AN: So my intention had been to have this chapter up before Friday Night's episode, because I knew that my story was about to get Kripked. I did NOT expect for that to happen the way it did. So, I have chosen artist license and gone slightly more AU at the beginning of this chapter. Dammit, Frank. You couldn't have waited one more week? Also, this fic is officially off the spoiler list, thanks to the preview for next week's ep. One left to go. :)

AN2: I hid an Easter Egg inside this chapter. Can you find it?

Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, I would have waited one more week to get rid of Frank.

"Are you out of your mind? I'm not going anywhere, Frank."

Dean's phone had rung just as he had been about to step out of his motel room. His plan was to go out in search of James, hoping to catch him at work and smooth over the previous night's misunderstandings, which Dean was more than willing to accept the blame for. He hadn't been in his right mind; the beer and the concussion loosening his tongue and his senses until all manner of crap was spilling out of him. He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd said to James, he only knew that it hadn't been good. James's reaction had been immediate and stern: "We're leaving. Right now." And Dean had reluctantly obeyed, because he knew he'd screwed up.

But he'd be damned if he was going to obey now.

"I don't think you understand. Dick Roman could have a meeting with Obama himself and I wouldn't give two shits. I'm not leaving my brother. I've got a line on something here, and if everything falls into place –" Dean paused to take in what Frank had just bellowed into his end of the receiver. "Oh…Dick does have a meeting with Obama…shit," he swore under his breath.

Dean collapsed down onto the end of his twin bed, rubbing hard at the headache that had instantly flared up behind his brow.

"Isn't there anybody else we could get to take care of this?" he asked, sagging beneath the obligation. He held the phone away from his ear to avoid Frank's brassy griping. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I don't trust anybody either, but dammit, why's this gotta go down now? It's like he knows. Like he's fuckin' with me, because he knows Sammy's down for the count."

Dean went quiet again listening to Frank's barking before asking with a heavy sigh, "When and where?" He snatched up a pen and paper from the bedside table and scribbled down the words: Friday and Philadelphia. It was a Hell of a drive; nearly an entire day if Dean drove straight through and that would leave him with only a few hours to prepare and no back up. He briefly considered Garth, then shook his head and thought better of it. The kid was a good guy, but he was a walking disaster and Dean couldn't chance putting either Garth or himself at that kind of risk. He'd have to go it alone.

Leaning to rest his elbows against his knees, Dean sighed again, resigned in the fact that this was undoubtedly a suicide mission.

"I need to talk to Sammy first," Dean said, lowering his head into his hand, but when Frank tried to argue with him about driving time, he popped up off of the bed like a shot. "I'll make time, Goddammit. That's my little brother and if there's a chance that I'm not coming back, I owe it to him to at least tell him goodbye. I can't not say goodbye." Dean swallowed thickly, trying to wash away the knot that was quickly forming in his throat, and then growled, "So, yes. I'll be cuttin' it close. Sue me."

Soul-rending screams, like the steel on steel grinding of armored tanks; it was just one track in a playlist of sounds that looped in Sam's ears twenty-four seven, and it wasn't even the worst one. But all the noise and the cluttered voices faded away when the door creaked open, and instead a new sound filled his head; soft and high, but not unpleasant, and it made Sam's heart pound beyond his control.

"You just gonna stand there, lurking, or are you going to come in?" Sam asked quietly; his voice only audible because the bare walls echoed the sound around. His back was turned to the room, but he hadn't needed to see the doorway to know that he was no longer alone.

"You don't seem surprised that I'm here," James said, entering the room and pressing the door closed behind him.

"Not much that does surprise me anymore."

Sam sounded tired, to James; his voice was weak and raspy from either disuse or abuse; James couldn't be sure which. He looked tired too. Lying on his side, Sam's long, lanky body was pulled up into a loose fetal-like position; his arms wrapped around folded legs and his head lay at an awkward, uncomfortable angle on a flat pillow.

James circled around and sank down into the chair beside the bed, only asking for permission after the fact. Sam, with his eyes held closed, nodded his approval, and James slid the chair closer to the bed; turning it so that they could sit face to face.

"Can I ask you a question?" Sam asked, his eyes finally peeking out from behind pale, bruised lids. In them, James could see a flash of fear, recognition, and then…something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Shoot," James responded, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

Sam frowned slightly, his brow drawing into a concentrated wrinkle above the bridge of his nose, and then he slowly shook his head.

"You're not him, are you?"

"No," James answered simply; not truly understanding the question, but feeling that it was better not to get the man upset like he had been the previous night.

Sam pondered that, and then asked, "but you are…real?"

"Definitely." James laid his left hand, palm up, on the mattress; far enough away as not to startle Sam, but close enough for the younger man to reach out and grasp it.

And Sam did. He stretched out his hand and slid his palm, skin against skin, wrapping his hand around James's thumb, and holding on for dear life. He let out an uneven breath, swallowed thickly and nodded.

Clearing his throat, James asked hesitantly, "Do you remember me coming to see you, Sam?"

Sam let his eyes drift shut and nodded again, shakily.

"I thought I was dreaming again," Sam admitted with a raspy whisper, "you know…now that I'm sleeping again." Sam frowned, thinking that over, and then he opened glassy eyes to look directly at James. "Why are you here now, when I'm awake?"

James gave Sam's hand a light squeeze to remind the younger man that he was in fact real. "Because I have questions and I think maybe you can answer them. Do you think you're up for that?"

"I'll try," Sam said honestly. "Doc says I'm having a good day."

"That's good, Sam. One day at a time, that's very good."

Slowly, Sam pushed himself up from the bed, until he was sitting, cross-legged in front of James, still clinging to the man's hand. James wasn't about to pull out of Sam's hold, not if it helped to ground him so that they could talk.

"Just a couple of questions," he assured Sam, "You answer what you can and tell me if we need to stop, okay? There's no wrong answers here, alright?"

"Okay." Taking a long moment to gather himself, Sam finally sighed, "I think I'm ready."

"What does family mean to you, Sam?"

"Dean." There was no hesitation in the man's answer.

"This isn't word association. You can feel free to expound further…if you're able."

"I'm able, but the answer is still Dean."

"Do you have parents?"

Sam bowed his head; his long, bed-mussed hair swaying down into his face and acting as a curtain to hide him from James's prying eyes when he answered, "They're dead."

"Both of them?" James hadn't been expecting that answer. Sam and Dean were both fairly young men and so it came as quite a shock to learn that they were without both parents. "Do you have other siblings?"

"A brother, Adam – dead. Our uncle, Bobby – dead. Grandfather, cousins…everyone is dead."

With his free hand, James covered his mouth in shock; his chest tightening in sympathy. It was no wonder that Dean felt such an overwhelming responsibility to protect his brother. Everyone they'd ever had was gone. James imagined that Dean was probably holding on so tightly to his little brother because he was terrified that he might lose him as well. Looking at Sam and the situation he was currently in, James couldn't fault Dean at all.

"I am so sorry," James said with complete sincerity.

Sam accepted that with a nod and then looked up, meeting James's heart-sick gaze, and whispered, "Sometimes…when the voices talk too loud and my brain fills up with them, I think…maybe it'd be okay for me to be dead too." The wrinkle across Sam's forehead arched high above his nose and his deep-set eyes pulled down and filled with the high gloss of unshed tears. "But I can't leave my brother. And I – I don't wanna go without him."

James felt all the air rush out of his lungs like he'd been punched in the gut by Sam's confession. Sitting there like he was, with his legs drawn up in front of him and his hair in his eyes, Sam looked like a frightened child, and it was all James could do not to wrap the young man up in his arms to ease his fear and hurt. He thought about how Dean had talked of Sam; his voice almost reverent when he had spoken his brother's name, and now absorbing Sam's pain, James could feel the bond between the brothers and his heart clenched painfully.

His entire body ached with a loss he didn't understand or remember, and he was reminded once again of Dean's words and had to admit that he was indeed living 'another life'. How could he do any different? He'd pursued every avenue of inquiry possible in the hope of discovering who he had been – "You could be someone important." – and he had to wonder what, from his previous life, was he missing out on.

"Dean…he's very important to you, isn't he? I mean, I know you care an awful lot about him; he is your brother after all, so you love him, but you seem closer than most brothers. "

Sitting up straight, Sam blinked. He reached up his free hand and swiped away the tears that had formed and were clinging to his lashes. Then pushed his hair away from his face, and in doing so, allowed James his first real look at the man who was Sam; not the scared, overgrown child he'd just witnessed or the angry, out-for-blood young man who had attacked his own brother the previous night, but Sam. He looked confident and healthy; his eyes clear and bright and his head held high. The only indication that there was anything wrong at all was the way he continued to grip James's hand.

"Well, Dean did practically raise me. He's pretty much the only person who's ever really been there for me; even after everything that's happened."

"That's what brothers are for, right?" James said with a heavy nod of approval. "They look after ya, keep you in line, show you the ropes; especially big brothers."

"Yeah, but it's more than that – he's more than that, and not just to me." Sam shook his head, his eyes growing wide with dawning realization. "And he shouldn't be here," he stated firmly. "Dean needs to be out there…working, not here, waiting on me. Can you – do you think you can convince him to leave?"

"What?" James gasped; his jaw dropping. "He's not gonna leave you. Why would you even ask that? Can't work wait?"

"No. It's too important."

"Too import–" James bit off his sharp reply and rubbed at his suddenly pounding temples. "As important as work may be, don't you think you're just as important?"

"Dean would probably say I am, but I don't know. I'd like to be."

"You are. I'm sure of it. Dean hasn't mentioned work once; he's too busy worrying about you."

"Yeah, well, he's wasting his time worrying and waiting for me to get better. It's not gonna happen. You and I both know I'm not gonna get better. Not without divine intervention…right?"

James stared at him dumbly, wondering why Sam thought that he would know anything about his case, other than perhaps what Dean might have let slip. And why did he suddenly feel uncomfortable and kind of guilty when Sam chose to word the statement the way he had: You and I both know… Sam had lumped them together like a combined force to counter Dean's opinion, and it felt like betrayal to James; hot and bitter in his stomach and strangely enough, not that foreign.

But pushing all of that aside, James latched onto the one word that stood out amongst all the others: divine. And he was quick to ask, "Do you believe in God, Sam?"

"Yes. Of course," Sam cocked his head to the side to stare at James curiously. "I mean, I've never needed proof – not like Dean did – but, well…you being here…it's kinda–"

"Kind of a miracle? Pretty sure that's what your brother thinks too."

"No. In our experience, miracles don't just happen, but Dean's so desperate for it to be true, because if you made it, then there's hope for me."

James's expression clouded and he sat back in his chair, surprised by Sam's words. He might have pulled his hand away too, if Sam hadn't been clinging to him as if his life depended on it. Had Sam known about Dean's intentions?

"It's not your fault," Sam said; his eyes going incredibly sad. "I know you would have made it better, if you could have. And I'm sorry," Sam whispered; his voice wavering and his eyes re-filling with tears.

"What do you mean, I can't see my brother? Why the Hell not?"

"Mr. Singer–"

"No. Don't you Mr. Singer me. I've followed your–" Dean cut himself off before unleashing a firestorm of swear words, none of which would win him any points. He took a deep breath to temper his words with patience; something of which Dean was in very short supply. "Doc," he pleaded, "I've done everything you and the hospital have asked me to do; followed all the protocol, but you still won't let me in to see him. It's important that I see him…Please."

"If you'll let me continue…" The doctor gave Dean a pointed stare and waiting for a sign from Dean, that he would not be interrupted again, "I can't let you in to see him right now, because he is with Dr. Scott, currently." Dean opened his mouth to argue, but the doctor held his hand up to silence him and continued, "As soon their allotted time is up, you are free to see your brother."

"Who is this…Dr. Scott?" Dean asked; his voice clipped and demanding.

But if the doc noticed the tension in Dean's voice, he didn't show it. He checked the chart in one hand and his watch on the other, saying, "Dr. Ronald Belford Scott; someone the hospital had sent over this morning for a follow-up. They should be wrapped up within the hour. I know it is a hard thing to do, but if you'll just wait here, an orderly will be along to escort you back when Sam is available. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another patient to attend to."

And then he walked briskly away, leaving Dean alone and growing increasingly concerned in the waiting room. Dean's mind raced with possibilities; scary, black, oozing possibilities that made his blood run cold.

"Screw this."

Reaching into his pocket, Dean retrieved the stolen key card from his wallet. He timed the movements of the nurses and orderlies, and when everyone was preoccupied, made a stealthy advance on the door; the only thing separating him from his brother. He slid the card through the machine and when the indicator light turned green; Dean rolled his eyes and slipped through the door, unseen.

Dean moved down the hall quickly, grumbling as he went. "This place is legitimately crap, and I am so busting you out of here, Sammy…first chance I get."

"Come on man, it's alright." James slid out of his chair and across the space between them, coming to rest shoulder to shoulder beside Sam. He wrapped an arm around the trembling man, and rubbed fast circles into his back. "It's gonna be okay."

"No," Sam argued, shaking his head weakly, "It's not okay. We could have made this better. It didn't have to be like this. You didn't have to be alone. I-I'm…" he stuttered, swallowing thickly, "I'm so sorry," Sam rasped out, and with that, the tears tipped over Sam's lashes, spilling quickly down his cheeks and falling like rain into his lap. He squeezed his eyes shut; his mouth pursed and trembling, trying so hard to hold back the flow of emotion.

"Oh God," James's breath caught in his throat and his own eyes burned empathetically for the guy, reduced to tears, collapsing into him. Man, he was in way over his head with this. Bad enough he'd conned his way into Sam's room, with a phony hospital badge and the paperwork he'd quickly doctored up at home, but now he literally had his arms full of half-crazy, half-despair, and no clue what to do about it.

But when Sam began to tremble against James's side, there was no further internal argument to be had; human instinct and the overwhelming need to protect took over and James did the only thing he could do. He pulled his hand free from Sam's and pulled him in, wrapping him up in an awkwardly positioned hug, and leaning his chin into the top of Sam's head. Holding on to him, James felt Sam surrender to his warm embrace; clinging to him, and mumbling inarticulate words into the crease of James's shoulder.

For his part, James shushed quietly into Sam's hair; trying to soothe him with his voice. "You're okay. Nothin' for you to be sorry for. Shhh." He moved his hand up the length and circled Sam's broad back, rubbing warmth in and chasing away his shivers. "I've got ya," he said, letting his hand come to rest at the back of Sam's head. "I'm sorry Sam, I wish I could fix this for you; make it all better."

He felt Sam nod against him. "I know," Sam rasped, and his voice broke on a sob and a name.

"I don't –" James stopped, choking on a new thought, realizing that all along he had been asking the wrong questions...again. He struggled with it for a moment before taking a shaky breath. He pressed Sam away from him, pushed the mop of hair out of the man's face until they could see each other, and asked, "Sam, do you…do you know who I am?"

"Get away from my–" The door banged open and Dean burst into the room, ready to tear the threat limb from limb, but pulled up short, his jaw dropping in shock. "James?"