A/N; Okay...first off I owe everyone who's been reading this story a great big apology. I really didn't mean to take so long to update it but I kind of got busy trying to finish another one that I was writing and it took way longer than I thought!

Anyway...I'm back to this story now. And I promise I'll finish it this time. And try to update regularly! (That is, as long as people want me to!)

So...once again, my sincere apologies before I shut-up and let you read this chapter!

"That the hospital?" Dean asked anxiously as soon as John hung up his phone.

Turning to face him, John nodded slowly and answered absently, "Yeah, it was."

"Is Sammy okay?"

"They're not sure."

"Whaddya mean they're not sure? How can they not be sure? Either he's okay or he's not. Which is it?"

John took a deep breath before responding, "They think he's having some kind of a prolonged seizure. And they can't seem to stop it. Or even get him to calm down. He just keeps getting more and more agitated. " He paused before he added, "And he's constantly calling for you."

"For me?"

Again, John nodded. "Yeah. Keeps saying he needs your help."

"My help? With what?" asked Dean, his concern for his younger brother evident in his voice.

"They don't know, Dean," shrugged John. "He never elaborates. Just keeps shouting out for you to come help him."

"And when did that all start?"

"The other day. I was standing beside his bed when, completely out of the blue, he sat upright, screamed out your name and said he need your help. And he looked to be pretty upset about it too."

"But he didn't say what he needed me for?"

"Nope. But, just as quickly as he'd sprung sat up and yelled for you, he flopped back down on the bed. And it was as if he'd never moved. He just lay quietly on the bed again." John took another deep breath before continuing, "But whatever has been bothering him has intensified and he's acting like he's about to have a panic attack. But nothing they've done so far for him has helped. And now, the doctor is afraid that if the seizures don't stop soon, he may never recover."

"Then we better get to the hospital," declared Dean urgently as he rose from his chair. "Maybe it'll help if I'm there and can actually talk to him."

"Yeah…But the only problem with that," responded John woefully, "Is that you can't go."

"Whaddya mean I can't go!" challenged Dean as he turned and glared angrily at his father, "You just said that Sammy needs me. So I'm going!"

"Dean," uttered John patiently, "You can't go anywhere near that hospital. They saw you die. Remember? Even you just being in Willow Springs is risky. The police are very suspicious about what happened at the hospital and they're pretty sure I had something to do with it. They've probably placed me under surveillance to see if they can catch us together. And I wouldn't doubt they aren't staked out somewhere nearby waiting for the slightest hint that someone else other than me is in this room so they can bust in and arrest you. And then they'd be able to charge me with harboring a fugitive. And how's that going to help Sammy?"

Dean stared wide-eyed at his father as he plopped back down in the chair he had abandoned only moments before. He had forgotten his own predicament in his rush to help his brother. But he immediately realized the truth in his father's words. There was no feasible way that he could go to the hospital. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to help Sam. No matter how much he needed him.

John watched solemnly as the devastation washed over Dean's face and he knew how much this was hurting him. Dean had spent the better part of his life protecting his brother and he had always done whatever he had to keep him safe. But now, with Sammy seemingly so desperate for his help, he couldn't offer it.

And he was speechless because of it.

John waited for a moment to give Dean a chance to absorb the information before he offered, "I'll call you from the hospital. Just as soon as I have some more information."

"Whatever," muttered Dean halfheartedly before he looked up at his father and stated determinedly, "You better go. Because one of us has to be there with him."

John cast Dean a concerned look before he pulled his keys out of his pocket and headed for the door. But he stopped as he reached it and turned hesitantly back to look at Dean. And, even though he felt like a cad for asking, John nevertheless implored, "Promise me you won't do anything stupid. And that you'll wait here."

"Yeah, I'll wait here," replied Dean unhappily. "Getting arrested isn't going to help Sammy. But Dad…make sure you find some way to let him know I'm okay. And that I'll see him soon."

Looking sympathetically at his eldest son, John simply nodded before he turned and strode quickly out the door. He leapt into his truck and raced to the hospital where he parked as close to the main entrance as he could. He tossed enough change into the parking meter to avoid getting a ticket for at least an hour before he dashed into the building. Not wanting to wait for the elevator, he took the stairs, bounding up them two at a time, until he reached the third floor. Then he rushed out of the stairwell and proceeded toward the ICU. But just before he reached the door he was stopped by a nurse

"Mr. Winchester," she greeted soothingly, "I'm going to have to ask you to wait out here. So, if you'll just take a seat, I'll go in and let the doctor know you're here."

"Is my son okay?" asked John anxiously.

"Dr. Logan will be right out to speak to you," smiled the nurse compassionately before she turned to leave.

But John caught her by the arm and inquired nervously, "Sammy hasn't gotten any worse, has he?"

Again the nurse smiled sympathetically, "I don't believe his situation has changed much since you last spoke to Dr. Logan. But, if you'll just wait here, I'll get him to come and verify that. And he'll be able to explain everything to you then."

John reluctantly took a seat and watched nervously as the nurse disappeared through the door. He had to resist following her in, knowing that to do so, would only be inviting trouble. And he certainly didn't need that; things were screwed up enough already. But the next few minutes seemed like an eternity as he waited for the doctor to come out. Just as he was contemplating going over to glance through the window, the door to ICU opened and a rather young-looking doctor walked into the hall. He glanced around briefly before his gaze fell to John and he immediately started walking toward him. And John anxiously stood up and met him half-way.

"Mr. Winchester," the doctor said as he extended his hand to John, "I'm Dr. Logan. We spoke on the phone."

John shook the doctor's hand and, choosing to avoid the usual pleasantries, he cut directly to the chase, "How's my son?"

"I've given him some medication to help sedate him. But it's not working as well as I had hoped. He's still convulsing rather violently and we were forced to restrain him in order to prevent him for injuring himself - or someone else. But there is a bit of good news," extolled the doctor. "I think he's beginning to come out of his coma. But, it appears that his progress is being impeded by whatever recollection he has of the accident or something else that happened around the same time. I'm sure that his nightmares are somehow related to that and I'm hoping that the sedative will dull those memories just enough that he'll settle down and be able to regain consciousness without going through all that anguish."

John nodded his understanding before he asked hurriedly, "When can I see him?

"You can see him now. But you should prepare yourself before you go in. You might not like what you see. You have to understand that your son is a very strong young man and he's been thrashing around quite aggressively. Because of that we've had to restrain him very securely and, at the moment he doesn't have much room to move. But, as soon as the medication starts to work we'll be able to loosen the restraints."

"I understand," affirmed John hastily, "I don't want him to hurt anyone either. But I still would like to see him."

"And, there's another thing you should know," persevered the doctor, "He may not respond positively to you. He seems to desperately want his brother and hearing your voice instead of his might just aggravate him even more. It's possible that he could decide that you're to blame for his brother not being here. He could easily misconstrue that as a sign that you're trying to keep them apart."

John nodded but refrained from answering. The doctor's last statement alarmed him; he and Sammy had always had somewhat of a volatile relationship and if Sam was going to lay blame on anyone, John knew it would most likely be him. Even when he was in complete control of his senses. But he wasn't; which made it even more likely that he'd lash out at him. Either way, they certainly weren't going to mend any fences.

Satisfied that John understood how delicate Sam's condition was, Dr. Logan led the way back into the ICU with John following closely behind. And while the doctor went over to the nurses' station, John continued walking toward Sam's bed until he reached the foot of it. He stood there watching him, uncertain if he should to get any closer. But after he had remained transfixed in that spot for well over a minute, the nurse who had stopped him in the hallway approached and lightly grabbed his arm just above the elbow. Then, without saying a word, she led him steadily up the length of the bed until he was standing close to Sam's shoulder before she let go of his arm and slowly walked away. Once again John stood there motionless, distraught at his youngest son's condition.

Sam's entire body was trembling uncontrollably; his arms and legs were taut and his hands were tightly clenched as they continually pulled against the restraints that held them firmly to the bed. Heavy beads of sweat were running across his forehead and down both sides of his face. His brow was furrowed as if he was in pain and the protruding veins in his neck were pulsing in time with his accelerated heartbeat. And as John stood there helplessly watching him, Sam suddenly arched his body off the bed, digging his head and his heels heavily into the mattress to support his weight. It was almost as if a strong electrical current was passing right through him and he remained in that contorted position for long enough that his face began to turn red.

But, as abruptly as he had whipped himself into that position, Sam dropped back onto the mattress and for the moment he looked somewhat relaxed. He ceased yanking on the restraints, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. His breathing slowed to a normal pace, followed closely by a decrease in his heartbeat. He looked as if he was simply asleep. And, once again it was difficult for John to reconcile how he looked now with the traumatic outburst that had happened only seconds before.

And then, without any indication, Sam slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling which caused John to inadvertently hold his breath. He watched Sam blink a few times before he turned his head and slowly glanced around the room. It wasn't long before his gaze fell on his father. Sam stared intently at him, scrutinizing him carefully as if he was uncertain who he was. Or why he was there. But John didn't move, choosing instead to let his son make the first move. Sam squinted his eyes, making it look like he was trying hard to remember something.

Then, his voice coming out hoarse and uncertain, Sam laboriously inquired "Dad?"

"Yeah, Sammy. It's me."

Sam continued observing his father for a short period of time before he opened his mouth to speak. But he closed it without saying anything and turned his head in what looked like an attempt to look past John in the direction of the still empty and charred bed beside him. Knowing instinctively that he was looking for Dean, John took a quick step sideways to block Sam's view at the same time as he gently placed his hand on his son's arm. The physical contact was enough to draw Sam's attention back to him and they locked eyes briefly before Sam's eyes slowly closed. Still afraid of stirring up any number of unwanted emotions and memories in his son, John stood motionless at the side of the bed with his hand lightly grasping Sam's wrist.

"Where am I?" croaked Sam raspily as he once again opened his eyes.

"You're in the hospital, Sammy. You've been out for a few days but you're gonna be okay now."

"There was an accident," Sam recounted uncertainly.

"Yes," replied John without elaborating further. He was going to let Sam remember on his own.

Sam furrowed his brow and tried hard to remember. But the memories remained elusive and he couldn't piece together the myriad of images that were running amok in his mind. And the only thing he thought that he could remember was that Dean had been seriously hurt before the accident and was in desperate need of medical attention. So when Sam finally spoke, he asked the one question that John had been dreading:

"Where's Dean?"

John glanced at the doctor who had returned to Sam's bed and now stood on the other side. John sighed; he had hoped that the doctor would stay away long enough for him to reassure Sam that Dean was indeed safe. But now, with the doctor standing only inches away, there was no way for John to tell Sam the truth. And as he mentally struggled to find a clandestine way to answer Sam's question, Dr. Logan temporarily solved the problem for him.

"Sam, I'm Dr. Logan. It's good to finally see you awake. Can you look this way, please?"

Sam turned his head slowly and stared quizzically at the unfamiliar doctor who immediately took out his penlight and shone it directly into Sam's eyes. The sudden intrusion of the bright light in his eyes caused Sam to jerk his head in the opposite direction as he tightly squeezed his eyes shut. But Dr. Logan grasped hold of his chin and gently turned his head back to face him.

"I'm sorry Sam. I didn't mean to startle you. I should have warned you before I did that. But I need to know how your eyes react to the light."

Sam cautiously opened his eyes and squinted distrustfully at the doctor who once again aimed the light at his eyes. Only this time he used a broad sweeping motion to move the light slowly back and forth across Sam's line of vision. He repeated the procedure a few times before he slipped the light back into his jacket pocket and reached for Sam's chart.

Sam turned and looked at his father before he asked worriedly, "Dad…is Dean…is Dean…is he okay?"

Dr. Logan loudly cleared his throat, recapturing both Sam and John's attention. "Sam, I want you to rest now. You can talk to your father later."

But Sam wasn't about to give up without first getting a response and he turned back to look at his father. "Where's Dean?" he asked again fretfully, making it painfully obvious that his anxiety was rising. "Did…did Dean get help?"

Hoping to alleviate Sam's stress, John tried to sound reassuring when he answered, "Yes, Sammy. They've helped him as much as they can. He's resting now. Just like you need to. We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

John's answer earned him a fleeting glare from the doctor but John ignored him. After all, the man didn't know the truth and as much as he might believe that John had just purposely misled Sam, John wasn't willing to stand by and let his son suffer any more unnecessary anguish. And either his answer had been enough to satisfy Sam or the drugs had finally begun to take effect, because Sam eyes slowly drifted shut and he fell asleep.

John and the doctor moved away from Sam's bed so they could talk without disturbing him. Dr. Logan told John that Sam's pupils had responded well to the light which greatly reduced the possibility that he had suffered any neurological damage. It was also an extremely good sign that he was talking and could remember some events prior to the accident. But he also cautioned John that Sam wasn't out of the woods yet and it would take time to discover if he'd suffered any permanent damage. In the meantime, he would benefit by getting as much rest as he possibly could. But the doctor was worried that the emotional turmoil Sam had experienced while he was in the coma would re-occur and hamper his recovery. So Dr. Logan requested John's permission to keep him medicated.

"Why do you need my permission for that?" John inquired suspiciously, "You've never asked for it before."

"Keeping him medicated now isn't without risks," explained the doctor, "It could inadvertently trigger severe hallucinations."

"But isn't that what you're trying to stop?"

"You have to understand that Sam is in a constant struggle with his subconscious. He wants to remember whatever happened prior to the accident but his subconscious mind is preventing him from doing that. There's a very real possibility that he experienced something very traumatic in the hours leading up to the accident and that's why he's unconsciously repressed the memory. His mind is protecting him from reliving whatever happened because he isn't mentally prepared to deal with it right now. And, throwing medication into the mix could alter his thought patterns enough that his mind mixes reality with fantasy. And that could cause enough emotional trauma for Sam to slip back into a coma."

"So, basically what you're telling me is, he's damned if I do, damned if I don't."

"That's one way of looking at it. But I sincerely believe that his chances of making a complete recovery are much better if we keep him sedated. Otherwise I wouldn't even consider it. But with any luck, the drugs will help to suppress more of his thought patterns and he'll able to rest peacefully and let his mind and body heal."

John took a deep breath and stated, "I'd like to take a few minutes to think this through."

"Please, take all the time you need. He has enough medication in his system right now to keep him sedated for a while," replied Dr. Logan. "And if you do have any further questions or concerns, I'm here until midnight."

John nodded before he and the doctor went their separate ways. John casually wandered over to Sam's bed and looked down at him. For the moment he was peaceful. But John knew that could change in a fraction of a second; he'd seen it himself. Regardless, John knew he had to leave for a few minutes; he'd promised Dean that he would call as soon as he knew anything. And he'd been at the hospital for over an hour. Dean was probably going frantic back in that dungy motel room and, if John knew his oldest son like he thought he did, he was more than likely trying to concoct a plan to sneak into the hospital.

So John reluctantly pushed himself away from the bed and left ICU. He walked down the hall and waited for the elevator while he thought about what the doctor had said. No matter how he looked at it, there didn't seem to be an easy answer. But he'd talk to Dean before he made his decision and see what he thought; after all, he'd been with Sammy for a lot longer and much more recently than John had.

As he walked out of the building, John pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Dean's number. It hadn't even completed a full ring before Dean answered. He was obviously anxious and worried so John took his time explaining everything and he ended with the doctor's request to keep Sammy medicated.

"You can't let them do that, Dad," asserted Dean forcefully.

"Why not?" inquired John, although he was somewhat pleased that Dean at least had an opinion on the matter.

"Because of Sam's visions. They're getting stronger all the time. And he can move things with his mind. He's done it before."

"What do you mean he can move things with his mind?"

"Like telekinesis. He can do that. But as far as I know, he's only done it once. And was when he had a vision that I was going to die and he moved a cabinet out of the way so he could stop it from happening," explained Dean. "So if having him on some sort of mind-numbing medication is going to cause hallucinations, it might screw him up enough that he starts moving things around again. And that could include people if he thought they were getting in his way or something."

John sighed but didn't respond. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

"Dad? You still there?"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"I know this is all new to you. But you can't let them give him anything that's gonna mess up his mind. He's messed up enough already. But he's a strong kid. Hell, he made it through his childhood in one piece. Even made it into college. And he survived Jessica dying and everything else that's happened since then. Whatever memories he's struggling with now can't be any worse than some of the things he's already been through."

"All right, I'll tell them not to do it and we'll see how it goes," agreed John. "But listen, Dean. I gotta get back in there. Check on your brother. I don't want to leave him alone."

"Yeah, I know how you feel," replied Dean half-heartedly. "But Dad…you gotta get him out of there as soon as you can."

"I know Dean. I'm trying. But he hasn't fully regained consciousness yet."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

John sat by Sam's bed for the next few hours, alternating between staying awake and drifting into semi-consciousness. But he never slept because all his senses were heightened, making him aware of every little movement and every sound, whether it stemmed from the vicinity around his son's bed or anywhere else in the room. He was watching. And waiting. Only he wasn't quite sure for what. But something deep down inside was warning him that something was going to happen and he had to remain vigilant. And he'd been playing this game too long to ignore his instincts.

Besides, whatever was going to happen involved Sam. John was sure of that. There was no other explanation. Why else would those creatures have been with him? Why would they have shown up in the first place if it wasn't to safeguard Sam from something? Or to stop something extremely evil from getting to him. Because in all his years hunting demons, John had never come across anything like this. He'd never encountered any type of reputable supernatural entity before. Never even believed in them. Probably still didn't. Except that there was no other way to rationalize what had happened during the last few months.

Because that's how long they'd been with something that had impersonated him. Something that was obviously good enough that it had even fooled Dean. Because Dean knew him better than anyone else on the planet. Knew how he thought. How he felt. How he acted. And Dean had fallen for this thing's masquerade. Right up until the time he'd been thrown against the car and knocked unconscious. And that had to be when the other creature impersonating Dean must have shown up. To take Dean's place and get Sammy out of the horrible situation he had been in. It had to have worked like that, because somehow or another Sammy had managed to get away from a very powerful demon. One that could throw Dean through the air simply by looking at him.

But just because Sammy had gotten away then, didn't mean that he was out of danger now.

And John didn't know how he could possibly protect him. Not when he didn't really know what he was going to have to protect him from. Sure, he had his suspicions. And they'd been strengthened by the creature's words. He'd thought the demon he'd been hunting for years had to be Mephistopheles. But what exactly did he want with Sammy? What was so important about his son that two other creatures would align themselves with him when neither John nor Dean could?

As John fretted about his son's involvement in Mephistopheles' plan, Sam suddenly started to thrash uncontrollably in his bed. His head whipped violently from side to side while his arms and legs tensed and pulled against the restraints that still secured him to the bed. His body quivered, twitching back and forth as his chest heaved heavily up and down in response to his intense and labored breathing. John immediately jumped up and stared at Sam, not knowing exactly what to do or how to help him as he watched the maniacal frenzy. It wasn't until Sam suddenly sat upright, brutally jerking his arms upward with such force that the restraints broke, that John finally moved. He grabbed him by the shoulders and attempted to ease him back down onto the bed. But Sam fought back viciously, reaching out with both hands and expertly seizing his father by the throat. And as Sam's grip tightened around his neck, John looked deeply into his son's eyes and although they were open and seemingly staring right at him, they were sightless and blank. It was as if there was nothing behind them. Just an empty shell where some semblance of his son should have existed. But he seemed to have disappeared and John knew he had to get him back before it was too late.

His air almost completely blocked off, John wheezed out as loudly as he could, "Sammy! Stop!"

And, somehow his words produced the desired effect as Sam blinked and stared once again at his father. And the realization of what he was doing hit him immediately and he let go of his father's neck. But John was still holding onto Sam's shoulder's and as soon as he was free of Sam's death grip, John lurched forward and inadvertently shoved his son forcefully down onto the mattress. John quickly regained his balance and stood up. Breathing heavily he looked into Sam's eyes. They stared at each other briefly before Sam once again began to tremble.

And as his eyes rolled back into his head, Sam screamed out, "Dad! You have to help me! He's coming!"