Chapter 2

"Dean? Come on with me. They took him upstairs to surgery. We just missed Jake coming to let you know before. Come on." Thomas took Dean by the elbow and steered him away from the sight he was fixated on.

For the fifteenth time, Dean paced back and forth in front of the doors that Thomas promised led to where they were working on his brother. More than anything, he wanted to see Sam, wanted to be able to prove to himself, with his very own eyes, that his brother was still with him. Dean had never put much stock into what he couldn't verify with cold hard facts or simply seeing that would make him believe, and the words of one paramedic certainly weren't enough to outweigh what he had seen downstairs. Especially when that paramedic was no longer there to reassure him again. The IV bag had drained sometime over the past couple trips between the cold seat in the hallway and his new path, and he'd pulled the needle out, leaving it in a corner.

The police had already come and gone, as Dean knew they would. They were more concerned that two men had managed to find whatever they did and kill it, afraid that he and his brother were the ones killing the townspeople, than what it was that they found in the alley. Even out of it as he was, Dean had easily convinced them that he and Sam were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and someone else had shot the 'dog' when he had been taking care of his brother. He didn't know how the thing died.

Dean thought back to what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Some random clue to mysterious deaths, just like all the other hunts they'd been on had led to loading their handguns with silver bullets, storing a knife apiece, and heading off into the alleyway that had led to seven other deaths. Thinking back, Dean mused that it probably wasn't the smartest thing they had done to date.

Sam had asked him more than once if they shouldn't do some more research into this before confronting it. They thought it was some type of Black Dog, but a few of the clues didn't quite match up and he wasn't quite sure that they had the whole story. Dean could remember laughing at him and telling him to quit being a sissy; a silver bullet should take care of the thing either way. I swear, if you're okay Sam, I'll…well I'll try to listen to you some more about that…at least a little.

They had been lucky enough to find a motel around the corner from the alleyway where each of the victims had been attacked, and Dean was thankful for that now, since he had momentarily panicked earlier when he thought he had left the Impala there. The thought of his car safely in the motel parking lot had calmed his nerves some, and he could focus his attention on the surgery bay doors again, willing them to open.

The moment the two had entered the alleyway, they knew something was wrong, and before either of them could react, the beast was upon them, knocking Dean to the ground. Sam had shot at the thing, but the silver had no effect on it, and it had turned on the one who was pestering him. The beast had leapt from Dean's back and flew into his brother, knocking Sam back against the wall and clawing at his chest. Dean didn't remember Sam falling to the ground, or shooting into the beast's mouth as it clamped down on his hand. He had only just barely regained his senses when he saw the beast claw at Sam's chest again, and watched his kid brother's eyes roll back into his head. Before he could stand up and reach for his knife, Dean saw Sam go flying into the air and connect with the third floor fire escape before crashing to the ground again. He heard the snap of bones breaking and almost felt when Sam's head connected with the asphalt, and went into a rage. Nothing messed with his little brother and lived to tell about it.

He didn't remember much after that. He knew that he had gotten his brother help, but couldn't remember how, and while he knew that someone had stitched him up, for the life of him, he couldn't remember more than that she was pretty. He supposed that that should concern him, but he'd had concussions before, and knew that it would pass soon enough.

Dean didn't remember falling asleep, but he could tell almost instantly that he was dreaming. He was in the woods somewhere, a shotgun slung across his back and a flashlight in his left hand. He didn't know what he was hunting, but he pressed onwards anyway. The woods were pitch black, and Dean idly wondered why the moon wasn't helping any. He pulled the shotgun from his back when he started to feel the hair rising on the back of his neck, but never got the chance to use it. As his head was being pushed further down into the forest floor and something kept him from fighting back he counted the seconds until Sam kicked the thing's ass. He felt his lungs burn as he fought for air and wondered why Sam wasn't helping him. As spots danced before his dream sight, he realized that Sam wasn't coming to his rescue.

Dean woke with a start, clutched his side, and jumped up again. Dizziness assaulted his balance, and he had to grab on to the chair arm to keep from falling back down. He pushed himself forward again and made the trek nervously to the nurses' station.

"Any word on my…"

"Mr. Winchester, we'll be sure to let you know as soon as we know anything. Now please, sit down. Or go get some coffee or something. Please."

Dean huffed at the older woman and made his way back to his chair. The dream scared him, and he wanted more than anything for someone to let him know that it wouldn't come true; at least not in the near future.

Several hours and many frightening dreams later, Dean found himself once again dying in his dream and once again being jolted awake. Only this time, there was a strange man in green scrubs standing in front of him, his hands outstretched in peace.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean was on his feet. "My brother?"

"Your brother was in pretty bad shape when he got to me. His heart was pretty stressed out and his lungs were far too overworked and one of his ribs had punctured one."

Dean's heart fell and he found it hard to draw in a breath. He collapsed into the chair behind him and buried his head into his hands. Oh my God. It's happening. I can't believe I let him down. I should have been there for him; it should have been me lying there.

The doctor continued onward, unaware of Dean's plight. "We lost him twice on the table and that was on top of his heart stopping once downstairs and you know about the one in the ambulance. The damage was extensive to his chest wall and the underlying tissues."

Why are you still talking? Can't you just spit it out instead of dragging it on like this? I know that I failed and because of it my brother isn't going to be sitting in my car again, complaining about how much he can't stand being there for hours on end without being able to stretch out. I get that I'm going to have to explain to Dad why his youngest son is gone, and why I can't figure out why I should keep hunting. Why can't you just leave me be?

"We had to do some major repairs to his lung and…" the doctor finally paused as he heard the shuddering breaths that betrayed Dean's normally stoic appearance. Something about the sobs that quietly racked the man's body confused the surgeon.

What? Why are you stopping now? Damn it, just get this over with and leave me be. I was supposed to protect him, and I couldn't even do that. Now Sam's left me behind, and I don't know what to do. Maybe he's better off now, but damn it, he's not supposed to abandon me. He's supposed to be my shadow, like when we were little. He's never supposed to be in a situation that I can't get him out of, but how do I get him out of this one? Please, God, or whoever you are that's listening; I'll do anything…anything to have my brother back. Just…I don't know what to do. What do I do?

Dean was aware of the tears that poured down his cheeks and stung the minor cuts on his chin. He could hear hitched breaths and was almost surprised when he realized it was the sound of his own breathing.

When the young man in front of him could no longer cry silently, the surgeon realized his mistake. "Oh dear God," he squatted down and put his hands on both of Dean's arms. "No, son, no, you've got it all wrong. Your brother's alive. I can't guarantee that he'll stay that way, but we've got him stable for now, and everything points to him being back to pestering you in no time. He's not dead, son." The gray-haired surgeon was taken aback by the fear in Dean's eyes when they finally locked gaze with each other.

"He's…he's not dead?" Hope started to glimmer in the orbs.

"No. No, he's still with us."

Dean laughed; it sounded more like a sob, and he sat back, looking up to the ceiling, and let out a shaky breath. "He's going to be okay?"

"Well…"

"What!" The fear intensified again, and the surgeon had to put up a hand to stop Dean from screaming.

"He's not out of the woods yet, by any means. He's got a long, hard road ahead of him, and we can't be fully sure of the damage until he does wake up. His lung was punctured and he broke five ribs. His left forearm was badly broken, and his shoulder was dislocated. The wounds on his chest alone were enough cause for concern; they ripped through most of his abdominal muscles. This is going to take sometime to get back the brother that you know, but from what I saw operating on him, he seems like a fighter, so I'm optimistic that he's going to be just fine."

"Sam's…Sam's a warrior. He'll be okay. He doesn't know how not to be." The timbre in Dean's voice showed an air of confidence that had been completely vacant just moments before. Gone was the fear, and gone was the pain of losing his brother, replaced by conviction and a touch of arrogance that the Winchester family, fractured as it was, would be good as new again. He had nothing to worry about now. "Thanks, doc. When can I see him?"

"They're just moving him into recovery now, and getting him situated. Give me about twenty minutes to pull some strings, and I'll get you in to see him. I've got to warn you though; he's going to be hooked up to more monitors and machines than you can shake a stick at. He's going to be on a ventilator for awhile; we've got to make sure his lung can tolerate working again before we take him off of it. For now, we're keeping him in a medically induced coma so he can heal. So don't expect him to wake up any time soon. After you see him you should probably go home and get some rest. It's going to be a long haul."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not chancing losing him again." The surgeon nodded. Seeing this man for only a few minutes had pretty much convinced him that he was going to be seeing a lot of this Dean over the next few weeks.

"I'll see what I can do. But at least clean the blood off your hand for me?"

Dean was confused until he looked down where the IV needle had been. He nodded and watched as the man's back disappeared around a corner.

True to his word, twenty minutes later Dean was standing outside an ICU room with his brother's name written on a piece of masking tape on the wall next to the door he refused to go in. There were two slots for names, but only one was filled. Dean stood there, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other repeatedly running through his hair, careful of the stitches there. Where they had shaved part of his head felt odd to him, and he wondered whether or not there'd be a visible scar.

Still Dean stood at the door, not looking in at his brother; afraid of what he would see. Something told him that if he didn't go in, he could pretend that he was going to see Sam sitting up and laughing at him for being such a girl. He didn't want to see Sam as weak as he was going to be, afraid that it would send him over the edge. But then images assaulted him from the previous night, and thoughts of his brother dead and lying in a morgue almost physically pushed him into the room. He slumped into the chair next to Sam's bed and gingerly took his right hand in both of his own. The warmth of his younger brother's hand gave him hope, and he let his emotions wash over him.

Tears fell in relief this time, and Dean lay his head down next to Sam's arm, finally allowing himself to relax and sleep deeply.

Three harrowing weeks later had Dean down fifteen pounds and blinking at the slightest mention of natural sunlight. If he didn't know better, the hunter would swear that he had been bitten by a vampire, but in truth he simply hadn't left Sam's side in that time. Infection had been the first setback to attack his brother, and it wasn't the last.

Two nights beforehand, Dean had gotten the first sign from his brother himself that he was going to be all right. The older brother had woken to pain in his fingers and, silently screaming at his eyes for not opening quickly enough, finally saw movement from Sam. The younger brother's eyes were wide open, and the monitors were going off the charts. Dean knew instantly, although he wasn't quite sure how, what was wrong, and tried to quiet Sam.

Just as the nurses came rushing in, Dean grabbed his brother by both shoulders and shook him once. "Stop it, Sam," was all he said, but it was enough, and as their eyes locked, Sam relaxed and eased back into unconsciousness.

As he sat with the doctor moments later, he begged for his brother to be taken off the ventilator. "That's why he freaked out, I'm sure of it."

"You and what medical degree?"

Dean glared. "Look, I think I know my brother better than you do. He's strong, and if he wakes up like that again, I don't know if he'll listen to me. He's petrified of not being able to breathe; he needs to know that he has that at least."

As if to prove Dean's point, Sam woke again, tensed and set his heart monitors off screaming, and tried to grab for the tube in his mouth. Dean held his hands down, but continued to glare at the doctor.

The panic in Sam's eyes made the doctor acquiesce, unsure if allowing the vent to stay would do more harm than good, and pulled the tube.

Sam hadn't woken again since, and Dean was afraid that they had made the wrong choice.
Dean paced the room in front of the windows, going stir crazy but unwilling to leave in case his brother needed him again. He looked back to his brother once more, and could see him as a nine-year old, the first time he could remember Sam spending any time in the hospital. All he wanted now was for the same result to ensue. Sam had been fine then, and he had to be fine now.

He sat down heavily next to his brother's bed and lay his head down on his arm once more, closing his eyes. He wasn't really sure when he started talking out loud, just that at some point his thoughts became words.

"Look, I know this isn't the life you want and if it wasn't for me and Dad…no, if it wasn't for me, you'd be off living some normal life and never having to worry about Black Dogs or whatever. I don't understand why you wouldn't want this life, but I'm not you and I get that. You wanted out, and you still want out, but damn it man, this isn't the way to do it. Lying in some hospital bed in some rinky dink town is not going to be your life, Sam, so damn it, wake up already." Dean paused and sighed.

"Sammy, come on man. It's time to give me some kind of sign that you're okay. I got you off that damned tube thing, so now you've got to do something for me. Jesus, man. I thought you died back there, and…well let's just say that I don't think I know what I would have done if you had. I'm sorry for dragging you into all this. You were right; we should have known what we were getting into before we went there that night. Damn it. You're my only brother, and as much as you piss me off sometimes and I don't always understand you, you're my kid brother; my family; Hell, my best friend. For every time I want to throw you out of the damned car and leave your ass behind somewhere, for every time I swear that you must have been adopted, I couldn't do this without you man. Sammy, I don't think I would even want to. You're my only brother, Sam, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I think that was the world's biggest chick flick moment, Dean. And don't even deny it." Sam rasped and then coughed three times, lifting his right hand to his chest. The left one, casted as it was, tapped Dean's head.

Dean's head shot up and he caught Sam's smile. "I swear to God, if you tell anyone about it, I'll kick your ass. How much did you hear?"

"Oh nothing, Dean. Nothing at all. It wasn't a Black Dog, by the way." Sam was still rasping and coughed again pointedly.

Dean laughed and got Sam some water. His brother was going to be okay.

The End.

So I'm sure you can all guess that Sam's going to make a complete recovery and go off on the road with Dean again, so I don't plan on boring you all with a whole chapter on that...I'll leave it to your imaginations...