Sorry it's late, I had Memorial Weekend Plans. Sorry that this one is also a little short, but I just didn't know what else to add to it. I'll go back to update regularly so the next chap will probably go up on Wendsday.

Usual disclaimer and thanks to my beta Little Miss Artsit.

Chapter 9

May 28th, 1998

Dean stared at the prone figure on the hospital bed. To say Sam was pale would be like saying the Nile River was a sort of long river. But pale-Sam, Dean had seen, he might not like it, but he had seen it. And, despite his actions otherwise, Dean had seen almost all forms of injured-Sam too. But suicidal-Sam? That was a new one and Dean hated it with his entire being.

How had Sam possibly spiraled down so far without Dean noticing? Sure, he'd been moody, but that was just Sam being a teenager (not that Dean can remember ever being that moody,) But where had this come from? How long had this been going on? How had Dean failed so bad?

"Sammy," Dean said (and that crack in his voice was from lack of sleep and nothing else – well that's what Dean told himself anyway) He lifted a hand and slowly ran it through Sam's hair.

Sam made a small noise and Dean froze.

"Come on, kiddo, open those eyes for me." Dean resumed running his hand through Sam's soft hair. Sam made a small groan and his eyes started flickering.

They opened and Dean gave him a moment to focus before he said quietly, "Hey, Sammy."

"D'n" Sam said quietly. Dean gave a light rub on Sam's shoulder in an effort to provide what little comfort he could.

Dean wanted to blurt out a million questions, but managed to restrain himself.

Sam made a weird face and Dean froze again. How much did Sam remember? Sam went to lift his arm and then looked down in a panic when it wouldn't move. Sam stared in shock at the heavy bandages and the restraints tying him to the bed. He looked up at Dean, his face the picture of confusion.

"What-what's going on?" Sam asked, completely bewildered.

"You don't remember?" When no recognition shown on his face, Dean sighed. "Sammy, you're…you…you're on a seventy-two hour suicide watch," and damn if that didn't hurt like hell to say. "You slashed your wrists in the school bathroom." A million emotions flashed across Sam's face, far too fast for Dean to identify them all.

"What? No, I didn't," Sam said incredulously. "I…no, it wasn't…I mean, she…" Sam stumbled over his own words, trying to get the story out.

"Sam, stop, yes, you did," Dean said as his chest clenched painfully. Couldn't Sam see how hard this was for Dean? "I…how could you?" Dean asked, his last bit of self-restraint slipping.

"No, Dean, I swear, it wasn't me, I-"

"I…what does that even mean? No, you know what, I'm just…I'm gonna go get some coffee, I'll be back in a few minutes. I called Dad, he'll be here in a bit." And with that Dean left.

Sam stared at the empty spot where Dean had been a minute ago. Everything had happened way too fast for his drugged mind to keep up with. Above all else, he felt hurt, betrayed. He knew Dean would think it was suicide at first – how could he not – but never did he imagine Dean wouldn't believe him once he told the truth. And that, that right there, hurt far more than any physical wound ever could.

How could they possibly think he was suicidal?

His mind a buzz with many questions, Sam soon fell into an exhausted sleep.

And because he was asleep, he didn't see one John Winchester enter the room minutes later. And he certainly didn't see the first tears since Mary died fall from his father's usually stoic eyes. But maybe, just maybe, on some subconscious level he heard the softly whispered "I love you, Sammy," and maybe, just maybe, that helped ease the hurt just a bit.

TBC…

Thanks for reading! I was a little let down by the minimal amount of reviews for the last chapter so please boost my spirits and review!