With What Life Remains

Chapter Nine

Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer? …

I will indulge my sorrows, and give way

To all the pangs and fury of despair.

Hope, and fear and grief… with variety of pain distract me.

-Joseph Addison

This part of the hospital was noisy, people walking up and down the hallway with bouquets of balloons and plush animals. Families with small children wandered in and out of the rooms, visiting, bringing cheer. Hope walked this corridor, unlike the hush upstairs, unlike the quiet that Sam had been held in. Life reigned here, not the cold hand of death. Laughter drifted down the hallway, the tones harsh, grating on his already strained nerves, his mind begging them to stop, how could laughter go on when Sam's fate sill hung in the balance.

Dean sighed. The room was quiet. Galen had succumbed to the pain medication and was sleeping, snoring softly. He had tried to stay awake, talking gently with Dean, but finally his eyes had drifted closed and the pauses between words became longer and longer, then silence. Galen's hand was still thrust over the bedrail, resting on Dean's arm, he hadn't moved it when the older man had drifted off, somehow that small point of contact was keeping him more centered than he ever dreamed it could. The small warmth a touch of life in a world full of cold, of death.

He was still waiting, watching the clock as the hands moved lazily around, not recognizing his anxiety. Time passed and still no word. He had no idea how long it had actually been. He had been sitting in the room with Galen for two hours, maybe a little more. But how much time do they need? How much damage did she do? Sam? You just hang on till they are done, and then I'll be there. You just hang on, no dying, Sammy. You know I hate waiting, Sam, I'm not very good at it, am I? I never was, at least not when…Sam, you need to just come through this…

"Have you heard anything?" Galen asked suddenly.

"No, no one has even come in," Dean said looking over at the bed. "I'm not sure this is one of those no news is good news situations."

"Waiting is hard," Galen said softly.

"Yes." Dean laughed bitterly. "I'm not very good at it. Waiting. At least not when it comes to Sam."

"You say that like you've had experience with it."

"Too damn much, Galen. And it never gets easier, I think it actually gets harder because you know what's coming, the fear, the waiting," he scrubbed his hands across his face. "Although surprisingly Sam hasn't had as many close calls as you'd think, considering what we do."

"Which makes it that much harder, son, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, and the worst is like this, when I can't be with him, can't know what's happening or what happened. And so much of what we deal with is things that doctors can't really help with, spells, venom, death creature's claws, demons, things that can kill and there is nothing they can do about it."

"Like when he was fifteen?"

"Like that hunt, yeah. And then the waiting. That time it really wasn't all that long, in actual time and I was there, I could do something about it, you know. Not like this, not helpless like…"

Dean, I need you to promise me something.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, another memory, another dark warm chapel, another wait for the verdict on his brother's life. Galen sensed the change in him, he must have felt the tensing of his muscles as he fought the memories down. Galen tightened his hand on Dean shoulder. Not now. I don't need this now. Why is this happening? Why are all the memories coming back? Will I have to relive every time…Oh, god, no, please no. I can't. He sat up, hoping to force the memory away.

I know what they told you and dad, you know, Dean.

"Dean?" He said gently.

"Yeah?" Dean answered through clenched teeth, fighting the memory back, away from him.

I can't live like this, Dean, I won't.

"What is it?"

"I…" He swallowed. "I…I don't know."

So I need you to promise me something.

"You know I teach anthro, did you know my specialty is cross-cultural religious and healing practices? Most cultures believe that memory or vision quest exists for a reason. It is not a random event. It is called out of us when it is needed, like your memories of when Sam was fifteen. Are you remembering something?"

Sammy, what?

"Dean?" Galen said again, his voice gentle, but somehow demanding an answer, coaxing the past from Dean, inexorably, firmly pulling the bitter memory out into the light.

"I…he was seventeen…" Dean took a deep breath. I can't, not now, this won't help. Stop, oh, god, please stop.

"And?" Again, so gentle, but somehow forcing the memory out of him.

It will be hard for you, I know, Dean.

"I was away, working, and dad called…" NO! He gritted his teeth, swallowing hard, trying to force it away.

Galen looked at him, sudden comprehension in his eyes. "Dean? Is this why?"

Sammy, what?

"Why what?" He snapped, forcing those days away from him.

"Earlier, when they were trying to get you to make a decision. You never asked if he were brain dead, never worried about that, no you asked and were worried about whether or not your brother was suffering. I'd almost say you were feeling guilty about something, something to do with that."

Dean…his brother put a trembling hand over his.

"Yeah," he said, the word sighing out of him.

"What is it? Why was that…?" Galen shifted so his hand was more firmly on his shoulder, offering support, giving Dean an anchor.

"I promised. A long time ago. I promised." He felt tears at the edge of his eyes. No, no, not this. Sam, why did you make me…? And again last year, although that was entirely different and I could ignore that.

"Dean. Tell me. There is a reason this is coming back, maybe to help you?"

Oh, god, no, not that, please. "I don't know…"

"Dean, tell me," he said gently, squeezing his shoulder. "It's ok, tell me."

Dean, I need you to promise…

"I, Sam was seventeen and…" He swallowed, pushing the tears away as those moments came back full force. His panic, his fear, Sam…Different than when he was fifteen, so very different.

"Dean?" Galen was looking at him, frowning in concern. "What is it?"

He let it happen. Dean let the memory rise up and carry him away. Galen was right before, he must be right now. Those moments pulled at him, clawing, dragging him away to that instant of pain, of decision.

A Brother's suffering claims a brother's pity

Past

The phone was ringing. It would stop and then start again. Like most motel phones it had a slightly off-key bell that was annoying. Especially when it was grating against a hangover. The phone stopped again. Dean sighed in relief and it started in again. It rang twelve times that time and then stopped. He rolled over and sat up, scrubbing his hands across his face. He had gotten in late after finishing a very straightforward hunt his father had sent him out solo on. It was actually the first time he had been on his own, and even though it had been a very simple salt and burn it still felt good.

Of course drinking himself into the state he was in the night before and going home with Mandy? Candy? Tandy? had not been a very mature idea. He groaned. And now I'm paying for it, nice. Lovely plan there, brilliant. Maybe next time just hit yourself with something, easier and no bad perfume.

The phone started in again, insistent, almost sounding angry. It rang fifteen times then stopped. Ok, who could that be? No one knows where I am…except dad. But why would he…The phone started again. I bet he and Sammy had another fight and Sammy ran again. Just great. I can't leave the two of them alone for ten seconds. He grabbed it.

"What?" He nearly shouted, angry that it had been ringing, angry at his father and his brother and suddenly frightened for no reason he could put a finger on.

"Dean?" His father, and Dean's heart stopped. He recognized the emotion in John's voice. Fear. Cold, soul-shattering fear. He had only heard it once or twice in all his life. His father was terrified of something.

"Dad? What?" Dean felt his father's fear reaching through the phone tangible, touchable. And he knew what it was and he didn't want to ask, but he had to know. "Sammy?"

"Your brother…"

"Dead?" The word snapped out of him like a gunshot. Not an option.

"No."

"Hospital?" Please say no, please say no.

"Yes."

"How bad is Sammy? Is he dying, dad? How bad is it?" Please tell me.

"When can you get here?"

Did he just evade my question? He did, Sammy's not dead, but it's bad, it has to be for that kind of evasion. "As soon as I can, leaving right now, sir." He dropped the phone onto the cradle and was out the door, he heard the phone ringing as it slammed behind him.

Four hours later he pulled into the parking lot at the hospital in the town where he had left his father and brother. He parked in a spot that said "reserved for staff" not caring in that instant whether the car was towed or not. He had reached the point of complete panic about two hours before, not knowing, but remembering the fear in their father's voice. His heart rate was up and he was breathing fast. He knew if he didn't rein it in he would have a full-blown panic attack. And that won't do anyone any good.

He ran into the hospital and stopped, trying to calm himself before walking to the information desk. "My name is Dean, my brother, Sammy—uh Sam—was admitted I guess and my father called me." I have no idea what name dad used, I probably should have waited till I got that information.

"Oh, I have a note here about you," the silver-haired woman smiled at him. "Sam MacGregor, right?" Dean nodded, hoping that was the right Sam. "He's upstairs, room 335." She frowned a little, Dean saw compassion, maybe pity in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, dear."

"What?" Dean had turned to the elevators, but turned back to her. "What did you say?"

"Oh, dear me, I shouldn't have said anything, you just got here," she looked genuinely distressed.

Dean walked over and patted her hand. I wonder if she will tell me, dad might not be honest, can I get her to talk to me? He tried smiling his best smile at her. "It's ok, you can tell me, I'm going up in just a minute anyway."

"Oh, it's just the poor thing. I'm a chaplain here too and I was in there this morning," she patted at her eyes with a tissue. "It's just so terrible to see that happening to someone so young."

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. "What?" Still smiling. Maybe that will keep me from screaming. Clench the teeth and keep smiling. Sammy? Oh, god, what now? Sam, please, you are supposed to be ok when I leave remember? Didn't I talk to you about that?

"It's just so terrible you know?" She seemed stuck on that, Dean was pretty sure he wouldn't get anymore from her, so he patted her hand again and walked to the elevators.

She was upset, why? Mostly those people are so calm, and that worries me. What is wrong with my brother? Why didn't dad call before? The elevator door opened and he followed the signs to 335. Walking pass the nurses' station, barely registering the pretty blonde behind the computer. The door was partially closed, he heard the TV playing, it sounded like Scooby Doo. He pushed the door open. His father was sitting beside the bed. They didn't notice his entrance so he stood for a moment trying to get a handle on the situation.

His father was sitting, looking at the TV. He was stiff, his eyes, Dean knew, were not focused on Velma and Fred, but inward at the pain he was struggling with. He had a cup of coffee in his hands, Dean could smell the stale-rancid smell of bad coffee grown cold. His brother was on the bed, white-faced, an IV snaking into his arm. Sam was rigid, his body taut, fighting something unseen. His eyes were closed, turned away from the world, like he was already removing himself from it.

Dean walked quietly in, his footsteps silent on the tiled floor. His father looked up, not registering his presence, just noticing someone had come in. Dean put his hand on his father's shoulders, John looked again, focusing on him and smiled, a sad, lost smile. Oh no, not that bad? His father didn't say anything, Dean took the last step to the bed and put his hand down on his brother's arm, feeling the tension in the muscles.

"Sammy?" He said softly.

Sam's eyes opened and turned to him. They were bloodshot as if from tears. "Dean?" The pain in his voice was so present Dean could feel it radiating out of his brother into him. "You're here?"

"Yeah, Sammy, where else?" He smiled down at him, willing the tears in his own eyes away.

"Glad you're here," the words were taking a lot of effort. It was killing his brother just to talk.

"What happened?" Dean said to his father, sharp, authoritarian. It sounded, to his ears, a lot like John when their father was in a drill sergeant mood.

"Hunt gone wrong," John shook his head, lost. His father stood and looked at him, Dean saw his brother's death in those eyes. Oh, god no. Sammy. "I'm going to get some coffee. Didn't want to leave until you got here." Dean watched as his father ran out of the room.

"Must need coffee pretty bad," Dean said with a laugh, taking off his jacket and then standing back by the bed. On sudden impulse he settled on the edge of the bed, letting his leg rest against his brother. "Dad and his coffee, you know Sammy."

"Yeah, always coffee," Sam smiled a little. A tear ran out of his eye and trickled down his cheek, he didn't seem to notice it.

"Sorry I meant to be back last night…" But I managed to get drunk and went home with Shandy? Randi? Sandy? I know it was something andy, I think.

"Was she hot?" The words were forced out of Sam with a little roll of the eyes.

Dean laughed, trying to make it sound normal, "I think so, Sammy, but I might have had a bit too much to drink."

"Can't remember her name?" Sam was teasing him. His body was so tight, unmoving, his voice full of pain and still teasing Dean.

"Nope. At least she didn't come back to the room with me, that would have been awkward come morning."

"It always is when you can't remember their names."

"It's only happened once or twice, maybe three times." He said smiling at his brother.

"This month."

"Sammy, Sammy, you make me sound like a total slu…Yeah dad?" He said his father was waving him out of the room. "I'll be right back Sammy, ok?"

"Sure."

Dean walked out into the corridor, his father was standing with a very tall woman. She had an air of authority about her that screamed "physician." There was just something about her, the weight of years of experience or the life and death she witnessed every day, but the authority had a calm to it. And for all that white hair, still pretty hot. What is wrong with me? He shook his head at the thought and stood beside his father. John's shoulders were hunched, Dean put an arm around him.

"Tell my son what you told me, please," his father said to the white-haired woman.

She smiled gently at him, "I'm Dr. Menzies, I have been trying to help your brother."

"Trying?"

"We are not sure what is going on with him, his body is deteriorating rather rapidly, we can't seem to find a cause, or a way to stop it."

"What are you telling me?" Dean said. Oh, god, Sammy. I think she just said you are dying. I thought we talked about that a few years ago. Dying is not an option, Sammy. I told dad, I told you. Not an option.

"He is in tremendous pain and we are doing our best to ease that, but it will continue until his body gives out. And even then…"

"What?" He understood what she was telling him. Oh, god, no, worse than dying. "He'll be alive, in pain? But not able to…he'll just suffer? Indefinitely?"

"Well, until his body just fails."

"So he'll be alive, but dead?"

"Well I guess technically that is one way of putting it. Not very medically correct, but one way of putting it. We are trying to make him as comfortable as possible and we are looking for the cause, we just don't know where to go from here." She smiled at him. "Do you have any question?"

"How long?" Dean heard his voice, it was calm, even cold. I managed to sound calm, too bad I'm screaming inside.

"We don't really know, sorry." She reached over hand touched his father briefly on the arm before turning and walking away from them.

Ok, dad, time to tell me. What the hell did you let Sammy walk into? How the hell did this happen. I'm gone for three damn days and I come back to this? Well dad? YOU WANT TO TELL ME NOW? OR SHOULD I JUST BEAT IT OUT OF YOU? He took a deep steadying breath, the words still screaming in his head, his arm still gently over his father's shoulder. "Dad? What happened to Sammy?"

"Demonic ritual, he stumbled into it, I think. It might be a spell or something left over from that," his father said quietly to the floor.

"Have you called Bobby?" His voice was so calm. I did it, I think I finally managed that calm. Well at least in the voice, if I can't kill something soon though, violence will erupt.

"Bobby?" His father sounded like a lost child.

"Yeah, Bobby, go call him and see if there is anything we can do, I'll sit with Sammy till you get back, ok?" Dean squeezed his father's shoulder and shoved him towards the elevators. "The is a phone down by the hall to the cafeteria, I saw it on the way up. Go." He gave him another shove and his father sort of stumbled away from him, John got into the elevator without looking back.

Dean sighed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and walked back into his brother's room. Sam's eyes were closed, his face a mask of pain. The agony was etched on his face so clearly it took Dean's breath away. He settled on the bed again. I hope this doesn't make it worse. He could feel Sam trembling, the whole bed was shaking a tiny bit. Dean put his leg against Sam.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to wake his brother if he had managed to go to sleep.

Sam's eyes opened. "Hey," he said.

"Dad went off to get some good coffee, and call Bobby, he'll be back in a bit."

"Dean?"

"What?"

"Dean, I need you to promise me something."

"What is it Sammy? I won't leave. I'll be right here. What?" He said hoping that was it, that his brother was just worried he'd leave.

"I know what they told you and dad, you know, Dean," Sam said the words taking an effort that was killing Dean to watch. "I can't live like this, Dean, I won't."

"Don't talk, ok. I'm right here." Sammy, not an option, ok, not an option.

"So I need you to promise me something."

"Sammy, what?" What Sam, what is it? Oh, god Sam, please don't say it.

"It will be hard for you, I know, Dean," Sam took a deep breath, obviously fighting the pain.

"Sammy, what?" Dean looked at his brother, hoping that the promise wouldn't be…

"Dean…" His brother put a trembling hand over his. "I know what they say, and if dad and Bobby can't solve it, Dean, please don't let me live like this."

"What?" He said purposefully misunderstanding his brother's words, willing them back into Sam. NO! Please, no, don't ask.

"Alive, my mind trapped in this body, suffering, not able to communicate, just held here forever, no Dean. I know it will be hard for you, but if…I need you to promise me Dean. Please."

Dean looked at his brother, he knew the tears were in his eyes. Sam was looking at him pleading, begging him. Suddenly it was too much, before he realized what he was doing he had thrown himself from the bed and out of the room. He was down the hallway before he even noticed he was no longer on the bed. The door at the end of the hall said "chapel" Dean walked towards it. Opening the door he found it dark, empty, a tiny light at the front under the stark wooden cross. Never fails, always empty. He slid down in the corner away from the door. Of course dad will know where to find me, I always end up in the chapel. I wonder why? They are always warm, dark and empty, I guess. I like the ones with candles and statues better I think. They have a different smell or something. Am I thinking about chapels when my brother just asked me to…and I ran away from him.

He leaned his head against the wall, trying to calm his breathing, trying to stop the tears. He tried not to cry, but somehow the tears always caught him at a vulnerable moment. If Sammy knew how many times I cried, he'd laugh at me, just laugh. No he wouldn't he might tease me gently but Sammy wouldn't laugh at me. He closed his eyes trying to block out the image of his brother on that bed, Trying to stop the sound of his voice, so full of pain it actually effected Dean physically. Oh, god, what do I do? What do I do? You can't leave me, dying is not an option. Sammy I can't, please, don't ask me. But you already did, what would I want? He sighed and pushed himself up, the tears still running down his face and walked back to his brother's room.

He forced himself to the bed. "Sammy? I'm sorry," He sat back on the bed and brushed the tears off his brother's face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like that." He put a hand on Sam's chest. "Sam…"

"Dean…" Sam took a breath, preparing to say something more.

"No, wait, you can.not.ever. tease me about his ok?" Sam looked at him with a confused frown and nodded, waiting. Dean leaned forward and pulled his brother up into his arms. He held Sam against him, offering comfort, but at the same time trying to get a feel for what was going on. He could sense the terrible tension in Sam's muscles as he fought the pain, Actually agony, he has never felt like this through a hundred illnesses and several close calls.

His brother was trembling, his body reacting to whatever was happening. Dean was starting to get an idea of what his brother was suffering, the intensity of that pain was making itself known to him, he could feel just the very edge of it through that contact with Sam. And this is supernatural in origin. That means he could go on like this forever. His body might not just give out like the doctor thinks, this could go one forever. I can't let that happen, oh god. This is horrible. He felt his brother's arms go around him, Sam's hands were shaking, he let his head fall against Dean's shoulder for a moment. Dean gently squeezed him and lowered him gently to the bed. Oh, god, how can he even stand that pain now? Let alone if this goes on for a day or, no, for more than that? He put his hand back down on his brother's chest.

"Dean?"

"No, it's ok." The tears were flowing down his face, he didn't bother to try and hide them from Sam. "Let Bobby and dad try and figure this out, ok?" Please, Sammy, just give me time, ok. If they can't figure it out, I can, please Sammy.

"Dean…"

"No, Sammy, I understand, now, I do. And if they can't, oh god," he looked away. If I promise it will help him, I can figure a way out of this, but it will give him peace, knowing I understand. Sam put a hand over his, where it resting on Sam's chest. "You have to give them time, I know, I understand, but you have to give them some time, but…Oh, god, Sammy," the tears were flowing without a break and it was hard to breathe suddenly, "I promise. I don't know how I can, but I will, as painless as I can manage, Sammy."

"Just put a bullet in my head, Dean, that will work," Sam said, some of the tension in his chest relaxing a little. I knew the promise would help him, I knew it.

"I don't know about that, but I'll be here, I won't leave you alone, no matter what, and I promise."

"Forever promise, Dean?" Sounding suddenly like his five-year-old self asking his older brother to promise about something important like ice cream on his birthdays for as long as he lived.

"Forever promise, little brother," Dean said. But we'll figure this out, I know we will. Please, Sam, let us figure this out. He sat with Sam until his brother seemed to drop into an uneasy sleep. He wandered out in the hall. His father still wasn't back. Ten minutes, I need to be back, no longer than ten minutes. But I have to get it before dad gets back. He slipped silently through the hospital, years of hunting had given him the ability to be invisible if he needed, and no lock was safe from him, no matter how complicated. He was back in his brother's room with what he had gone looking for seven minutes later. Sam watched him walk in.

"Weren't really asleep were you?"

"No, I can't, won't let me, where did you go?" Sam was whispering, it seemed to take less effort.

"Coffee."

"You forgot to bring it back with you," Sam said with a smile.

Dean sat back on the bed. "Forgetful today, I guess, Sammy."

"Sure, Dean," he said. He knew what Dean had been doing, and he knew Dean knew he knew. It was there in his smile. "Did you get enough?"

"Enough for two people your size." And how can I sound so calm, almost joking about this. He sat with Sam, quietly talking with his brother as the sun slowly set outside the windows. Watching his brother fighting the pain, slowly losing that battle, was getting harder and harder for Dean to bear. He had started slipping his hand into his pocket periodically. He watched Sam's eyes follow the movement. Dean talked about his hunt and his evening the night before. Sam spoke less and less, his body slowly giving in to the pain.

The moon had just risen. Dean saw the crescent slide its blade over the horizon, he watched it absently wondering what was taking their father so long when Sam suddenly tensed. His body arched, he cried out in pain. Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulder's trying to calm him, wondering what was happening. "Sammy!" His brother suddenly relaxed, the tension dropping completely away. "SAMMY!"

Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes opened, focusing on Dean. "No need to scream, Dean," he said with a smile.

"Sammy?"

"I think it's going to be ok, Dean," Sam said softly, his brother's eyes drifted closed. Dean watched, panic rising in his chest until he realized Sam had gone to sleep. His breathing even, deep and calm.

The relief nearly undid him. "Thank god," he said quietly. He walked into the bathroom and pulled the syringes out of his pocket and flushed them down the toilet. Then he went back and sat back by Sammy's bed, putting his hand gently on his brother's arm.

My blood runs cold, my heart forgets to heave

Present

It was quiet in the room. The day was fading outside the windows. The rain had returned, it was flowing out of the sky, a soft mist obscuring the view beyond the parking lot. Cars coming towards the hospital had their lights on, the brightness creating stripes in the falling rain.

"That promise has been haunting you," Galen said gently, breaking the spell, pulling Dean back to that room, back to the chair and the warm hand on his shoulder.

"What?"

"The promise to Sam, it has been there in the back of your head all this time, hasn't it? That's why you were so worried about his suffering, wasn't it?"

"I…I hadn't thought about that for a long time, I mean he asked me to promise last year, but that was something different, something I could stop." He was looking at the floor. What is taking so long? How long has it been? The sun is going down.

"I think this memory was behind the other, waiting for that to go before this made itself known. You thought you recognized the situation, but it wasn't that really at all, it was this, and you couldn't let yourself see it until now. But it was there, from the moment you realized Sam might be suffering. What will you do?"

"What do you mean?" Dean said looking at Galen.

"If Sam…"

"I don't know, I promised, you know," and the tears were suddenly there again. Is that why I didn't fight Lacey harder? Why I let him go? Even though it killed me? Sammy dying is not an option, unless it is in my arms, at my hands? Oh, god, no. Sammy, no dying you hear me, dying is not an option. He put his head in his hands.

"Dean?" Galen said. "I know, I heard it when you were telling me. Will you make that choice for yourself again?"

Dean sighed. He has lost so much, so many people, but if Sam…Could I stay? "I don't know I was more dramatic when I was young." He tried to smile, it didn't work. Because if anything it is worse now. Life without my brother…

Dean looked up, the doctor had come into the room. He stood and walked over to her, trying to cover the distance, wanting to know just that much sooner. "Doctor?"

"We've moved your brother back up to ICU."

"Will he be alright?" Suddenly hope and relief were making his hands tingle.

"Mr. Young, somehow the sedation, the pain medication, we were giving your brother wasn't working correctly. His body suffered a great deal of trauma, we're not sure at this point."

"Not sure?" His hands were still tingling, but now it had nothing to do with relief. They had started to shake a little. "Is he in pain now?"

"That's just it, we don't know why the meds didn't work, so we don't know if they are working right now. He is still in bad shape, in addition to that, he suffered some very serious injuries during the odd incident in his room."

"Ok, will he live?" Just tell me, straight out, will my brother live? Sam? Don't you listen if she says no, ok? No dying Sammy. You hear me? I got rid of that bitch so you would be ok, no dying.

"He is still critical," she said.

And that is an answer? What the hell kind of answer is that? Yes? No? Maybe? "Can I sit with him?"

"Yes, we moved him down the hall from the last room, didn't want to put him back in there."

Damn straight. "Thank you," Dean said. She smiled and left. "Galen?" He walked back to the bed.

"I need to sleep, Dean, go to your brother. I'll be up when they'll let me out of bed, ok?"

Dean squeezed the older man's arm and went out, up to Sam's room. He stopped outside the door. This feels too familiar. We aren't doing this again, Sammy, you hear me? He walked in, Sam was lying on the bed, plugged into myriad machines and tubes, beeping, hissing, sighing machines. The sound filled the room with its presence, alive, aware of Dean. He walked to the bed and put his hand gently on Sam's arm. He thought he felt tension there. No, no, no. Sam, don't do this.

"Hey, Sam, I got rid of Lacey, it'll be ok now." You hear me, it's going to be ok. No promises needed, Sam, you are going to be fine. "I fixed it Sam, you can get better now, it was all her hurting you, you are going to be fine." He looked at the tube in Sam's chest, the other helping him breathe, up at the monitor keeping track of Sam's heart. Sam, no, no dying ok?

He sat down beside the bed, sitting vigil, waiting for Sam to be ok, or waiting for that terrible moment of decision.

Sam, I need you here, I can't do this without you. I fixed it, you need to be ok now.

He sighed. He slid his hand down his brother's arms and gently took Sam's hand in his. "Come on, Sam, I need you here, no leaving, no dying, you hear me?"

Hear me Sammy? Please Sam, come back. I miss you. Sam?

My death and life…are both before me.

Present

He remembered pain, agony, white-hot, tearing his will away, making him beg for death, trying to reach out to Dean and let him know. He remembered another voice, whispering at him. He remembered the machines holding him trapped in hell.

He remembered dying.

It felt familiar somehow, but this time Dean had been there. He had been terrified that Dean had been hurt, killed, by Susanna's sister, but then Dean was there, holding him, trying to let him breathe. Trying to keep him there, but he had to go, he couldn't live like that, and he knew Dean would understand. He knew Dean would remember. And he was terrified for Dean, the fear for his brother in those last moments had held him glued to the earth longer than his body wanted. He heard the whisper of his own voice, trying to put things like I love you and thank you into a single word, his brother's name. And Dean's response that he understood and felt that way, too.

The night had come for Sam, and still that terrible fear for Dean lingered through long hours of silent dark, occasionally sensing something beyond himself, always listening in that vast quiet. The hissing voice telling him he would be like that forever, screaming at him, then suddenly silent. The black void was hushed, muffled, sounds drifting in and out, maybe music—really bad eighties pop music—and someone singing off-key. Then more silence.

Awareness, just the very edge of awareness, he was drifting in a vast dark ocean. He knew there was pain somewhere in his body, but it was removed, held away behind a wall, only a tiny vine of actual pain climbing the wall to touch him. He could hear sounds in that ocean, lapping gently against him, the soft beeping of a machine, another sound, air being softly forced into his body, sustaining him until he lived or died.

"Did you hear about his brother?" A voiced said from beside him. Dean? What about Dean?

"I heard, that was just awful." Dean, what? Dean? You didn't…? Oh, no, no. Please.

The voices moved away out of his hearing, they didn't say anymore and Sam lay there, terrified for his brother. What happened? Did he…No, he wouldn't. Maybe he went to hunt her and got hurt? Could he be dead? No, Dean, no. He thought he heard the heart monitor beeping a little more urgently. He felt pain, actual pain blossoming at the thought of something happening to Dean that he couldn't prevent. His muscles stiffened a tiny bit.

A hand touched his arm, warm, callused, he recognized that touch, through the drugs, through the darkness holding him immobile. Dean, you're ok. Thank god, you're ok.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said, Sam could hear fear, grief and exhaustion there. "I got rid of Lacey, it'll be ok now." You're ok, Dean. That's what matters, I was afraid. "I fixed it Sam, you can get better now, it was all her hurting you, you are going to be fine."

You mean I don't have to live like that? I can get better? She was the one? Thank you, Dean. No matter what happens to me now, living or dying, you kept your promise.

He felt his brother's hand slide down his arm, stopping on his hand, the pressure was gentle, life-giving. Funny I can feel that and nothing else. He must be pretty worried to hold my hand like that. . "Come on, Sam, I need you here, no leaving, no dying, you hear me?" Dean said, and Sam heard tears in his brother's voice.

I'm trying, Dean. I'm trying.

To Be Continued