Disclaimer: All disclaimers and story info are in chapter 1.

Reader's Note: I hope you are enjoying the story, so far. This novella is fully written, so I will keep posting until it is all up. We have a way to go. I think on paper it's 190 pages or so. Thanks for reading, it's appreciated!

Chapter Ten

By Dawn Nyberg

"Take the next exit up there Sammy," Dean pointed to the sign from the passenger seat indicating it was five miles up. The eldest Winchester had been awake for the last couple hours or so vacillating between idle chat with his little brother and listening to music as Sam stared straight ahead drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Even though the car was filled with the sounds of AC/DC's Back in Black there was this veil of silence that had fallen between the two siblings in the last hour, and it bothered Dean. He had taken to watching Sam out of the corner of his eye and found himself concerned and frustrated. He hated that there were times occurring more and more lately that he felt like there was this space between Sam and everything else, including himself, the big brother. Sam in some way seemed to know that this invisible wall did in fact exist, but he never questioned it. Dean figured it had something to do with the premonitions and nightmares. He knew Sam craved the notion of being normal, but that had all gone up in flames when Jessica died, and his little brother had dreamed of her death days before it happened. And, 'normal' by anyone's standards just wasn't in the cards for the Winchester's. Normal died with their mother on that fateful November night when he was four and Sammy was only six months old.

Dean exited the car and stretched while glancing at his brother. "Here," Sam tossed the keys and headed off to the bathroom. Dean pumped the gas and paid the attendant while he waited for Sam to emerge from the interior of the convenience store. He looked back toward the area of the bathrooms, but then he spotted his taller younger brother walking the snack aisle, and could see that the kid had grabbed some chips, and other munchies. He also noted that he had grabbed a couple drinks, as well. He studied his brother through the glass. Sam's long, unruly bangs hung over his expressive eyes. He could see the young cashier was smiling at his brother, and was flirting. Sam was always very amiable to the opposite sex, and very respectful. He watched Sam smile in return and even offered up his naturally inborn technique of the puppy dog eyes that even he had fallen victim to when they were kids. He had indulged most of his little brothers whims when given 'the eyes', hell even now it'll still work, Dean thought smiling to himself. Sam emerged from the store, and slid into the passenger seat, both brothers closing their doors simultaneously with a firm thud.

"Geez, Mr. Wonka, did you buy out the place?" Dean laughed as he noted Sam had a lot more than he had noticed through the window.

"Just some snacks," Sam answered lightly the humor lacing his voice was unmistakable.

"Just some," Dean took stock of two bags of chips, four candy bars, a jumbo bag of peanut M&M's, he was sure was just for him since Sam hated peanut M&M's. In fact, he remembered a distinct debate they had had over the classic M&M versus the peanut M&M, and that they had reached a stalemate on that battle. Sam handed Dean a tall plastic bottle of Classic Coke, and he noted that his little brother had bought himself bottled water with some kind of frou-frou name he didn't recognize, but sounded like it belonged in a boutique. "So, what do you got there Francis," he quipped. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Bite me." Dean merely smirked at his sibling and put the keys in the ignition.

The black Chevy Impala rumbled to life and Dean headed back up to the on ramp and slid onto the highway into a lane. The dropping sun cast light bands across the car through the tall trees lining the highway. The light danced across the shiny black paint and glinted off the chrome as Metallica's King Nothing began to play. Sam twisted the top on his water and before easing back in his seat for the ride ahead he leaned forward and turned the song up a little. It was a Metallica song he actually liked. Dean cast a wide-eyed look at his younger sibling. He chuckled and breaking into a wide Dean-like grin, "I've converted you," he said proudly.

"You wish," Sam's tone sarcastically humorous.

"Hey, I call em' as I see em'"

"It's one song man, don't go buyin' me the box set for Christmas," Sam replied.

"Sammy likes Metallica," Dean's tone held a laughing singsong quality.

"You're really sure I'm not adopted," Sam asked deadpan. Dean chuckled and taking a drink of his Coke he glanced at his brother.

"Yep, I'm sure. I ordered you special from the cabbage patch kiddo."

"Ha-Ha," Sam answered with a puckish look as he reached over and flicked his brother's ear lightly. Dean jerked his head.

"Ow, you ass!"

"Oh, did Deany-poo get a boo-boo," Sam mocked.

"I'll show you boo-boo, geek boy," Dean swatted his brother up side the head jerking the car slightly toward the shoulder.

"Look out, student driver," Sam's tone light. "You wreck your precious baby it'll be your fault."

"Student driver," The eldest Winchester sibling snorted. "I was driving way before you. I taught you how do drive. That's gratitude for you."

"Gratitude, huh? I distinctly remember wrapping Dad's Toyota truck around a telephone pole my second week with my license." Dean shuddered at the memory of that night as it replayed itself for him instantly.

Their Dad had given Sam the keys to his truck to run some errands to restock supplies because their father had a hunt planned for the coming weekend. School was out for the summer, which meant Sammy was free to join his family, and John Winchester had a busy hunting schedule planned for the long summer. Dean had scoffed at his father when originally he had been given the duty of errand running that evening, but when a sixteen-year old Sam was jumping at the chance to drive with his brand new bona fide drivers license Dean knew he had an out. Their dad was doubtful though, and hadn't let Sam drive alone yet, even though he was officially legal to, but he relented at his youngest sons 'puppy eyes' and tossed him his truck keys, and telling him to be careful and not to do anything else beyond the errands. It was a little after 6:00 PM when Sam had pulled out of the driveway, and by 7:15 John had been pacing at the front window. "Dean, go look for your brother," his tone tight.

"How am I going to find him, dad? He probably just ran across some friends from school, and is shootin' the breeze. Anyway, you gave him a decent sized list of supplies to pick up from Caleb, and at the hardware store. Dean watched his father pick up the telephone and listened as he spoke.

"Caleb? It's John, has Sam been to your place yet?" Dean watched his father's body language and he involuntarily tensed himself. "If he shows have him call home okay? Thanks." Dean stood the moment his dad hung up the phone.

"Sammy hasn't been to Caleb's yet?" His voice laced with worry. John shook his head slightly as he scrubbed a hand over his 5 o' clock shadow.

"Dammit to hell, Sammy," John's voice hissed. "Where the hell are you?" As if fate decided to lend the two Winchester men a break the phone rang, and John snatched it up. Dean watched with hopeful eyes as he silently prayed it was Sam calling from Caleb's. It wasn't. He heard his father's voice take on a different pitch, one that sent his heart hammering in his chest.

"Yes," John's voice urgent. "No, no allergies. I'm on my way."

"Dad?" Dean could feel his stomach clenching.

"Sammy's been in an accident…" John's voice gruff. "Your keys Dean." John caught the keys as Dean tossed them. "We've got to go, now. He's at the hospital." Dean followed his father out of the small house they had rented while staying in this town.

"Dad? How bad? Sammy's okay, right?" John didn't respond, and got in the car. Dean slid into the passenger seat still looking to his father for some kind of reply. "Dad?" John cast a glance at Dean and that's when he saw it, a look he hadn't really ever seen from his dad very often except during a hunt going bad, it was fear. "Dad?"

"It's bad, Dean," and that was all John could get out. He didn't trust his voice any further; his mind replaying what he heard on the phone from the hospital. The litany of injuries bounced inside his head: fractured left forearm, closed-head injury, a possible skull fracture, and scalp laceration in need of stitches, a severe laceration to his right thigh that required stitches and they hadn't ruled out a neck injury. He heard words like unresponsive, poor vitals, critical condition, and Jaws of Life. God, his son had to be cut out of the wreckage, he thought to himself; his mind was reeling.

The ER came into view as John slammed the car into park in the nearest available parking spot. Dean followed closely behind. Both Winchester men tore into the ER with a determined pace toward the reception area. The desk crew took note of John's hard expression and somewhat wild eyes. "I was called. My son was involved in a car accident. Samuel Winchester where is he?" His voice was controlled, but deadly serious.

"Yes," the woman replied. "Let me page one of his doctors for you." John let out an anxiety filled breath and cast a glance at his oldest son. Dean's eyes were distant as he stared at the closed doors leading into the trauma rooms. John could see that his firstborn son's eyes were haunted. He reached up and cupped one of Dean's shoulders firmly. Dean looked up at his father. "We won't lose him Dean. Sammy will be fine."

"You don't know that dad," Dean's voice betraying his emotional state. "You said yourself they said it was 'bad', so don't tell me you know he's going to be okay." John nodded.

"You're right, I don't know Dean," John relented. "But, I do know Sammy is stubborn, and he'll fight." And, those words hit a chord with Dean, and he knew it was the truth. The doors leading to the trauma area swung open and both John and Dean noted the man approaching him wore blood-spattered scrubs, and his eyes held something John refused to believe was sympathy. He wouldn't lose his youngest son. He refused to bury another loved one, let alone his own child, his youngest. And, Dean would not recover from this if Sammy died. Dean and Sam were two sides of the same coin. His sons were both so different, but fiercely loyal to the other. He'd lose two sons if Sam didn't survive, one to physical death and another to a more horrible kind of death, that of the soul. And, this was simply not acceptable.

"Mr. Winchester," the doctor extended a hand to the man. He cast a glance in Dean's direction. "Maybe, we should speak privately?"

"No," John answered sternly as he looked at Dean briefly before returning his gaze to the doctor. "Dean is Sam's older brother. Whatever you have to say you can say in front of him."

"Fine, shall we," the doctor motioned toward a room. The sign on the outside said 'Family Room,' and Dean held back. He knew from TV what that room meant. He had watched the various hospital television shows, now and again, and his world was beginning to spin. That's the room they take you to so they can rip out your heart, that's the room where they make you listen to the words 'I'm sorry we did all we could, but we weren't able to save him. I'm sorry he didn't make it.' And Dean refused to take another step. He was certain that if he stayed right where he was that he'd hold the goddamn Grim Reaper at bay. It wouldn't get his brother, not his Sammy. His little brother, the brother he had vowed to always protect. Sam was alive until he walked in there, and his feet refused to move.

"Dean?" John looked back at his eldest son when he noticed he hadn't moved. "Come on." Dean shook his head, his eyes absent. John walked up to his son. "Dean?"

"No," his oldest son's voice was quiet. "I won't go in there."

"Dean the doctor needs to talk to us. I don't have time for this." John pulled his son toward the room, and was surprised when Dean resisted with pulling away.

"Don't!" he spat. "I go in there he's going to say Sammy's dead. I won't go in there."

The doctor approached then. "Dean, is it?" His voice soft and knowing, he was a brother, too, and understood. The young man nodded. "I promise you I'm taking you and your father in there to discuss your brother's condition. He's alive, I promise."

"He is?" It really wasn't a question and the doctor knew that. It sounded more like the kid was processing the information and convincing himself. Dean allowed himself to be led into the room, and settled in a chair. John knew Dean was badly shaken because it was very uncharacteristic of his eldest son to appear so vulnerable. But, he understood that the one thing that could bring Dean to his knees and crumble that well developed Winchester stoicism was his little brother. Sam, John noted, was Dean's greatest strength and greatest weakness.

John and Dean had settled into the ICU room that Sam had been put in over three hours ago. The various machines went about making their noises, and Dean blocked most of them out, except for the steady beep of the heart monitor that assured him his brother still lived. John Winchester had listened to the doctor hours earlier go over Sam's condition and he was thankful they had ruled out a skull fracture and any neck or spinal injuries. But, it did little to truly comfort him. His youngest son was still in critical condition. He had been told that Sam suffered a serious closed head injury, and was unresponsive. He watched his baby son, and his absolute stillness unnerved him completely, but he wouldn't allow Dean to see it. He had to stay strong for both his boys. He took stock of the multiple IV's running from his son. The heart monitor that blipped an arched line across the screen with steady assured beeps accompanying it, and the blood oxygen monitor attached to a finger. Sam's left forearm bore a new cast, John was glad that the fracture was a clean one, and wouldn't require surgery to correct. He hazarded a glance toward Dean, and could see the lines of tension pulling at his eldest son's face. "You okay, son?" Dean nodded absently in reply his eyes never leaving Sam's still features. "Dean," John's voice managed to break through the temporary paralysis of his son's mental state, and Dean turned and met his father's eyes across the other side of Sam's bed.

"Yes, sir?" John's eyes softened.

"He's going to pull through this Dean."

"Why won't he wake up Dad? He hasn't even twitched."

"His body just needs to rest," he tried to assure. "When he's ready he'll wake up." John was secretly saying that for both their sakes. He was trying to convince himself as much as he was his own son.

"The drunk bastard that ran him off the road is gonna pay, dad," Dean's voice was low and dangerous as his eyes shifted back to his silent brother.

"He's in police custody Dean. Just let it go." John was angry and would love more than anything to have five minutes alone with the man that did this to his child. Five minutes to teach the man that there are far worse things than death. But, he'd have to let the law handle this one. He had an injured son to think about and another one hanging on by the skin of his teeth.

"How can you say just let it go," Dean's voice hissed quietly.

"Watch your tone," John's voice warned softly. "I'd like to see him pay just as much as you, but that isn't what Sammy needs right now. Let the system handle him. Anyway, what goes around comes around…eventually," John assured. Dean shifted his eyes from his brother back to his father.

"Yeah, Karma's a bitch," Dean quipped and shared a smile with his dad.

John glanced from Sam to Dean and was glad that his eldest son had finally nodded off in the chair next to his little brother's bed. He was positive his son had to be mentally exhausted over everything that had happened in the last few hours. Hell, he idly thought to himself, he was too, but he was the parent and he'd keep watch over both his children this night. His eyes drifted from his first born back to his baby son. He smiled ever so slightly. Yes, he still considered him his baby son, but Sam was almost as tall as Dean now, and he was certain in another year he'd pass his big brother up in height. Sam was growing into a fine man and John considered he had little to do with that. Dean had taken on the duty and care of Sam early on. Of course, John was still their father, and the provider, but he acknowledged that Dean was in many ways both a big brother and impromptu father figure. And, with a rueful smile John thought to himself, that more times than not Sammy was more inclined to listen to Dean than his own father, and John accepted that, most of the time. He studied Sam's still features, and tried not to dwell on the tube coming from his son's mouth that aided his breathing. He watched the mechanical rise and fall of his young son's chest, and could do nothing but hold his cool, slack hand in his own warm, broad one. He rubbed tender circles with his thumb across the top of his son's hand. He was comforted by the contact, and leaned forward whispering into Sam's ear, willing him to open his eyes. He studied Sam's young fingers against his own palm, and hot tears stung threatening to spill over. Sammy was only sixteen, and John knew that he wasn't out of the woods yet, but he refused to accept that death would claim his son, his and Dean's last true link with Mary, his beloved wife and mother of his son's. Sam reminded him so much of Mary, and he was certain Sammy was that link for Dean, as well. His youngest son's features were soft, like Mary's. His mouth and smile were his mother's. His very being was gentle in so many ways that reminded John that Mary was still with him. Dean's features had favored his own, more angular, and tough, but Dean's expressive eyes when he allowed emotion to slip to them reminded him of Mary. And, under the hard exterior that he had adopted over the years there was softness, and vulnerability that told John his eldest son was and always would be his Mary's son.

"Dad?" Dean's voice broke John from his thoughts and staring at Sam's unmoving fingers in his own hand. Dean saw the unshed tears in his father's eyes, and it scared him. "Dad, you okay? Is Sam…" He leaned forward looking at the heart monitor for any sign something was amiss.

"I'm fine son," John tried to assure. "And, Sammy's is holding his own." Dean sat back and drew in a long cleansing breath.

"Okay." Dean tried to keep the fear he felt out of his voice. "You should sleep a little Dad," he encouraged. "I'll sit up with Sammy." John didn't want to sleep, but he knew without Dean saying the words that he wanted some time with his little brother.

"All right," he replied as he pulled his chair back a little and settled in closing his eyes to appease his son.

The room was dim except for a pale light on over Sam's bed Dean pulled his chair closer and tentatively placed a hand on his brother's upper arm. His side of the bed was his little brother's cast side. He looked at the cast, and smirked as he looked up at his brother. "So, how many does this make it now, Sammy? Cast number five?" His kept his voice quiet as he tried not to disturb his father. "You know Dad's truck is a piece of scrap metal now from what the cop's said." Dean didn't know what to say to his brother, so he thought idle chitchat would suffice until he thought of something meaningful to say. "Geez, Sammy look at you," Dean keeping his voice light. "You lucked out with the stitches in your head," he commented. "They're right at your hairline, and your mop you call hair will cover the scar if you have one." He gently pushed up his brother's bangs and took note of the Steri-strips that covered the stitches on his forehead, and he counted the dark stitching under them. "Let's see," his voice a mere whisper, as he stood next to his brother's face inspecting the ER doc's handy work. "one, three, eight, twelve. Not too bad, huh? I hear your leg got some too, kiddo. I heard the doc tell dad you got thirty-five in your thigh. Hey, we throw in a couple metal bolts for your neck, and I'll start calling you Frankie," he paused. "You know short for Frankenstein." He quipped. "What? No complaints from the peanut gallery? Come on, Sammy, open your eyes and tell me to shut up." He waited and watched his brother's face for any sign that his voice was even breaking through to the dark place his brother existed right now. Sam remained silent and unmoving. Dean reached up and felt compelled to touch his brother's pale cheek. He stared at the tube in his brother's mouth, and he couldn't take his eyes off of it. It was a lifeline for his brother, but he still hated the idea that it snaked down his brother's throat and pushed air into his lungs. He wanted Sammy to breathe on his own. He pulled the chair closer as he leaned forward and rested his head against Sam's chest ever so lightly, and listened to his brother's heartbeat. "You gotta come back to us, Sammy. Dad and I can't cope without you."

John had heard everything his oldest son had said to his youngest and it tore at his heart. Dean would be utterly broken if they lost Sam, hell they both would be. He continued to keep his eyes closed allowing Dean his time with his little brother. Three days later, in the early morning hours before the sun had begun to rise. John sat next to Sam's bed in his familiar vigil pose, and held his son's hand. Dean was asleep in his chair with his head propped in one of his hands. A barely perceivable twitch came from the small hand in John Winchester's own hand. He looked down at the Sam's hand in his own, but saw nothing. He cast a hopeful glance upward to study his son's silent face. The tube now gone, and replaced by an oxygen mask when Sam had begun breathing on his own yesterday very early. It had elated both Winchester men, but the need to see Sam open his eyes still hung heavy in the room despite the joy that Sam no longer required a ventilator to breathe. But, as John looked at Sam there was no movement he remained still, and he almost relegated the twitch to a muscle spasm or maybe, he had imagined it, but it happened again only this time John watched in amazement as Sam's young fingers curled around his own fingers. "Sammy?" John stood up and leaned over his son still keeping his hand in his own. "Son, can you hear me, it's dad?" He gave a light squeeze of his son's hand. "Sammy?" And, then it happened, he watched as Sam scrunched his face a little as he fought to surface toward consciousness. "Sammy, I'm here. You can do it, son."

Dean woke to his father's words, and he sat up. And, with amazement saw that Sam was indeed trying to wake up. He stood immediately and took up post beside his brother. He touched Sam's face with his hand. "Sam, you heard dad," he encouraged. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."

"Samuel, open your eyes," John resorted to the fatherly tone that usually propelled his youngest into obeying. He watched Sam fight harder past the darkness holding him. "Come on son."

"Yeah, Sammy, you can do it. Open your eyes." And, then it happened; dark eyes opened and held confusion as he looked from his father's glistening eyes to his brother's eyes that mimicked his father's.

"Dad? Dean?" His voice was a mere scratchy whisper, but it was the sweetest sound John and Dean Winchester had ever heard.

"Hey, Earth to Dean!" Sam waved a hand in Dean's peripheral vision.

"Huh?" Dean answered absently.

"Where'd you go just then?"

"Nothin'," Dean's voice annoyed. "Nowhere."

"Yeah, well, keep on the road this time," Sam's voice amused. "Unless the Chevy Impala was originally intended for off-road use," he quipped with an amused tone.

"Bite me," Dean groused. His mind still clinging to the memories that were finally beginning to subside. After a few minutes Dean hazarded a glance at his brother as Sam watched the scenery go by the passenger window. Dean couldn't stop the slight smile that crept across his features and was gone in an instant. He couldn't imagine what life would have been like had he and his father lost Sam back then, but he wasn't going to dwell on it, after all, it was over and done. Sam was where he was supposed to be, at his big brother's side, safe and sound.