A/N: I've gradually figured out a rhythm for writing updates on my cell phone and transferring them to my laptop. I hope you all are enjoying these recent updates as of late even if they aren't my usual repertoire.

I know I've said in the past, but I am my own beta reader and so as a result - I may miss mistakes here and there. If I catch them after posting I usually make necessary edits. All reviews are greatly appreciated.

This story is A/U and non-canon. So, the brothers may not act like they do in the show. I tried to put myself in the headspace of a panicked older sibling which admittedly is difficult when you're the youngest.

Hope you all enjoy. Thank you to FabinaForever11 for your review.

Thanks!

Sad-Blue-Eyed-Angel 2010

John was allowed in by the emergency room personnel to hold Alan's hand and God, John couldn't believe how small Alan's hand was in his. His brother just turned eleven barely three months ago. His brother that realistically should have been at school like Gordon and Virgil. His kid brother was insanely smart for his age, had been permitted to skip grades fourth last year and fifth straight into sixth earlier this year. Had Alan not skipped grades, he'd have likely still been at school, not finding himself in the path of Lucifer. Their grandmother had warned them all to stay away from the dauntless bull. He wasn't very kind, being a badass to the other cattle. Well now, Alan had been on the receiving end of this bull's fury and John watched as a nurse compressed an ambu-bag, breathing for Alan when he wasn't capable on his own. John may not have medical training, but he knew having a crushed rib cage wasn't good. He didn't listen much to the medical babble, but he understood a little bit.

Fractured skull, broken scapula, crushed rib cage, broken Thoracic spine, fractures in the L2 through L5. The list went on and that was only the broken bones. John may have vomited a little in his mouth, forcing himself to choke it down when he heard laceration of his liver and perforation in some of his digestive organs as well as pneumothorax. This was way more than John could handle and he wanted his mom and hell even his dad with all his being in that moment. They'd know what to do.

A couple people that John likened to aliens came in the room, wearing flight helmets and black jumpsuits with reflective striping down their arms and legs. They transferred Alan from gurney to gurney and John was ushered out to join the alien people that loaded Alan into the helicopter. John watched as the gurney Alan was strapped to was locked into place, the flight medic resuming compression on the ambu-bag.

John climbed in, putting on the headset that was given to him by the pilot. He sat near Alan's head, secured in a jump seat opposite one of the medics. Feeling a vibration from inside the belly of the helicopter, John looked up seeing the shadows of the propellor blades rotate overhead. He made himself return his gaze back to Alan, wishing more than anything to see those blue eyes staring back at him. John tore his gaze from his brother's pitiful form to look outside the windscreen, watching as the hospital shrank the higher, they flew. Soon, the helicopter was speeding through the air, John knowing that Alan's fate was in the hands of a higher power. He didn't believe in God having previously refused the chaplain at the local hospital that had offered to come in and pray with John over Alan while they waited for Med Flight to arrive. The older blonde Tracy was disbelieving that a loving god would make their family suffer through the tragedies that befell them. While he didn't believe in God, he had nobody else to talk to in that moment.

Bowing his head, John prayed. To his mother, his father wherever he was, grandfather, all ancestors that came before them all and finally God, the one he didn't believe in.

"Don't you dare take him from us. He's just a kid, a baby. He didn't do anything to deserve this." John felt the resentment grow in his heart as his anger at their situation increased. Raising the hand that wasn't currently grasping Alan's, John swiped at his eyes which had started to overflow with hot, angered tears. Raising his eyes heavenwards, John continued. "I hate you…I hate you!"

John didn't know if what he said was audible on the headset, but he saw the pilot's head turn slightly in his direction at his venomous whisper. At one point John leaned forward to kiss Alan's forehead and he whispered softly in Alan's ear. "You are not permitted to leave, I don't give you, my permission. You must stay, okay Sprout?"

The flight continued in such a blur that when they landed, John felt like he'd been transported through a wormhole. Alan was wheeled out of the helicopter, a medical team ushering away with the precious little boy that John was terrified of losing. John tried to follow as far as he was allowed to go, and he came to a stop when someone gently pushed back against his chest. John went over to the wall, punching the plaster in defeat. Turning his gaze back towards the hall beyond, John pressed his back into the wall and dropped to a crouch, cupping his hands around the back of his neck and keeping his head down.

When Alan was taken into the surgical theatre, he was hurriedly prepped. Surgeons descended on Alan like hyenas on a lion's left-over prey. Their primary concern was getting control of the bleeding, Alan's liver was severely damaged as were several other vital organs. The surgeon cursed after he got Alan opened up, Alan's liver was too badly damaged. He made a decision to remove the worse damaged and leave Alan with a partial. The human body could survive without a whole liver.

Once the bleeding had been brought under control, the next order of business was to work on the broken bones and Alan's pneumothorax. He was a very sick little boy and if the surgeon was honest, he was lucky to be alive. He certainly had a guardian angel working overtime up there. The surgeon didn't pay attention to the time, the hours ran away with him as he and several others steadily worked to help in Alan's recovery.

By the time the surgery was over, the surgeon blinked at the time. It'd been a little over thirteen hours. Alan who had stabilized as the surgery carried on, was on oxygen to allow his lungs which had collapsed at some point after his run in with the bull to recover at a slow pace. Alan was taken to the pediatric intensive care unit after he'd left the recovery ward.

~.~.~.~.~

John found himself in the hospital chapel when sitting in the waiting room was driving him batty. He hadn't been paying attention to where his feet led him, but he developed a sour taste in his mouth when he saw the altar in the middle of the room. He didn't want to be there, but he was tired. He'd been walking all over the hospital since he'd arrived when every attempt at finding out how his brother was failed to get more than a "I'm sorry, there's been no news yet" from reception.

Collapsing in the nearest seat, John hung his head. He wanted to know his brother was okay. The small child had been like the glue that held their remaining fragile fragments of their family together and to lose him would probably destroy the remaining brotherhood. John drew his knees up to his chest, choking on his tears that welled into his eyes at the thought of Alan not surviving this. John didn't know what to do. His grandmother and brothers had yet to arrive, his grandmother's minivan had gotten a flat tire while in-route and that left John by himself. He was crumbling.

John tried to stop the onslaught of tears, but he was too overwhelmed now. Burying his head in his arms, John allowed himself to cry for his brother. He didn't mean to sob quite so loudly, but when a gentle hand grasped onto his shoulder; John was loathe to turn it away. It grounded him, brought him what little comfort could be found in that moment.

"God, please. Please don't take him away. He's my baby brother and I'm not ready to lose him. He's just a baby, he's eleven. He's too much too young to die. I'll do anything you want, just please…don't take him away. Please. Please! Please don't!"

John didn't know when the hand on his shoulder left, but as he lifted his head to thank the person that grounded him, he found that he was alone in the chapel. The door never opened or closed; the hinges creaked when John had first entered the room. Naturally John's suspicion made him look around, but there was nobody. Standing, the blonde exited the chapel in hopes that someone could tell him how his brother was.

It was another hour before John was finally told that Alan's bleeding was brought under control. John's legs failed at supporting his weight and he was glad for the chair behind him because he fell back with a plop. Medical staff informed John that his grandmother had told staff that until she got there, John was given temporary authority to grant any medical treatments for his brother as well as be privy to all updates regarding Alan's care.

John choked at that news, not believing himself to be a sufficient choice, but when he was approached for permission to provide Alan with a transfusion, he was sure in his decision to approve the treatment. Time passed quickly from that point on and soon John was joined by his grandmother, younger brothers, and Mr. Carlson. A little more time soon passed and a harried Scott sprinted in. He'd been with friends and when he got the call, his most trusted friend transported Scott who was in no fit state to drive.

Alan however was still in surgery. All medical updates that came from that point onwards consisted of Alan's treatment to his pneumothorax, the stabilization of his crushed rib cage and the like. When Alan was finally brought out of surgery, the only family allowed in at first was only their grandmother. Soon though, the matriarch granted the continued permission that Alan's brothers could come in to see their brother.

John was ushered in first when Scott had stormed off, stating he was going to personally see to the euthanasia of the bull that attacked his brother, legalities be damned. John for all his efforts to remain strong, gravitated to Alan's side and took to resting his head beside his silent little brother. Alan was pale, still, and quiet, all things Alan normally wasn't.

John tangled his fingers into Alan's, marveling once more how small Alan's hands were compared to his own. John carried on a quiet conversation with Alan, hoping the medical professionals were correct when they said Alan could hear what they said if they only spoke to him.

"Hey munchie, I hope you can hear me. Keep hanging on, you're so strong. So much stronger than I could ever dream of being. You know when you wake up, you really should thank Bane, he defended you against Lucifer. He is the goodest boy that has ever been." John couldn't stop the chuckle. "Can you hear me? I just said something that wasn't a word, like you always do just to piss me off. You know I'm the grammar and word police in our house."

Alan remained ever silent and that prodded John to continue.

"I know you've always been afraid of dogs, Bane not withstanding for the longest time. But I wish you could have seen him in action today, he's more than a hero in my eyes. He put his life on the line with Lucifer, but he brought my attention to the fact that something was horribly wrong. He should get the thickest, juiciest T-Bone every night for the rest of forever because of what he did." John said before he carried on. "I'll never forget when that dog attacked you when you were five."

John was sitting in the living room doing homework, their dad before he'd gone away was in the kitchen washing dishes. Scott had been doing his time after being grounded for getting in a fight at school and helping their dad dry and put away dishes. Gordon and Virgil had been in the dining room, both completing their own homework as well. Meanwhile Alan who wasn't in school, was outside playing on the swing set their grandfather built for he and his brothers' years earlier.

John had just turned a page in his homework packet, setting his calculator to the side when a scream followed by a snarl tore through the tranquility of the late afternoon air. A dish broke, the culprit being their dad when he'd dropped the drinking glass at the sound of his baby's scream. John himself could never recall a time that he saw his father haul ass out of the room, but this time he had.

Scott followed shortly after, wielding a broom as a weapon. John had wisely kept his younger brothers in the house, mindful of their safety. An echoing wail carried through the air and John heard his father and brother yelling words he at the time would never have repeated. Taking a chance, John exited the back door that went to the fenced in yard. He'd run out and gathered Alan into his arms while his dad and brother had the dog otherwise occupied.

When he got Alan in the house, he'd immediately pulled up the pant legs to Alan's overalls, finding blood soaking through the material. Alan had been bitten and as a result he carried a fear of dogs for several years. As well as four equal distance puncture scars on his calf.

John recalled all the time he or Scott or Virgil had to comfort their brother when he was approached by a dog. Their grandmother hadn't replaced her dog when he passed away because of Alan's fear. Even puppies terrified the child.

Without thinking, John began caressing Alan's leg that carried the scars of that dog attack.

A nurse knocked on the door and stepped in, reminding John he needed to let Alan's other visitors have a turn and John frowned. He didn't want to leave Alan. Not when he could have lost him.

"Hey munchie, I need to go. You keep your chin up and stay strong. I love you and I hope to get a proper hug next time I see you." John said, standing and bending down to kiss his baby brother's cheek. Leaning closer, John whispered in Alan's ear. "Please don't go, I love you and can't lose you. Please don't go with mom if she comes here."

John didn't bother hiding the trails of tears that had fallen down his cheeks. He exited the room and was passed by Scott. Apparently, his friend that brought Scott to the hospital talked Scott down from his vengeance against the bull and convinced him to stay put.

By the time everyone, including Mr. Carlson had been in to see Alan…it was the next day. John had slept in the world's most uncomfortable chair in the hall outside Alan's ward and he was the first by Alan's side.

The boy was still unconscious, not that John expected Alan to be awake. His surgeon had explained earlier that he had Alan on a high dose of barbituates to keep him comatose. The induced coma would ensure Alan didn't aggravate his injuries or cause himself further harm. John refused to go far from Alan's side, needing to be close for his own sake to know his brother was still there. John lay his head on the bed beside his baby brother once more and slipping a hand beneath Alan's and grasping it.

The older blonde just stared at his brother's face, memorizing the little scar on the corner of Alan's nose where he'd scratched a little too exuberantly when he had chickenpox as a little guy. The mismatched blonde hair when compared to Alan's blonde eyebrows. The tiny freckles that dusted Alan's cheeks and bridge of his nose. He carried some bruising on his face and neck and other bruising beneath his hospital garments. John's jaw ticked as he thought about Lucifer. The bull was as unpredictable as they come, and his grandmother had already called the people that own Lucifer to retrieve him from her property. She told the owners what their bull did to her youngest grandchild when they called in, angry about the injuries to his nose.

John didn't look forward to any lawsuits that may come about from this incident, and he still hadn't heard anything from his father, and he was beginning to think he fell off the face of the Earth.

"I'm here Munchie. I'm right here." John whispered, using the nickname that Alan let only him use. John had a friend in high school that quite often called Alan John's mini-munchkin. John took to calling Alan Munchie, short for munchkin. "I'm not going anywhere Munchie."

"John, the doctor is outside and wants to talk to us all about Alan." Grandma said, leaning in the door to get John's attention.

"He can come in here. I'm not leaving Al again." John said showing a hint of stubbornness.

"John, please. You can leave the door open. But the room is too cramped with us all in there." Grandma said, giving John a look. John stood begrudgingly but he didn't exit the room, he took to leaning against the doorframe, unwilling to leave Alan for long.

"Lay it on us doc." Scott said, leaning against the door, keeping his back to the room acting like an unofficial bodyguard for his brother.

"Alan is out of the critical stage. He's done well over these last thirty-six hours. I'd like to gradually wean him off the barbituates, see how he handles waking up."

"Isn't that a bit soon?" Virgil asked, worried that Alan would be coming out of his induced coma prematurely.

"Not necessarily. Alan doesn't have any major cranial swelling from the skull fracture and his other injuries aren't life threatening. It's better if we wean him off the medication gradually and let him wake up. He'll still need to be careful, but we won't know the full extent of his injuries or how he's handling them if he's not awake to tell us."

"Are you sure?" Grandma inquired. She took in a deep breath, taking comfort from Mr. Carlson who rubbed a hand on her upper back.

"I'm sure it's the perfect time to begin waking him up. The longer we leave him under the longer it'll be until he's ready to go home with you all." The doctor said. "I'll begin weaning him off the medication tomorrow, I'm not going to cut him off entirely, just reduce his dosage a little at a time until he begins to wake on his own."

"Okay." Ruth said. When the discussion with the doctor was done, John turned away to go reclaim his spot next to Alan.