A/N: Vivi here! Wifi is back! This is one of my favorite chapters (probably because it's a little sappy). That being said, I just wanted to say how honored I am to have folks like you who read what comes out of my head. And some of you even like it! *Whaaat?*

WaywardInspirations, this one is for you! I hope your Monday is the start of a wonderful new week!

The song referenced in both the title of this chapter and the chapter itself is 'Come On Get Higher' by Matt Nathanson. (It's one of my favorites.)

(All previous warnings apply, by the way: violence, language, etc. etc.)

Enjoy!


Previously on Family Practice:

"Deal." He sniffed and sighed. "You know where I'll be."

"Go to sleep, you little monster."


Two hours later, I was covered in flour and pieces of sticky pie crust that ground themselves into my apron. But that pie was finally done in all its home-cooked glory. It was even still bubbling a little through the lattice of crust on top.

Sam definitely had a rough couple days. Dessert before dinner was totally acceptable under these circumstances. I'd even found some ice cream in the freezer.

"Sam?" I knocked at his door with my free hand, the other being occupied by the plate with a bottle of water under my arm. "It's me."

No response.

Jerk. "I'm coming in anyway." I turned the handle quietly and pushed the door open with my foot. "I brought you something yummy."

The lights were off, as I expected them to be. Feeling like a jerk myself, I flipped them on, flooding the room with momentarily brilliant light.

Sam didn't move. He was on his bed, on his left side, half covered by a blanket and still in the pants he wore to the club; I knew, because they were covered in blood. I didn't try to figure out whose. "Sit up and I'll show you what I made just for you."

Not so much as a sigh.

"Keep this up and your ice cream will melt before you get to it." I said, trying to sound lighthearted.

He was like a friggin' statue. Just staring blankly into space, breathing slow and even, arms wrapped around his stomach like it hurt. It probably did. He hadn't eaten in over twenty four hours at this point. Probably had a wicked stomach ache for a few hours at least. Not that ice cream and pie would help that, but still.

With a frustrated sigh, I set the pie and water on his desk and went to kneel beside his bed, where he could see me. I rested my arms on the mattress and rested my chin on my arms before I started talking. I wanted to be at eye level so he had no choice but to look at me. Or through me, at least.

He did look at me. I was honestly a little shocked when his face lit up with recognition and he made eye contact with me. The rest of him didn't move, but his eyes did. That was a start. "Talk to me, Sam. Tell me what you're thinking."

His eyes just searched my face, probably looking for one of the injuries I got at the club.

"I'm fine. Really, I am. Baby is fine too." I said quietly, gently. "I'm dying to tell you about him, but you have to come back first. You have to get up and eat something."

Those hazel eyes stayed glued to mine, but I was starting to think he wasn't hearing a word I was saying. His cheeks were slowly flushing and I could have sworn tears were starting to form. "Listen to me, Sam. You have to hear what I'm saying. Are you getting any of this?"

My heart almost broke when a few tears slipped out and started to darken his pillow. If I'd just looked at his back, I would have no idea that he was weeping. No part of him moved, other than his eyelids. When I cried, my whole face scrunched up; it wasn't the 'pretty girl in a movie cry'. I ugly cried. Snot, sobs, the whole shebang. And here he was, just leaking a little. No heart-testing sobs, no leaky faucet nose, nothing but a few saltwater drops and reddened eyes.

What if he's in pain? What if that's why he's crying like this? "Sam? What hurts?"

He just squeezed his eyes closed and didn't reopen them.

"Use your words, tough guy. Don't suffer in silence."

A whole lotta nothin' happened.

I reached over and grabbed one of his hands. I tugged it away from holding his stomach and stretched his arm out towards me. My hand and his stayed linked, as best I could make them, between us on the sheets. He wasn't trying to move his at all. I didn't know if that was good thing or a bad thing. "Come on, Sam. Talk to me. Move. Do something."

He wouldn't even open his eyes this time.

"I haven't gotten to talk to you- the real you- in literally days, dude." I waited longer than I should have before continuing. "It's driving me crazy, Sam. You're driving me crazy right now. You know that, right?"

Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. I'd never know, apparently.

"Open your eyes. Look at me. I'm fine. Nothing is wrong with me. I feel great. Aside from being ignored by the person I care about most, which is making me feel pretty damn rejected."

I could have sworn his eyes squeezed shut even tighter.

"Don't act like this is the end of the world, Sam." I whispered sadly, almost pleading with him. "You need to understand something: you didn't hurt me. The siren hurt me. And now she's dead. And I know that you must be feeling pretty shitty about what happened, but it wasn't you. I'm telling you right now, once and for all, you didn't hurt me."

If he kept ignoring me, I was just going to slap him. I could feel it coming on. Probably wouldn't help him at all, but it would feel damn good to let him know that he was being an ass. I was tired and my fuse was kind of short at the best of times nowadays.

"You told me you loved me, Sam." I said, coming up with a new topic to try and avoid violence. My mind flashed back to the last bitter thing siren-Sam said to me. 'I loved you, and then you ran from me.' "I had no idea that was how you really felt. You never told me. Was it true? Because it doesn't feel like it right now." The tears starting up in my own eyes somehow leaked into my voice.

At least I got a half sob half sigh that time. And here comes the ugly cry. Traitorous lacrimal glands.

"I love you, Sam." Even that admission got no response. Tough crowd. I tried to brush it off, but his lack of… well, anything stung. A lot. Right down to my soul. "You've got to snap out of this. No way am I going to just sit around until you wither away. I will not say goodbye to you, Sam Winchester. Not like this." I paused to take a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay until I finished spilling my heart. "So you have to come back to me. I'm right here. All you have to do is open your eyes."

No such luck.

I felt the flood that had accumulated in my eyes finally pour out. Talking was getting harder and harder. "Please, Sam. Please say something. Anything. Tell me you love me. Tell me you hate me. Tell me to leave- anything." One humiliating sob rocked through my chest and made it out before I could stop it. "I miss you, Sam."

He sobbed again this time, but he tore his hand out of mine. I didn't even get a glimpse of those hazel pools before he turned over, settling stiffly on his other side, facing away from me.

Don't slap him. Don't slap him. I sniffed my nose and stoned myself for more rejection. Walking to the other side of the bed, I knelt before him and just sat there, not touching the bed, not making a sound. His arms had returned to his stomach; if he didn't come around, I'd have to get Dean in here to 'give' him his next dose of pain meds whether he wanted them or not. I'd have to yell at the big brother too, for not at least mentioning to me that his shoulder was messed up. That bruise was painfully obvious from this point of view and I could see the pain lines in Sam's face now that he was laying directly on the damaged joint. No matter how much of a jerk Sam was being, I still cared that he was hurting. It kind of hurt me too. Had been for a while now.

I was at a loss at that point. What is going on in his head? Is it so bad that he can't even give me a word or a glance out of pity? Maybe all I'm doing is reminding him of the club. He's obviously trying to forget all that, or at least not think about it. But he needs to think about it, dammit. He has to process this whole shit storm before it kills us both.

The noise that filled the room surprised me, but even as broken and pained as it sounded, it felt natural. Organic.

"I miss the sound of your voice." The Matt Nathanson song that I so loved was pouring freely but softly from my heart, my current situation giving it a congested, nasally tinge that I had to admit wasn't the nicest tone in the world. "And I miss the rush of your skin."

Sam's breathing wasn't slow and even anymore. Whether this was torture or therapy for him, I didn't know. I didn't care. As long as I got a reaction from him, I'd keep doing it.

"And I miss the still of the silence, as you breathe out and I breathe in." I paused to sniff the snot back into my nose before it dripped. Really wished I had some tissues about now. "I miss the sound of your voice… Loudest thing in my head. And I ache to remember all the quiet, sweet, perfect words that you said."

Isn't that the truth.

"If I could walk on water- if I could tell you what's next, I'd make you believe. I'd make you forget." This time I closed my eyes. If only… "I miss the pull of your heart." I had to stop. A few pent up sobs, teeming with frustration, despair, and hopelessness, needed released. I knew I was skipping around the song. I also knew that I couldn't sing for much longer.

So I let the final lines out as soon as I could. "'Cause everything works, love. Everything works in your arms."

We were both ugly crying then; I could hear him over my own sobbing and the rush of blood pounding in my ears. Part of me really hoped Dean couldn't hear us. Part of me didn't give a shit. If I was losing Sam, I'd grieve however the fuck I wanted.

Then I heard him turn over to ignore me again. My eyes flew open. In that moment, I was sure my eyes were tinged red because I was furious. Oh no you don't. I stood. I got on the bed.

I shoved Sam's bad shoulder to the mattress, forcing him to look up at me. Straddling him, I put one hand on the bed on either side of his head so he couldn't turn away. He didn't fight me.

He just stared up at me in shock, his latest sob caught in his throat. I didn't care if he reacted anymore. This was about me now.

"You don't get to just check out, Sam." I was almost shouting. Let Dean listen. Let him hear it all. "You don't get to go belly up on your whole family. That's not how this works. I know you're in pain. I know you're upset. I'm trying to help you and you just won't let me, now will you? You won't eat the food I make, you won't listen to me talk, you won't say a word- you won't even look at me." I paused to take a deep breath, giving him time to put in a quick word if he wanted.

He didn't want.

"I have to force you to look at me. And here I thought you loved me. Oh, I feel so loved when you refuse the fucking pie that took me two hours to make. Have you ever baked a black raspberry pie? Not as simple as it sounds, bucko. It's actually kind of a pain. Tons of seeds in those little suckers."

No response aside from his eyes getting wider and seeming to actually see me for the first time.

"Oh, and it's so loving how you ignored me when I was crying outside your door for an hour. I needed you, Sam. Sure, you're hurting- we're all hurting. I get it. Been there, done that. But isolating yourself like this hurts all of us more. This morning, Dean drank until he threw up. Couldn't even make it back to his room, he was so drunk. He feels like shit now because of you. And seeing you kill yourself slowly like this is killing me, tough guy. I hope that's what you wanted when you decided to do this. I know you were lucid when you woke up and Dean was there. I know because he told me. You chose to withdraw. You chose to leave us to fend for ourselves while you pouted in bed."

Now he looked like he was going to start crying again. Go for it, bud. Won't help you now.

"How am I supposed to feel safe with you guys if I can't even rely on you to be mentally present? How could you possibly help me with this kid? What if Dean and Cas are away, or Dean's drunk and Cas is gone, and it's just us, huh? What if you check out again and we get attacked- or, or the baby gets kidnapped or hurt. What if I get hurt and can't take care of him? You wouldn't even care at that point. You probably wouldn't listen to me then either. You know what? I'd rather leave and live alone than even think about going through that. I never want my baby to feel as rejected as I do right now." And the sobs were back, rattling around my chest, choking my words. Tears fell freely, landing unceremoniously on Sam's shirt. "Because this? This is worse than being beaten to death."

I punched his good shoulder- my alternative to slapping him because that black eye looked nasty enough already- and got up. I left his room and didn't look back.

Taking a walk seemed like the only way I would have a chance of cooling down after that. I was halfway to the front door when a hand landed on my shoulder. "I'm just taking a walk, Dean. I'm not running away this time. Go back to bed." I brushed it off and kept going.

"Ali?"

That stopped me dead in my tracks. I turned slowly.

My mind wasn't playing tricks on me. It really was Sam, standing there in bare feet, his shirt partly soaked, his jeans crusted with blood, his hair a mess, and his left arm supporting his right painfully against his chest to take pressure off of his shoulder. He was red eyed like a funeral and flushed like a middle school crush.

He came.

"What?" I snapped. The time for happily-ever-after reconciliation was long past. He had some serious work to do if he wanted to make up for this little episode of his.

"Are you- Is this…" His voice was so soft I almost couldn't hear him, even in the vast, empty silence of the war room.

"Is it what, Sam?" There was no taking the edge out of my voice now. If I took it out, I wouldn't be able to speak at all.

"Real?"

Instantly, all my anger, all my frustration was gone. I felt my tense body start to relax as my face fell into a worried mess. "You don't think I'm real?" I asked quietly, my voice well and truly on its way out after all that shouting and sobbing. "Why- why would you think that?"

Sam looked about ready to fall off the edge again, but he took a deep breath and pushed on. "I don't know. I don't know. I-I…" He was stammering, searching for words that weren't there.

I walked closer to him, stopping just a few feet away. "Sam, you were asleep for a long time. I don't know if you had a nightmare or you started hallucinating when you woke up or what. But I'm real. And you're real."

I couldn't help but notice how his gaze fell to my stomach for just a split second before he looked up again, a desperate innocence in his eyes.

A gentle smile crept onto my face. How could he just melt all that rage away with a few words and some well-aimed glances? "The baby is real too." I whispered, laughing while somehow also sobbing for a few seconds afterward.

"So… so this isn't gonna go away in a few minutes?"

I shook my head. "You'd have to try pretty hard to make that happen."

"Ali?" He repeated his earlier question, a tiny spark of light returning to his eyes.

"Who did you think I was, you big doofus?" For the first time in days, happiness colored my smile. He's back.

"I'm sorry." Sam's eyes left mine and searched the floor before closing altogether, his face contorting in something that looked like pain. He barely got the words out before lost it. His good hand flew up to press on his temples and he turned, the ragged, gasping breaths seeming to echo off the concrete walls. I started to go to him- a feeling like gravity pulled me in- but he took off, blindly making his way down the hall.

"Sam, wait." I called, following him. He was moving fast; I had to run to catch his door before it swung shut. I shoved it open and barged right in, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him around to face me. "Don't you walk away from me like that. Never again."

It happened so fast. One moment I was pissed and glaring daggers at him and the next I was encased in his arms and held so tightly I couldn't have escaped if I wanted to.

Not that I wanted to. Automatically, I wound my arms around him, squeezing tight and holding on for dear life. "You're shaking." I said quietly, trying my hardest to not be mad anymore. It wasn't helping anything and I knew it. But it was hard to just stop feeling the very real sense of worthlessness that had been building in me all day, serving as fuel for my frustration and anger.

All he did was press his lips to the top of my head and linger there for a few seconds. I huffed one tired laugh; being shorter than all your friends had its limitations, but boy did it have its perks. Even so, I didn't wait long before I pulled away from him.

He looked rough. That was the price of 'ugly cry' I guess. I didn't completely let go, though; slowly but forcefully, I pushed him down to sit on the bed. He looked up at me with confusion, hurt, and exhaustion swirling in those hazel pools; he seemed so small with his hands in his lap and his shoulders carrying the weight of the world. "I'm not leaving. It's okay."

Sam just nodded and looked away, trying to get his breathing under control. I noticed the med kit laying forgotten on the floor near his dresser. Gently, I touched the inside of his right wrist- the arm with the bruise- and found a healthy pulse. Good sign. Sam didn't seem to flinch when I touched his shoulder either. The med kit had one very cheap sling tucked away under a box of gauze, but it was just what I needed. Sam held still while I put his arm in the sling and tightened it to take the weight of his arm off of his shoulder. That should keep it from getting worse, at least. It'll probably be fine in a few days. Moves like nothing is torn or broken, so that's good.

He hadn't stopped staring blankly at the floor by the time I closed up the med kit.

I sighed and crossed my arms, once again at a loss. I decided to say the only thing that seemed to make sense in this stupid situation. "I still love you, Sam."

His only response was to close his eyes. Rejection swept through me like a tornado through corn country. He was just getting my hopes up. Sure does know how to push my buttons. I bit my lip to keep from breaking down as I headed for the door. Silence was his apparently his new best friend.

Or so I thought. "I miss the sound of your voice." The words were barely there, not really sung so much as just pushed out with all the effort he had left in his tired, battered body.

A slow smile broke through the tears still wetting my cheeks. Facing him, I felt the burn of rejection fade away. "And I miss the rush of your skin."

"I miss the still of the silence, as you breathe out, and I breathe in." Sam hung his head, still focusing on breathing even as he let his walls start to collapse.

"I missed the sound of your voice." I said, going to him and putting one hand gently on his good shoulder. I leaned in and planted a kiss on the top if his head, lingering longer that I thought I would.

His smile- no matter how tearful, or snotty, or worn, or short-lived it was- brought a warmth back to my heart that I hadn't realized was missing. "Loudest thing in my head." He looked up at me, just a glance before his head hung again and he took another deep breath, but it was a start.

"And I ache to remember all the quiet, sweet, perfect words that you said."

His eyes met mine fully that time, shame shining bright. "Ali, what can I do to… to make up for-"

"Just pull me down hard and drown me in love." I said, pushing his back to the bed as I climbed over him. I settled with a knee on either side of his body and an elbow on either side of his head. My face was held as close to his as I dared. There was no way he was hiding those eyes from me again.

For a moment he searched my face, weary shock written all over him. The weary shock became confused surprise. His surprised expression quickly melted into the happiest crying/laughing face I'd ever seen.

This time it was my turn to be surprised. He caught me behind the neck and pulled me down for the perfect kiss. When he let go I just stared at him, unable to hide my disbelief at the sudden turn of events.

"I'll make you believe." He finally stopped crying and was now just grinning like a fool.

"And I'll help you forget." The sob/laugh that left me at that moment dispelled the last of my doubt that Sam would be okay.

"I love you."


A/N: SQUEEE! He finally said it without being a siren-zombie! Whew. Now, onto the subject of that little one...

Leave me words! See you next week!