Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Very injured Sam (most of you probably don't mind) and worried/caring Dean and John. There will be at least one more chapter after this. I almost didn't continue tonight past the first few paragraphs, but that was because I wasn't left on a cliff….so for you all, I finished the chapter.

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Sam is 17, and Dean is 21

-/\-SN-/\-

John had worked for a sold hour on simply opening the door. Dean had lent his good shoulder to the process, but some of his strength was leeched away by pain. Darkness had started to settle around them, the air damper and cooler.

"Come on, Sam." John muttered, his throat tight with worry and fear. "Come on, Sammy. Don't you give up, don't you give in."

They wouldn't have given up, not ever, but they were tiring. John and Dean's eyes met, they silently counted to three and tried again. The door shifted, moved an inch. That small movement was hope and they doubled their efforts. John instantly noticed the smell of burning lighter fluid in the air and saw the flickering light of fire.

They managed to get the door open enough that John could squeeze through. The stone scraped painfully against his shoulder blades and ribs, but he didn't care. Sam was sprawled on the floor, pale, still. There wasn't time to check for a pulse, the fire was growing now that there was fresh air pouring into the crypt. John grabbed his son around the chest and eased him through the narrow opening to Dean's awaiting arms.

John glanced back to make sure that the casket and bones were well on their way to ash, which they were. He squeezed through again, got stuck for a second and then pushed through. He leaned on the door, felt it slide back, closed, and saw Sam.

His boy was still in Dean's arms.

"Sammy." Dean pressed his fingers against Sam's neck to feel for a pulse. "Sammy, breathe, Sammy."

John eased Sam from Dean's grip and laid his youngest on the cold, damp ground. He tipped his son's head back to open the air passages and rested his hand on Sam's chest. Through the layers of shirts, he felt Sam's shallow breaths, his rapid heartbeat. Sam coughed, blood frothed at his lips. John carefully turned his boy on his side. The blood dripped from Sam's mouth as he coughed again.

"Easy, Sammy." John murmured. "You're all right, now."

John and Dean watched Sam breath for a few moments, just watched him.

"Dean." John's voice was soft, but the words were harder, important. "Can you drive?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

John glanced up at him. "We're near enough to the south gate, bring the car in there."

Dean stood, paused. "It will take like, fifteen minutes."

"Ten, if you speed." John's eyes were a mix of worry, fear and determination. "Don't crash, don't do anything dumb. Just get here in one piece. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." He caught the keys that were tossed to him. "Dad?"

"He'll be all right."

Dean nodded, took one last look at Sam and jogged towards the car with his injured arm held close to his chest. John slipped out of his jacket and tucked it around Sam.

He gently brushed his boy's hair back. "You did great, Sammy. Scared the hell out of me and your brother, don't you ever do that again, but I'm so proud of you." Sam's skin was cool under his fingers.

John carefully moved Sam to his lap to keep him warmer. Sam had yet to wake, to move, to show any signs of consciousness. His heartbeat was still too fast and his breathing too shallow, he was in shock, John knew the signs as well as anyone. John kept one ear out for the Impala's engine, even though it hadn't been near enough time.

"You're getting blood on my best coat, Sam." He spoke just to fill time, to keep worry from killing him. "When you wake up, you and me are going to have a long talk about what happened in there. About what happened today."

John kept talking, his voice low and rough, anything that came to mind. He talked about past hunts, about things he remembered from when Sam and Dean were little. He told Sam how much he was reminded of Mary every time he looked at his son. Told him how proud she would have been.

"…dad…" The word was so quiet that John nearly missed it.

Only because John was waiting for something, anything, did he catch it. "Right here, Sammy."

"…cold." He breathed, his brow was furrowed in pain, eyes still closed.

John wrapped the jacket tighter around Sam. "How bad are you hurting?"

"Mmmm." He tried to shift, but didn't have the strength to move.

"Dean's going to be here soon with the car. We'll get you home, get you warm and patched up. How's that sound?"

Sam's eyes opened for a second, blurred with pain, before they closed again. "'kay."

Finally, John heard the rumble of the engine and sighed. The light from the headlights bounced off the polished surfaces of the headstones. The engine idled and Dean jogged back.

"Okay, Sammy." John looked up at Dean. "We're going to move you, we'll try not to make you hurt any worse. You let us know."

He didn't expect a response and wasn't let down when there wasn't one. Dean knelt down and Sam was gently rested against his chest. John stood and pulled Sam up into his arms. Sam's breath caught slightly as John readjusted his grip.

"Got him?" There were so many meanings behind those two words that Dean wasn't even sure what he meant.

"Yeah." John followed Dean through the obstacle course of headstones. "If he gets any taller, though…"

John eased Sam into the backseat as best as the kids long legs would allow and tucked the jacket around him. Despite the fact that the heat was on, Sam still shivered.

Dean climbed into the passenger seat, half turned around so that he could keep an eye on his brother. John got behind the wheel and pulled back onto the road. It was unspoken that Dean was to keep an eye on Sam, to make sure that he didn't get worse.

"Did he wake up at all?" Dean kept his eyes on Sam.

John glanced in the mirror at the backseat. "A word or two."

The rest of the ride was silent. John debated between home and hospital. At the intersection where it mattered, he turned towards home. They'd see how Sam was before any further decisions. John pulled up in front of the apartment and turned off the car. For a few moments, nobody moved, just listened to each other breathe in the silence.

John opened his door and went around to the back. "Dean." He tossed the keys over to his son.

Dean went to the door and unlocked it. He turned on the porch light and the living room lights. John gently eased Sam from the car. Sam whimpered a little at the movement, but didn't wake further than that. John picked up his boy, both hoped and regretted that it might be the last time, and walked to the house.

John passed the couch and the door to Sam and Dean's room. He went to his own room and placed his son on the bed. John glanced back at Dean, all that was needed as he ducked out to get the first aid kit.

Sam shivered as John removed the jacket and pulled a blanket up over his son. As John slowly removed Sam's sweatshirt he was reminded of a younger Sam, simply asleep before getting to bed. Once Sam's tee shirt was off, the bruises from the previous night were dark and the new ones were quickly darkening. Watching Sam's face, John ran his fingers over his son's ribs. Sam confirmed John's suspicion of three broken.

John pulled the blanket up and brushed Sam's hair back. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Dean came in the room, first aid kit under his good arm and a damp towel, mug and thermos in his hand. John took the towel and wiped the dried and drying blood from Sam's face and chest. He shivered more as the water cooled on his skin.

Dean took a bottle of pain pills and dumped one into the bottom of a mug. He ground up the pill with the handle of his knife. He picked up the thermos and poured warm tea over the powder. He placed the mug on the nightstand and turned his attention to his brother.