As he gets closer, John can see his youngest through the window, and the sight is almost too much to bear. He knew Sam's condition was critical...but knowing your child is on a ventilator and seeing your child on a ventilator are two different things.

John stands in the doorway, stunned as he takes in the entire scene – the tubes and wires, the beeping machines and flashing screens. Sam lies pale and motionless in the middle of it all while a nurse fusses over him.

"Your daddy's here," she whispers, smoothing the blanket over her patient's chest before glancing at the man she's talking about. "Don't look so surprised," she scolds at his puzzled expression. "It's been years, but I'd recognize you anywhere, John Winchester."

John tilts his head. The raspy voice is as familiar as the piercing brown eyes staring at him over the edge of her mask. If she is who he thinks she is, she's right – it has been years. "Missouri?"

"The one and only."

John wishes he could hug her, and when they're not in this sterile environment, he will. For now, he just smiles. "How long have you been back in Lawrence?"

"About a week. I was planning to get a little more settled with the new house and new job before I paid you a surprise visit, but it looks like you beat me to it." Her sassy tone mellows as she takes in his appearance. "I'd ask how you're doing, but I know no one is having a good day when they're in here."

"It's been the second worst night of my life," John admits, his fatigue and their history causing him to be more candid than usual. He doesn't have to tell her which night takes top prize in that undesirable competition because she was there. She was an EMT before she was a nurse.

"It's amazing how much something can still hurt almost 20 years later," she comments, acknowledging John's pain and loss without saying Mary's name. "It's even more amazing how life goes on."

John nods. Moving forward without Mary beside him seemed impossible back then. Taking care of a baby and a preschooler while also trying to keep his business afloat was overwhelming. The only thing more overwhelming was his grief, and he knows he and his boys wouldn't be where they are today without Bobby and Missouri. Those two were the glue that had held the Winchesters together – Bobby the old surrogate uncle, Missouri the new surrogate aunt. She had seen a family in need and had stepped in, forging a bond of love and support with the young widower and his children.

Six years later she had left Lawrence to begin her career as a nurse, and although they had tried to keep in touch, their friendship had drifted. John didn't even know she was back in town, yet here she is – back in their lives when they need her the most. Their paths crossing on a night similar to the one that had introduced them.

"It's damn good to see you, Missouri."

She smiles, her mouth hidden but her eyes crinkling. "It's good to see you, too, John. I was hoping it wouldn't happen here, but when I found out about that..." She motions to his t-shirt advertising the family business. "I figured it was only a matter of time."

John sighs at the disapproval in her tone. "I know what you're thinking..."

"I doubt it," Missouri replies. "That's my trick, remember?" She winks at him, deciding to let the issue go for now. There will be time later to lecture about the dangers of racing. "I saw Dean earlier, but I don't think he recognized me. Of course, how could he?" She motions to the protective gear covering her from head to toe. Dean was just a ten-year old when she had left town, but she hopes he remembers her when she's not disguised in this get-up, and he's not distracted and worried about his brother. "He grew up handsome," she continues. "And this one..."

John's smile is soft and fond as he listens to Missouri talk about his sons.

"I remember rocking him to sleep," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind Sam's ear. "Such a sweet, precious angel."

John can imagine how Sam would blush and Dean would roll his eyes if they heard that description. She's not wrong, though. Sam was a sweet baby, and he's still a sweet kid. "He didn't deserve what happened tonight."

"No, he didn't," Missouri agrees, wondering if John realizes it's actually morning. Time has a way of blurring after trauma; plus, the PICU is always kept dark and quiet. He wouldn't be the first parent to lose track of days and nights in here. She glances over her shoulder. She knows his answer before she asks but – "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." John pauses, shrugs. "I mean...you read his chart, and you watch the News, right?"

"I do."

"Then you already know."

Missouri nods. She was horrified when she had woken up to the story about a teenage racecar driver involved in a fatal wreck. Even before she had heard the driver's name, she had seen Winchester and Sons emblazoned on the side of the car rolling down the track. Her heart had climbed to her throat when the car had erupted in flames. She had waited – panicked and breathless – for the newscaster to announce who had died. Had prayed John's youngest hadn't met the same fate as his mother. Had felt weak with relief when Sam had been saved. If Dean hadn't gotten there when he did...

"I'm sorry about the other driver. The one who didn't make it."

"I'm not."

Missouri arches an eyebrow at the curt response, then frowns when one of Sam's monitors begins to beep louder.

John frowns as well, concerned by the sudden change. "What's wrong?"

"His heart rate is spiking," Missouri reports, shaking her head at the sensitivity of this child. "He's probably just reacting to the tension in the room. His RHR and BP have been elevated since Dean left for shift change. And now all this talk about the accident..."

"RHR?"

"Resting heart rate," she translates, her own heart aching as the alarm becomes sharper, more insistent. "It's okay, sweet boy," she soothes and strokes the length of Sam's arm, careful not to snag any IV lines.

If Sam hears her, he doesn't respond. His vitals continue to indicate agitation and distress.

Missouri sighs and glances at John in the doorway. She can appreciate his need to be with his youngest but – "Where's Dean?"

"Right here."

Missouri smiles as John's oldest breezes into the room, washing his hands and suiting up in protective gear like he's worked in the PICU for years. She watches Sam's heart rate and blood pressure even out in the next instant, proving what she already knew – this kid just wants his big brother. If Dean is there, Sam will remain stable. Ellen had reported the same phenomenon along with Sam's tendency to react every time Dean speaks.

"I heard Sammy's alarms."

"I figured you would," Missouri replies, touched that Dean still calls his little brother that nickname. "You've always had a sixth sense for him."

Dean narrows his eyes as he fits a mask over his face. "How do you know?"

Sam's heart rate spikes loud and quick before leveling again.

John stares at the monitors, trying to figure out the new sound. He's thankful the alarm has silenced, but the sporadic chirp is also concerning. "What is that?"

Missouri shares a knowing glance with Dean, noticing the satisfied gleam in the big brother's eyes as he realizes Sam does not react the same way to their father's voice. "That's Sam's heart rate," she explains. "It spikes when Dean speaks."

John cuts his eyes at his oldest. "Say something."

Dean huffs a laugh at his dad's tone – half skeptical, half amazed. He crosses to the bed. "Hey, Sammy."

John smiles at the answering chirp; the sound an undeniable response to Dean. He didn't think his boys could surprise him anymore, thought he knew the depth of their bond...but he was wrong.

"I hate to do this, John," Missouri says, attracting his attention. "But there's only one visitor allowed at a time."

John nods. He wants to stay with Sam, but he knows Sam wants Dean. The realization stings, even though he's used to his boys choosing each other. If he's honest, he hopes they always do. "Does that mean you're kickin' me out?"

"Don't let the door hit you."

John chuckles at Missouri's reply, then holds her gaze. "Take care of them."

"Just like they're my own..."

It's a familiar promise that stirs more emotion than John was expecting. How many times have they exchanged those words over the years?

"Go on now," Missouri urges. "Less gawking, more walking."

"Yes ma'am," John tells her even as he lingers. He stares at Dean's back, knowing his oldest is too focused on Sam to look at him. "Dean. I'll be in the waiting room if you need me."

Dean nods but doesn't turn.

John smiles at the predicted response and heads back the way he came.

Dean sits in the chair he spent the night in and stares at the nurse on the opposite side of Sam's bed. "Do we know you?"

"You do."

Dean glances at her name badge. "Missouri Moseley," he reads aloud, then blinks as the name triggers a series of memories. He stares at her again, replaying her favorite quip about gawking and walking, her empty threats of whacking people with spoons. He remembers a voice like hers echoing throughout his childhood, teaching and scolding and comforting. He remembers her eyes and her smell and her hugs. He remembers her. "Aunt Missouri?"

She beams at him from beneath her mask. "That's right, honey."

"I thought you moved away?"

"I did, but I'm back now. I missed my sweet boys."

"Well, Sammy's still sweet," Dean allows. "But I'm not. I'm badass."

Missouri smiles at the teasing correction. She can only imagine the tough, heartbreaker reputation Dean has crafted over the years. The child she left behind has grown into a confident young man, and she couldn't be prouder. She turns her attention to Sam, thankful he's calm and resting. "You're still good with him."

"Of course I am. He's mine, remember?"

Missouri hums a laugh. She does indeed remember a four-year old Dean setting her straight about that. She can still see him standing in the doorway of the Winchester home with baby Sam on his hip as they both had gazed at her, the newcomer on their porch. The four-year old had listened as she had introduced herself, then had provided an introduction of his own.

"I'm Dean, and this is Sammy. He's mine."

The proclamation had been adorable until Missouri had realized the four-year old was serious. His baby brother belonged to him, and if she was going to join their family, she needed to understand that. As trust was built, Dean had allowed Missouri a more direct role in caring for Sam. She had reveled in the opportunity but had always respected the big brother's possessive streak. Throughout the years, it became a running joke between them – "arguing" over who Sam belonged to...like there was ever any doubt.

"Is he gonna be okay?"

The vulnerability in that question breaks Missouri's heart. "Oh, honey." She reaches across the bed, covering Dean's hand with her own; both of their hands resting on Sam's. "It might be a rough road for a while, but I think he's gonna be just fine."

"He better be," Dean murmurs, his focus returning to his kid.

Missouri takes his shift in attention as her cue. She pats his hand, then scans the monitors before crossing to the door. "I'll be in the nurses' station," she says as she strips her gear, washes her hands, and exits the room.

Dean spends the next several hours watching Sam, accustomed now to the whoosh of the ventilator, to the rhythmic beeps indicating a stable little brother. At lunchtime, Missouri brings him a sandwich and doesn't leave until he eats it. When it's midafternoon, she returns with a stranger.

"Dean. This is Dr. Collins."

Dean glances over his shoulder at the man slipping a yellow gown over his white coat. He stares at him but doesn't speak.

Missouri recognizes the look and stony silence for the warnings they are. "He's part of Dr. Turner's surgical team," she says, hoping the cheerful reassurance in her tone will ease Dean's suspicions; the big brother always on alert whenever someone unfamiliar approaches his kid. "Dr. Turner is behind schedule in the OR, so Dr. Collins is here to complete his rounds."

"Please. Call me Cas," the doctor replies. "It's short for Castiel, a name I chose for myself after my great awakening. It means 'my cover is God' or 'shield of God'."

Dean cuts his eyes at Missouri. She really expects him to allow this fruit loop anywhere near Sam?

Missouri responds with a tight smile. She admits the doctor is peculiar. She can't pinpoint if it's his expressionless face, his flat affect, or just his whole demeanor, but something about him is definitely...off. Though she knows most nurses and even other doctors have dismissed him as a religious fanatic, she also knows this man is smart; the kind of smart that makes people odd.

"Cas is one of our best physicians," she tells Dean, reaching for a mask while holding his gaze in a silent plea for him to cooperate. She understands his initial reaction to this new doctor, but they can't proceed with the next step in Sam's recovery without a doctor's orders.

Dean senses the importance of the visit and nods his permission. He may not trust this Cas character, but he does trust Missouri. He watches both of them cross to the opposite side of Sam's bed while he continues to sit beside his brother and hold the kid's hand. He tracks the doctor's movements as he folds back the blanket and lifts Sam's gown along with the bandages underneath.

"The incision looks good. Sutures intact. Typical post-op inflammation and edema. Minimal drainage, but I still want these dressings changed before the next shift."

"Of course," Missouri agrees, resituating Sam's clothes and sheets.

"This looks good as well," the doctor continues, examining the stitches across Sam's forehead.

Dean is thankful for the positive report but – "Why does he still have a fever?"

"Fevers are typical after surgery, especially in children." Cas studies the monitors, reading the various numbers. "His heart rate and blood pressure are stable. O2 sats within normal limits. His temperature is elevated, but his incisions are clean with no signs of infection. He's also receiving two antibiotics, and his last white count did not indicate concern. I predict his fever will break in the next 24 hours."

"And if it doesn't?"

"We'll re-examine and treat as indicated."

Dean glances at Missouri to gauge whether she agrees with that plan.

She nods. "It might not look like it, but Sam is doing well overall."

"He is," Cas confirms. "Surprisingly well considering his condition when he arrived in the ER last night."

Dean would rather forget about last night, but he knows that's impossible since Sam will be dealing with the consequences of his injuries for the rest of his life. The physical and emotional scars, the dangers associated with a suppressed immune system, the risks related to smoke inhalation and cracked ribs, the residual effects of a concussion and massive blood loss...

"Reduce this patient's level of sedation," Cas is saying when Dean tunes back into the conversation. "When he's conscious and oriented, begin extubation protocols."

Dean narrows his eyes, trying to keep up with the medical lingo. Both the doctor and Missouri are staring at the tube down Sam's throat, which must mean – "You're taking that out?"

"Extubation is usually decided after a weaning readiness test involving spontaneous breathing on a T-piece or low levels of ventilatory assist."

Dean blinks at Cas's explanation, then looks at Missouri for translation.

She smiles, wishing he could see it. "Sam will come off the ventilator after he proves he can either breathe on his own or with very little supplemental oxygen."

"Exactly," Cas affirms, moving toward the door to begin stripping his protective gear. "Update his chart to reflect verbal orders, and I'll sign off later." He speaks louder as he lathers and rinses his hands in the corner sink. "Dr. Turner or myself or someone on the team will check in tomorrow morning, or you can page us if we're needed before then."

"Will do," Missouri replies, though she doubts she'll need them. Not only is she an experienced PICU nurse, but she's been taking care of Sam since he was literally in diapers. She's confident she can manage anything he throws at her, and if she can't, Sam's big brother can. She waits for the doctor to leave the room before turning to Dean.

"He's weird."

Missouri laughs at the blunt appraisal. "I think you mean different." Dean scowls at the diplomatic rephrasing, causing her to laugh again. "Okay, fine. He's a little weird...but he gave us the order we've been waiting for. If we reduce Sam's sedation now, he should be awake in six to 12 hours."

Dean pulls a face at the timeline. "Why so long?"

Because your brother is in a medically induced coma, Missouri thinks but wouldn't dare mention "coma" and "Sam" in the same sentence to Dean.

"The heavier the sedation, the longer the wait," she says instead.

Dean nods. "Okay. And then when he wakes up, that comes out?"

"Not quite," Missouri tells him, knowing Dean wants his brother off the ventilator but – "It doesn't usually go that quickly. We don't pull the tube as soon as a patient is conscious. There are steps we must take to ensure Sam can protect his airway and is strong enough to breathe by himself with minimal assist. But if all goes well, he should be extubated by this time tomorrow."

"That would be awesome," Dean says, his quiet voice more reflective of his fatigue than his enthusiasm. Under his mask, he's beaming. "I can't wait to see his eyes open."

"Me, neither," Missouri admits, wondering if they're the same color hazel they were when Sam was younger. She also wonders what his voice will sound like, if he'll remember her...

"He will."

Missouri smiles, both at Dean's ability to read her thoughts and his confidence in Sam's memory. "How do you know?"

"I just do."

It's the kind of simple response that occurs when someone is born knowing how to do something – and for Dean, he was born knowing how to read Sam. Their connection exists on an innate level, and Missouri had forgotten how fascinating it is to watch. She lingers by the bed before crossing to one of the cabinets along the far wall. "Help me with this?" she asks, collecting items needed to change Sam's bandages.

Dean nods and ends up doing most of the work himself. He cleans the wound under Missouri's supervision, then presses clean gauze over the incision.

She smiles at his gentle touch, remembering how he handled baby Sam the same way. "You've always been so careful with him."

"Not always," Dean corrects, pausing before he meets her gaze. "I wasn't careful with him last night."

Missouri frowns at the guilt-laced bitterness in his tone. "Honey. What happened last night wasn't your fault."

"It was somebody's fault."

"Not yours," she repeats. "And not your daddy's, either."

Dean doesn't respond, keeping his eyes trained on Sam's side.

Missouri recognizes avoidance when she sees it. She pulls Sam's gown over the fresh bandage and readjusts the blanket. "Dean. Look at me." She waits until he does. "Time spent laying blame is wasted time."

"I know," Dean agrees. He sighs, his mask billowing at the forced exhale. "I just – "

"I know," she echoes. "You're scared and angry and want someone to pay for what they did to Sam."

"He did pay," Dean tells her. "He's dead."

"What?"

"The driver who caused the wreck. He died on the track."

"Well, then..." Missouri processes the news, not realizing the connection until now. "It sounds like justice has already been served...which means you need to let this go, Dean. You need to let it go, so you can focus on what's most important."

"Taking care of Sammy."

Missouri smiles at the reflexive answer. "Yes. Sam gets his strength from you, and when he wakes up, he's gonna need his big brother more than he ever has. You need to focus on what happens next, not what happened last night."

It's the kind of soft kick in the ass Missouri is famous for, and Dean is glad she's there to give it because she's right.

"I'm what?"

"Right," Dean says and smirks as she winks at him before gathering and disposing the soiled bandages.

Missouri leaves the brothers alone for another hour, but when she returns, she insists Dean takes a break and escorts him to the waiting room herself. She hugs him since contact precautions don't apply outside the PICU, then hugs John as well. The next one in line is another blast from the past.

"Bobby Singer." She looks him up and down before pulling him close. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Still tall, dark, and handsome," Bobby confirms, feeling her laugh against his chest before holding her at arm's length. "You're a sight for sore eyes yourself."

"Got that right."

Bobby chuckles. "John told me you were back."

"Yeah, well..." Missouri shrugs like it's not a big deal. "I figured it was past time for a family reunion."

"Got that right," Bobby repeats. "It ain't been the same without you."

"I certainly hope not," Missouri replies, feeling lighter and happier than she has all day. She basks in the moment, then sighs when she remembers why they're together in a hospital waiting room instead of around a dinner table. "Dean is taking a break," she announces, pinning him with a hard stare before he can object again. "You, too," she adds, glancing at John. "I want you both to go home. Take a shower, eat a hot meal, and get some rest. You can come back in the morning."

"What?" Dean shakes his head. "No fucking way."

Missouri arches an eyebrow. "You may be old enough to drink, Dean Winchester, but you ain't old enough to sass me...especially with that kind of language." She pauses, her gaze shifting between John and Bobby since she knows the source of such choice vocabulary. That's what she gets for leaving these two men to finish raising this child. She can only hope her sweet Sam doesn't talk like that. "Now, you two go on. Me and Bobby got this."

Bobby nods in agreement, thankful Missouri hasn't lost her touch; her brand of tough love still the perfect complement to his. He sidesteps John and Dean, leaving them to fend for themselves as he heads toward the PICU's entrance.

To be continued...