, Sammy." Dean grinned at him.

"How is it my fault?" Sam tried not to whine, but it came out pretty close to a whine.

"Well…" Dean crossed his arms and looked at him appraisingly. "If you didn't fill your head with all that junk, it wouldn't be so heavy."

"Very funny," Sam said, taking a playful swing at Dean.

His lungs were beginning to burn. Part of him wondered where Dean was, how his brother would take it. The other part just wanted to draw a breath. The instinctive part of him that wanted to survive at all costs tried to push up out of the water, but his arm wouldn't take the weight. He was starting to get desperate. The urge to breathe was becoming overwhelming. Sorry, Dean, this didn't go as planned.

XXX

Dean wandered out into the lobby, hoping there was something other than soft drinks in the machine. He was glad Sam had asked to stay home, he had a surprise coming for his brother and he had no idea when Nate and Nancy would show up. Dean sighed, he hoped it was the right choice. I seem to think that a lot lately.

The breeze from the fan chilled him as he walked through the building. He stopped in front of the machine and was trying to decide between a sport's drink and a "vitamin" drink when the sense of something being terribly wrong hit him like a ton of bricks. Dean wasn't sure what it was, but he turned and ran back to where he'd left Sam. He raced through the door, immediately looking at the tub. Sam was nowhere to be seen

"Sam!" Dean ran up on the platform and jumped in, dragging Sam out of the water and onto the wood deck. "Sam?" Oh no, oh please no, please no. Dean felt tears in his eyes. For one terrifying moment, Sam didn't move, didn't breath. "SAM!" Dean heard the crescendo of panic in his voice. His brother suddenly took a gasping breath and started coughing. Dean pulled him up and held him as he coughed. "Oh, god, Sammy, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left."

"Not your fault," Sam got out between coughs. "Hurts a lot," he said, holding on to Dean.

"Let's get you back to the apartment. Can you sit up while I grab the chair?" Dean asked, Sam nodded, still coughing a little. Dean pushed the chair over and lifted Sam into it, draping the robe over his brother before hurrying them out of the building and back to their apartment. Sam started coughing harder in the cool outside air, and by the time Dean opened the door to the apartment, Sam was gasping for breath. Dean pushed Sam into the room, slammed the sliding door closed and ran into the bedroom, grabbed the oxygen and a syringe of meds and ran back out. He fit the tube over Sam's head, then administered the pain medicine. "I'm going to get you some warm clothes, okay?" Sam nodded again, the coughing had slowed.

Dean walked back into the bedroom, locked the drawer up again, grabbed a towel out of the stack in the closet and pulled some clothes out of the dresser for Sam. He glanced in the mirror and got a good look at himself, his eyes still wide from fear. He realized his hands were shaking. I could have lost him again. What was I thinking? Helplessness and frustration found their favorite expression and Dean felt anger bubble up through his chest. He stepped away from the chest of drawers, trying to calm himself before going back into the living room. Dean made it almost to the door before the anger became rage and it boiled over. The next thing he knew, his hand was aching and he was looking at a bloody knuckle. He bent the finger carefully. Great, at least it's not dislocated. Wall punching really isn't that smart, Dean.

By the time Dean got back into the living room, Sam had stopped coughing and had his head in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," Dean said again. He gently started toweling Sam off.

"Not your fault," Sam said from behind his hands.

"I shouldn't have left."

"Dean," Sam looked up and grabbed his wrist. "It's not your fault." There was an odd look of desperation in Sam's eyes that terrified Dean. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Nothing." Dean snatched his hand back.

"Dean?"

"It's nothing, Sam. Let's get you into some dry clothes."

"Did the wall annoy you?" Sam asked with the hint of a smile playing on his face.

"Maybe," Dean mumbled as he helped Sam into the t-shirt and sweats.

"Punching walls isn't smart."

"Yeah it is, brings them right back in line. They behave for days after a good punching." Dean lifted Sam out of the wheelchair and helped him settle into the recliner. "Sam, I…" A knock on the door interrupted him. "That might be Nate and Nancy."

"Nate and Nancy?" Sam frowned.

"Yeah, they visited once or twice while you were in the hospital, remember?" Dean asked as he walked to the door. He opened it and smiled at the couple. "Did you bring it?"

"We have it." Nancy held up a small white box.

"Thanks." Dean looked into the living room. "They brought a surprise for you, Sammy. Come in and let it loose."

"A surprise?" Sam craned his head towards the door.

"Okay, but it's a little hellion," Nate said as Nancy put the box on the floor and opened the cage door at the front.

"Perfect," Dean said with a grin.

Nothing happened for a second, then a gray blur shot out of the box and careened around the room at light speed, bouncing off walls, furniture and people. It finally stopped, and with an odd sounding little squeak it climbed up Sam's chair, walked along his body and peered into his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked, child-like smile of delight spreading on his face.

"It's moving in for awhile, is that okay?" Dean said, walking over to his brother and the kitten. He wondered if Sam realized he was stroking the small animal with his left hand.

"He," Nancy said. "Hi, Sam, do you remember me?"

"Yeah, you sat with me when Dean was gone during the day a couple of times." Sam smiled at her.

"Yep, had to keep you company while Dean was doing an honest days work," Nate said.

"Work?" Sam looked from Dean to Nate.

"I work for Nate at his garage. You'll see it on Tuesday when I go in again."

"We have an office all set up for you with a chair and bed, TV and wireless internet." Nate pulled up a chair and sat down beside Sam. The kitten looked at him, wiggled its butt and leaped onto Nate, then with another wiggle leaped onto Dean. Only it hit Dean mid-chest and had to claw its way up his body. "You okay?" Nate asked, clamping his lips together.

"You laugh, Nate, and I swear I don't care if you're my boss." Dean was sure he could feel blood pouring from a dozen wounds on his chest.

"Bad cat," Nancy said, detaching the kitten and carrying it back to Sam. It settled down on Sam's chest and started purring.

"Monster." Dean glared at the cat.

"He's a good kitten." Sam said and started laughing.

"Great. Very funny, Sammy. I'm mortally wounded and you're laughing."

"The tiny kitten mortally wounded you, right, maybe you better go check those wounds, see if you need a trip to the ER for sutures."

"Bite me," Dean growled. He wondered if laughing was good for Sam, his brother said it hurt to laugh. But considering that dose of meds I just gave him, it should be okay.

"Did you need me to call 911?" Sam asked, still laughing. Nancy and Nate were laughing, too.

"Everyone bite me, I'll be right back, I'm going to see how much damage Monster Boy did."

"You sure you don't need the EMTs?" Sam said solicitously as Dean stalked out of the room. Dean growled wordlessly at his brother, Sam laughed harder.

Once Dean was in the privacy of the bathroom he let the grin he'd been suppressing out. He chuckled as he pulled up his shirt and surveyed the damage in the mirror. There were several long scratches across his chest, none were bleeding very much. Dean dabbed a little alcohol on them and peeked back in the living room. Sam was chatting with Nate and Nancy, petting the kitten that was nestled under his chin. Maybe I did something right this time. Dean sighed.

"I'm worried about Sammy, Aunt Phoebe," Dean said to the ancient woman as they sat on the porch together, surrounded by rainbow-hued bunnies. He shifted in the chair, the still-healing wounds ached as he moved.

"He had quite a scare, Dean, nearly losing you, being the only one keeping you alive, that's hard on a thirteen-year-old," she said softly.

"He's not sleeping at all and I haven't heard him laugh since we got here."

"I'd like to repeat what I just said, he had a terrible scare, he needs time to deal with it."

"Have you seen him?" Dean asked looking around. His brother had been sitting by the tree, but he was gone. "Sammy?" He stood instinctively, then sank back into the chair with a groan.

"I'll go look for him, he can't go far." She patted his head and walked down the steps.

Dean watched her go, the worry for his brother increasing. Since they'd arrived at Aunt Phoebe's, Sam had been withdrawn and clingy, never venturing far from Dean. The fact that Sam was now out of sight drove Dean to a near panic. He saw Phoebe disappear into the purple barn, then reappear a few seconds later. She gestured to Dean. He stood and grabbed the cane he used to get around and slowly made his way across the lawn towards the barn. As he got close a sound caused him to stop in his tracks. Sam was laughing. Dean hurried as best as he could to the barn door. He peeked in. Sam was in one of the stalls surrounded by kittens. One had perched itself on his shoulder and was batting at his bangs.

"Dean!" Sam smiled at him, then a frown of concern crossed his face. "Should you be up?"

"He can sit in here with you, Sammy," Aunt Phoebe said, helping Dean over to the stall. He lowered himself into the hay. "I'll be back to get the two of you at suppertime."

"Yes, ma'am," they answered together.

Once she was gone, Dean leaned back against the wall and watched his brother. A few moments later, he was swarmed by kittens, Sam laughing happily as he tried to dig Dean out from under the pouncing balls of fur. "Monsters, Sammy."

"Yep, scary monsters." Sam chuckled. He scooted back so he was sitting beside Dean. They played with the kittens for another hour before Sam was quiet. Dean looked over, his brother was sound asleep with five of the kittens draped over his body. Dean smiled.

Sam spent at least part of the day with kittens after that, Dean usually joined him and they both ended up napping under a pile of "the furry beasts" as Dean called them, on a daily basis.

Dean walked back into the living room. Sam blinked at him, his eyes drooping a little. "Hey, Sammy, how're you doing?"

"Getting a little sleepy. Sorry," he said to Nate and Nancy. "I sleep in the afternoons sometimes."

"Nothing to be sorry for." Nate stood. "We came by to drop the kitten…"

"Monster," Dean corrected him.

"The kitten off, we'll see you on Tuesday."

"Thanks again," Dean said as he escorted them to the door.

"No problem, if there's anything else we can do let us know, okay?" Nancy gave Dean a quick kiss on the cheek and they left, waving as they got into their car.

"Thank you, Dean." Sam smiled when Dean walked back into the living room. The kitten was hanging over Sam's arm, twitching a little in its sleep.

"You're welcome, Sam. I thought we needed a little more excitement. Of course, I wasn't expecting an evil beast."

Sam chuckled and yawned. "I need to sleep for awhile, Dean."

"I know," Dean said, patting him on the chest. "I'll get the roast started, Alan will be here around five."

"Okay." Sam yawned again and closed his eyes. He was snoring softly a few minutes later.

Dean walked into the kitchen, turned the oven on and got the bacon and garlic out and put the roast on the counter. He softened the bacon in a skillet, then carefully following Hilly's directions he "larded" the roast by piercing it and putting the bacon in the holes. When he was finished he layered bacon on top, sprinkled it with garlic and put it into the oven. He washed his hands, checked on Sam and stepped silently into the garden, closing the door and pulling his cell phone out. Dean walked far enough away from the door to make sure there was no chance Sam could overhear him, then called Alan.

"Dean! Do you want cake or pie for dessert?"

"Alan, I took Sam to the hot tub to do a little therapy today."

"Good, good! I was hoping you'd get a chance to do that," the doctor said happily.

"Alan… I…"

"What is it?" The jovial tone disappeared. "Dean?"

"I think Sam tried to kill himself."

To Be Continued