A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting! I had exams and things. It may be a little while before the next chapter, I'm not sure. Convocation is coming and I'm a basket case so haven't been capable of writing very much.

And as usual, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You're all great.

Disclaimer: hah. I wish.

Dean swore a long string of curses as he climbed back into the Impala, easing onto the towel he'd thrown on the seat and grimacing at the squelching sound his boot was making with all the blood in it. He was covered in paint, his cast was cracked and his wrist hurt, he had a cut dripping blood down his leg which was throbbing and he was sure his back was black and blue. The blood was soaking his pant leg and dripping into his boot, making him slightly nauseous each time a movement made the boot squelch sickeningly. The poltergeist hadn't gone quietly, throwing him around and dumping paint from the pint-sized art easels on him, then tossing him around a bit more when he'd tried to place the herb packets. The job had taken a day and a half longer than he'd planned, too, when the damn thing had locked him in the basement. The only good thing was that church had insisted on paying and he had a nice five hundred bucks to add to the pay from the last job. Now he just wanted to get away from the house, patch himself up, and get back to Sam.

He was just pulling out of the driveway when his phone rang. Fumbling and cursing again when he got a swipe of bright yellow paint on the seat he dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"Dean? It's Sister Mary Catherine, from the hospital."

Dean's stomach dropped like a stone. "What's wrong? Is Sam ok?"

"No, he's not. I'm sorry Dean, I was ill and they lost the note I left explaining where you were. Nobody could contact you and Sam took it badly." The nurse explained gently.

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly he heard his cast crack further but ignoring the pain in his wrist Dean stepped on the gas. "How bad? God, please tell me he'll be ok."

"He's refusing pain medication and won't eat; he has been since you left."

"Sonuvabitch. Ok, I'm on my way. I'll be there in a couple of hours." Not hearing the nurse's reply he slammed on the gas, gunning the Impala's engine and tearing down the highway. Damn poltergeist. He never should have left; he should have stayed with Sam. Now his brother had taken a turn and it was his fault. It seemed everything he did got his brother hurt lately.

Three hours later and one close call with a cop Dean had the Impala parked back in Long-term parking and was flying through the hospital, oblivious to the blood trail he was leaving behind or the stabbing pain shooting up his leg with each step. His mind was in full big-brother mode, every brain cell locked on getting to his brother and adrenalin keeping him from feeling any pain. Bursting out of the elevators on Sam's floor he almost ran full-on into Dr. Lacey, who stared at him in shock.

"Dean! What in the world happened to you!?!" The doctor exclaimed in shock, taking in the man's bloody, pale appearance and blood he was leaking everywhere, and trying to lead him over to sit down on a chair.

"I'm fine, I need to get to Sam." Dean replied distractedly, but the doctor was already motioning to an orderly with a wheelchair and prodding at the gash on Dean's leg.

"You're not fine, you've lost a lot of blood and this needs stitches." Lifting Dean's hand, he frowned at the remains of the cast. "And we need to get you x-rayed and find out if you've done any more damage to your hand." He continued to look at Dean, taking his pulse and peering into his eyes. "You're suffering from blood loss and shock, Dean, you're not fine. I'm amazed you're even conscious."

Standing, Dean winced at the pain it caused his leg now that he felt it and pushed the doctor away. "I'm fine, I just need to see my brother." He was pushed into the wheelchair anyway and a firm hand was put on his shoulder. "Then at least sit in the wheelchair, you can't be standing on that leg." Dr. Lacey's voice was resigned but he told the orderly to take Dean to Sam's room before heading off to get the supplies he'd need to treat the elder Winchester. "I'll bring a tray in and treat you in there."

The minute Dean was pushed through the door to Sam's room he leapt out of the wheelchair, ignoring the orderly's protests, and hurried to the bed, shocked at what he saw. Sam was as pale as the day Dean had arrived in the ICU over three weeks before. His eyes were sunken and bruised, and he stared at the wall with a dullness Dean had never seen before. Sam didn't even react to the presence of people in his room, didn't show any sign that he even knew people were there. Reaching out, Dean laid his good hand on Sam's wrist hesitantly, blinking back tears. "Sammy?"

Sam turned to look at him then. The sheer relief and pain Dean saw made him falter, and his barely audible "Dean?" felt like someone was ripping his heart out.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm sorry I left, but it's ok now. I'm here." He wanted to joke, to make a crack about Sam missing him that badly but it died on his lips at the look in Sam's eyes.

"Dean?" Sam repeated almost soundlessly. He sounded like every word hurt. Which given his chapped lips it probably did, Dean realized. It looked like the dumb kid hadn't just refused food, but water too.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. God, I'm so sorry for leaving. I thought you'd been told I had a job to do, it was an emergency and Pastor Jim said I was the closest person. A poltergeist was hurting kids, Sammy. I told Sister Mary Catherine I'd be back in a day, but the job took me longer than it was supposed to when the sonuvabitch locked me in the basement. They were supposed to tell you, I'm sorry." He couldn't seem to stop rambling, words spilling out of his mouth so fast they stumbled over each other.

Sam just stared at him until he stopped talking, feeling terrible for putting his brother through so much by leaving. Sam's "'s'okay, Deann. 'm sorry," took him by surprise, though.

Before Dean could ask what Sam was sorry for, a wave of dizziness hit him. Faltering he felt his knees give out but clutched the bed and Sam's hand for support.

"D'n?"

Sam's slurred question, laced with concern, was the last thing he heard before everything greyed around him and then faded out.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Sam stared in shock as Dean collapsed beside his bed, his face going grey, then white, before he crumpled to the floor. He didn't even feel the pain as Dean's hand on his dragged him sideways. The orderly leapt forward but wasn't in time to catch the older hunter, whose head hit the floor with a painful sounding crack that resounded loudly in the room. Only Dean didn't flinch.

Dr. Lacey and Sister Mary Catherine chose that moment to enter the room, the nun pushing a cart of supplies in front of her. They both took one look at the scene in front of them and leapt into action. Dean hadn't let go of Sam's arm, and Sam couldn't make himself let go even when Sister Mary Catherine tried to break his weak grip, so Dean was manoeuvred onto a gurney the orderly retrieved from the hall and Dr. Lacey bent over him.
"Dean? Is Dean ok?" Sam asked, rasping out the words between painful swallows. He hadn't drank anything in three days and every word felt like sandpaper in his throat while he watched everything that happened dully. He knew something was wrong, but he was too weak and lethargic to think clearly enough to be worried. He could feel alarm building as they worked on Dean, but didn't have the strength or energy to show it.

Sister Mary Catherine looked up and gave him a reassuring smile. "He'll be ok, honey, you just relax. Think you can let go of his hand so we can treat him?" Sam looked at his hand clutching Dean's dumbly before he shook his head no, too scared to let go and received an understanding nod in return. He watched as Dean's clothes were cut off. An IV of fluids was inserted in his arm and another nurse appeared, taking a vial of blood to check for type. Dr. Lacey was bent over Dean's leg that Sam saw was covered in blood, muttering to himself.

Nobody seemed to be paying attention to Sam, except Sister Mary Catherine who gave him encouraging looks once in a while. The second nurse reappeared with an IV of blood which was quickly set up in the crook of Dean's elbow. They were all concentrating on Dean. It felt like an eternity before Dr. Lacey straightened up and moved to look at Dean's head, revealing a neat row of stitches holding together a six inch gash on Dean's calf and a nicely swollen knee. Sam sucked in a breath, drawing Dr. Lacey's attention in a quick glance and a smile to say it was ok as Sister Mary Catherine moved to wash the blood away and bandage the leg. Once she was done Dean was rolled onto his side, revealing his back which was covered in dark purple and black bruising. Dr. Lacey examined them, pressing down and running his hands over Dean's back before nodding and letting the two nurses roll him back to his back.

"Don't worry Sam, he'll be fine, he's got a mild concussion and has lost a bit of blood, but we're giving him a transfusion and have stitched him up," the doctor said to Sam, stating the obvious as he flashed his penlight into Dean's eyes, judging the pupil reaction. A minute later he nodded and looked back to Sam. "Sam, I need you to let go of his hand. We need to take him down for some x-rays of his hand and knee and back."

Sam shook his head when the doctor's words registered, unwilling to let go of his brother. With a sigh Dr. Lacey wrapped Dean's knee and wrist snugly in ace wrap before nodding to the two nuns helping him. Sister Mary Catherine reached for Sam's hand, gently peeling his fingers back. Sam fought weakly, panicking, but the nun was firm. "It's ok, Sam, just hold on. We're going to move him to the bed and then you can hold his hand again, ok?"

Wide-eyed, Sam watched, his hand outstretched in an attempt to reach his brother while Dean was slipped into a hospital gown and settled in the bed next to him, propped on his side with pillows in deference to his back and his leg arranged so it was supported. Leads were placed on his chest to monitor his heart and an oxygen monitor was clipped to his finger. Finally, after Dr. Lacey ran an oxygen cannula under his nose the bed was pushed closer to Sam's and he was able to grasp his older brother's hand. "Dean?" he whispered, squeezing faintly. Dean let out a breathy moan but didn't open his eyes, so Sam looked to Dr. Lacey.

"It's ok, Sam, he's going to be ok. The oxygen and monitors are just a precaution, he'll be fine." Moving to him, the doctor pulled out a syringe. "Now that Dean's here I'm going to give you some to help with the pain, ok? It'll be fine, he'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Sam didn't bother looking at the doctor, his eyes locked on Dean's pale features. He felt the warmth that ran up his arm when the medication was pushed into his IV and didn't care. His mind was fixed on Dean, completely unable to think of anything else now that his brother was back. He concentrated on his brother, holding his hand tightly as the medication pulled him under.

Dean woke slowly, trying to remember where he was as consciousness came back to him. His leg and head hurt, and so did his back, though thankfully he was propped on his side so what he figured must be some pretty amazing bruises weren't touching the bed, and his hand was gripped tightly in a much larger hand. Peeling his eyes open he blinked a few times before his eyes settled on the bed across from him, where Sam was sleeping peacefully, his arm reaching out through the safety rail and clamped on Dean's.

Seeing his brother everything came back in a rush and he sat up. Groaning and falling back when a wave of dizziness made the room spin and his back loudly protested, he caught sight of the IVs hanging over his bed. One was clear and the other was almost empty of red fluid. Blood. He'd needed a blood transfusion. That explained why he was in a hospital bed, he thought. Damn poltergeist must have gotten him worse than he'd thought. His back sent him a painful twinge to remind him why he was propped on his side, so he adjusted himself gingerly, easing back into the position he'd woken up in. Which wasn't a bad position, he thought idly, since he was turned towards Sam. It gave him a perfect view of his brother, let him study Sam while the younger man slept.

He didn't like what he saw. Sam was pale, his face drawn in pain and deep dark circles under his eyes. He'd lost more weight, not that he could stand to lose much more since the kid was already way too skinny, and his lips looked painfully chapped. His grip on Dean's hand was determined but not very strong, a telltale sign of how weak he was. And it was all his fault, again, Dean thought miserably. Again he'd left and hurt his brother. He'd placed the hunt above Sam on the importance scale and Sam had paid the price.

He was still staring at his brother when the door eased open and Sister Mary Catherine peeked in, smiling when she saw that he was awake. "How are you feeling, honey?" she asked, slipping in and walking to his bed silently, careful not to wake Sam.

"Ok." Dean replied, the standard Winchester answer. "How's Sam?"

The nun was moving around him, checking monitors and writing on his chart. "He's had a rough few days." She replied while she pulled the transfusion IV out of Dean's arm and taped a bandage over the tiny puncture. "But now that you're back he should be ok. Now, tell me honestly how you feel." She was staring at him sternly. "Any dizziness, nausea or pain?

"I'm ok, really." Dean returned her stare with a determined one of his own, trying to win. She was more determined though, and he gave up in defeat. "Fine. My leg hurts a bit, and my wrist, and my back feels like it's one big bruise, but it's not that bad. I'm fine, I've had worse." He pasted on his most honest look, the closest he could manage to Sam's puppy dog eyes. It was true; he'd definitely had worse in the past, so it wasn't a lie. And he did feel pretty good considering.

Sister Mary Catherine watched him calculatingly for a few minutes until he started to squirm uncomfortably, before nodding and scribbling on his chart. "I'll believe you, but only if you're honest with Dr. Lacey when he comes in later, alright? He's got you scheduled for a few x-rays so he can find out what's going on with your wrist, back and knee. If you feel worse or anything changes, you tell him. I mean it. You won't do Sam any good if you don't help yourself, you should have at least learned that by now."

Cringing at the subtle reminder that he'd passed out twice now at his brother's bedside, Dean decided to change the topic as he turned his attention back to Sam. "Why do I have to have x-rays? You patched me up already."

"We did, but only enough to get you through the night. Sam wouldn't let go of your hand and got agitated when we tried to force it. That boy is terrified you'll leave again."

Dean felt his face crumple with guilt, feeling even worse now with the evidence of how distressed he'd made his brother. Normally Sam would have insisted he be checked out; he must have been even more scared and out of it than Dean had thought if he was more worried about letting Dean out of his sight. "I shouldn't have left." He mumbled sadly.

A hand on his arm made him turn to look at Sister Mary Catherine. "I'm sorry, Dean. You trusted me to look after your brother and tell him where you had gone. I didn't do that and I'm very sorry." The nun pulled her hand away and moved over to Sam's bed to check on him.

"It's ok, it wasn't your fault." Dean replied once he had gotten over his surprise. "You said you left a note, you did what you could. You didn't mean to get sick." He had been angry the entire drive back to the hospital, ready to chew the motherly nun out for letting Sam down, after he'd thoroughly chewed himself out for leaving in the first place. But he couldn't blame Sister Mary Catherine, it wasn't her fault. It was his job to protect Sam and yet again he'd failed in that job. "He's really going to be ok?"

"I think so. Dr. Lacey will be by in a little while to check on you both. He'll be able to tell you more, but yes, I think Sam will be fine now that his brother is back with him. He's been scheduled again for surgery, this afternoon."

A silence fell between them as Dean watched Sister Mary Catherine check on Sam, scribbling yet more notes on the younger Winchester's chart and peeking under bandages. Sam didn't stir through the whole thing, which immediately had Dean worried. Seeing his look, Sister Mary Catherine smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, the poor boy is just exhausted. Worried himself so that he couldn't sleep at all while you were gone."

Nodding again because he suddenly didn't have the energy to talk, Dean blinked owlishly, trying to keep his eyes open a little longer. He wanted to be awake so he could talk to the doctor when he made his rounds. Sister Mary Catherine noticed and shook her head, coming over to pull his blanket up a bit. "Go to sleep, Dean. It's still early, Dr. Lacey won't be here for a couple more hours so get some more rest. You're going to want it once they start poking and prodding at you.

She was probably right, Dean thought. The poking and prodding always sucked. Maybe he could just sleep through it. Closing his eyes, he was asleep before the nun had left the room.