AN: I love love love love all the fabulous comments! I have responded to every single one. But since there are a number of them and I get wordy, I put my responses after this chapter this time so you don't have to slog through my ramblings before reading what you really want.

This is a short chapter, but I have a second, longer one to post today too.

Also, the characters Queequeg and Ishmael are from Moby Dick, a book about a man whose obsessive quest against what he perceived as the ultimate evil eventually led to his death and the deaths of nearly everyone from his crew...apropos for Supernatural, I've always thought. Enjoy (hopefully!) and please comment!

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Sam felt like he'd spent a lot of time trying to wake up, which was very strange. How hard could it be? Normally, he woke up fairly fast. He might not be much interested in the world until he'd had a cup or two of coffee, but he didn't have trouble actually getting his eyes open. So why was he now…what was he doing again?

He tried again to get his eyes open. Like the rest of him, they felt so very, very heavy. It was like gravity was stronger. Maybe he was on a bigger planet. He knew it wasn't true, but the idea amused him. He should tell Dean…wait, had Dean been talking to him? He thought so, and concentrated, but he couldn't hear anything right now.

Sam shifted a little and his whole right side protested loudly. He tried to cradle the area with his arms, but the left arm didn't seem to want to move. What was going on? He couldn't remember getting hurt, though he had an impression of fear and pain and then utter despair. Not wanting to move anything on his screaming right side, he tried again to move his left arm so he could rub his aching temple, but it didn't seem to work and he heard a metallic jangle.

Confusion – and a somewhat desperate need to use the restroom – finally propelled Sam's eyes open. He was in a dimly-lit motel room, the only light filtering through the paisley drab green curtains. Dad was sitting in a chair at the side of the bed, eyes glinting in the meager light. Ordinarily, Sam would have tried to interpret the look on the man's face, but he was still feeling muddled and slow, and he decided to focus on his most urgent need first. But as he went to sit up, Dad pushed gently but firmly down on his left shoulder, and he realized that that wrist was – what the hell? – handcuffed to the built-in dresser between the beds.

"Keep still," ordered Dad in a low rumble.

"But – " Sam paused to lick his lips and clear his throat when he own voice came out an octave lower than normal. "I, uh, bathroom."

Face hard, Dad held out a water bottle with the top cut off. His expression didn't change when Sam's eyes widened in surprise, disgust, and more than a little confusion. "You're not going anywhere yet."

"What? I…no, Dad." What was going on here? Sam lifted the handcuffed wrist as if Dad had somehow missed seeing the restraint. "I don't…why?" He hated how small his voice was.

"You're not getting up," Dad repeated, leaving Sam staring in confusion. Why did Dad look so angry?

"I got him," said Dean softly, getting up from the other bed. Dad cast him a look that Sam couldn't interpret, but didn't argue as Dean took off the handcuff. He even looked almost ashamed when Dean dropped the handcuffs on the floor with lips pinched in disgust.

In the end, Sam could barely walk to the bathroom even leaning heavily on Dean. He didn't even argue when Dean only turned his back but didn't leave. Sam didn't have the energy to complain. He was just grateful he was allowed to go to the bathroom. Which lead him back to his confusion. He leaned on the counter, hands still dripping from washing, and rubbed at his aching head. He knew something big had happened, but it was just a big blank.

"Dean what's going on? I can't remember how I got hurt," Sam half whispered.

Dean pulled his hand away from the bump on his head. "Don't touch that," he directed quietly. He met Sam's eyes in the mirror and Sam squinted hard. Normally, he could read Dean's eyes like a book, but they were tumultuous in a way that he couldn't define right now. Maybe at full brain power he could, but not when he could hardly make his eyes focus on any one thing.

"Dean?"

Dean tucked one of Sam's arms over his shoulder and started them back toward the bed before he answered. "Do you remember the dragon?"

Sam dragged his reluctant feet about two more steps before the words penetrated. Dragon. Tarasque. Spear, pain. Handcuffs? Oh my god. They knew. Sam couldn't breathe, couldn't feel his arms or legs. Dean grunted something and tightened his hold and the dark shape that was Dad rushed toward him. The world went white and faded almost completely.

In a dream-like state, Sam's reality split. On one hand, he was aware of Dean and Dad getting him back into the bed, checking the bandages on his side (ow!), cleaning something there (double ow!), replacing the bandages, putting ice against his aching head, and helping him swallow some pills and Gatorade. On the other hand, he imagined himself as Queequeg, sleeping in a coffin because he accepted his inevitable death. But Queequeg got back up, didn't he? Maybe Sam would get up so Dad could forge his harpoon as blood and nails and so kill his white whale. Would Sam go when he beckoned? Would that leave Dean as Ishmael, sole survivor of the mad quest?

But it wasn't a harpoon, was it? It was a spear.

Sam's mind quieted and he saw Dad pick up the handcuffs, then Dean pull them from him. "No, Dad," he admonished, barely above a whisper. "You can't punish him for this…like he hasn't punished himself enough."

"I know," Dad whispered. He relinquished the restraints without protest. "Not a punishment. I just want him – need him – safe."

Suddenly Sam couldn't keep quiet. His biggest secret had been dumped onto the floor for everyone to see, but there was something they didn't know. "I changed my mind," he said, hoarsely. Both men turned toward him sharply, obviously surprised by his awareness. "I had the plan, but I changed my mind. That's why I used the spear." He wanted to explain more, to tell them that the sight of them running pell mell toward him, toward danger, reminded him that they were a family. But there were just too many words and too much emotion and he had no idea how to get it out.

Despite his low volume, Sam could tell the other two had heard him. Dad looked like he'd been carved out of stone. Dean wasn't much more expressive, but he perched on the side of the bed. Sam desperately wished he knew what his brother was thinking. Was he angry? Disbelieving? Disappointed? Sam's heart shriveled a little thinking about how much he'd hurt Dean.

But then Dean, bless him, patted his shoulder. Sam could have cried from the contact alone, because Dean was saying a thousand things in that simple touch. But Sam already couldn't keep his eyes open. He yawned and tried to say something else, but it came out mushy and wrong, then he was asleep.

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AN addendum: I first introduced the character of John's buddy in Vietnam Jerry "Julius" Anselm in chapter 20 of the fic Moments: Dean which was put out under my old user name of Woomie. The character stuck with me and will probably make a reappearance in a flashback again some time.

Stormy: I couldn't kill off Sammy! There will be plenty more time for Dean (and John) to look after Sam. The brotherly love is at the heart of everything I write – or at least that's the plan. I truly hope I give the right amount of support / love / closure in the next chapters. I love responding to all of the comments because I love reading them so much. I get excited whenever I see that there's a new comment.

superobes: I don't know if I should apologize or be flattered that the chapter made you tear up! I wasn't sure that I was going to bring Bobby back in…but I had to.

Bell1408: I get very nervous whenever I write something from someone else's prompt or idea because I'm terrified of disappointing them. I hope you keep enjoying this.

ToastySoup: Ah, gracias. Thank you so very much for your kind words.

sfaulkenberry: Oh my goodness! You made me blush. I do love me some Sam whump. I didn't think about the similarities to Albatross but you're exactly right. I was sad for Bobby too. :-( I wish you could go set them all straight!

Sealai: Hang in there! Comfort (eventually) coming, I promise!

Margo1234: You're not wrong!! Poor Sam.

Timelady66: I know...I'm so mean. Thanks for the compliment.

Shazza19: Thank you! And you are so right.

SPNfan: I'm so glad you're reading!

Atlasina7: Thank you for reading!

Lena: I have a feeling there will be a one-shot of that flashback with Bobby. I swear, every comment you write incites my muse to poke me. LOL (That's not a complaint!)