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It had been four days with the medications pumping through Sammy's system and hopefully having some effect on his lungs. Dean was more stressed than he had been in a long time. There was no way it should be taking this long for Sam's lungs to be getting better. He knew his brother was sick, but after so long, every moment felt like he wasn't going to get better. A couple of days ago, after waking up with a huge pole-shaped mark on the side of his face, he had convinced the doctor to take down the railing. Sammy wasn't going to fall out on his watch, and all it did was get in their way and make them feel more helpless. He could now lean in and put his head down by his brother's chest to sleep, silently listening to the heart that some stupid machine couldn't convince him was fine.

He wished there was some way that he could gage the breathing, the sounds in his brother's lungs like he did the steady heartbeat, but he hadn't quite figured it out. For now, he had to wait and depend on the doctor to tell them how Sam was faring. It was so frustrating and he had to control his anger when the doctor did come. Everyday, the man told them that Sammy's lungs were getting better, that the breath sounds were better and that the fluid seemed to be dissipating, yet here Sammy was, still under sedation, basically in a drug-induced coma.

Turning as he heard footsteps coming into the room, Dean saw the doctor come into the room and give them a big smile. Dean was out of his seat. Did this mean they were gonna take him off the ventilator?

"Well, I've looked over his results over the last twenty-four hours, and I'm going to try taking him off the ventilator. After I take him off, I'll be on this floor for a little bit talking with other patients. I'll be here at the hospital for the rest of the day, though, so if there's any problem just have me paged." He came over to the bed and fixed the machine itself. Then, he turned to John. "He stopped receiving sedation during the night because we knew he was going to be taken off the ventilator today. Will you help to hold him down so that if he does awaken during the extubation process, he doesn't hurt himself?"

John agreed with him and quickly took position over his son, holding his arms down. John knew why this was necessary, but Dean was angered by this simple gesture. What harm did they think someone with cancer, weakened already and just off five days intubated was going to do to them or to himself? There wasn't anything he could do. Again, Dean remembered another reason why at least one of them were there at all times. If anything tried to hurt Sam, he would not be able to defend himself. John looked at Dean, shooting him a look of reassurance. They were not going to hurt Sammy, and he would be all right.

When Dr Lambert had taken the tube out of Sammy's throat, he coughed for a few minutes, which woke him up. Dean gently patted him on the head. "It's all right, Sammy." He promised once more. Then, he looked at the doctor, about to demand an answer as to what was wrong with his brother, when the coughing stopped. "See, I told you everything would be okay."

Sam was looking for water. His throat felt like it had been deprived of water and he had been set out in the desert for days. He wanted to talk to Dean, to see what had happened, what was wrong, but he couldn't talk because of his throat. The last thing that he remembered was his mom standing over his bed and then going over to Dean. He remembered that he couldn't breathe and his mom had been crying. What had happened?

Dean realized that Sammy had been searching for water, and got the small plastic picture that had been in the room for water, filled it, and brought it to him. "Drink it slowly!" Dean warned him before he even had a chance to drink. He loved him and would do anything for him, but there were just some things he wouldn't do. Cleaning up vomit because Sammy felt like drinking the water too quickly was one of them, so he tried his best to control the intake.

"Dean, what happened?" The weak, tired voice of his little brother asked.

"You were really sick. The infection you had turned into pneumonia, and you almost..." Dean stopped. He had the image of strong big brother to maintain, and his voice breaking didn't help things. Sam needed him to be strong, and letting him know how scared he had been wasn't going to help him.

"Oh. I remember mom." He was gasping out words between breaths still, but it was nothing compared to before. The new information scared Dean more than he had already been. It had been so close. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw their dad startle from his conversation with the doctor and start coming towards them.

"How do you remember your mother, Sammy?" Their dad asked, and the sudden interest in Sam irritated Dean. Why was he so disinterested with seeing his son when he first woke up after they almost lost him but so interested when he mentioned their mom?

"She was here. The last I remember, she was here." Sam said.

John looked at Dean, finally becoming aware of what had happened, what had almost happened. The concern that had taken over Dean the last few days finally penetrated John's shell. Even with the tube down his youngest son's throat, it didn't hit him how close to losing him they had really come. He should not have seen Mary. Sure, he loved that this meant that she was around, that she was watching out for their babies, but he wasn't ready to let go of either of their babies. When his time came, he hoped that Mary would come and take them, but that the time wouldn't come for a long time.

He turned back around to the doctor. "What are we going to do now?"

"Well, we need to talk to Sam. He needs to give his consent to the procedure for us to move forward with this." He said and moved over to the side of the bed. "Sam, we need to talk. Can we do that?"

"Yes, sir." Sam answered, the exhaustion seeping back in.

"Sam, the chemotherapy isn't working like we hoped it would. Now, there's another option that we have. You can get a bone marrow transplant. I've discussed it with your dad and Dean and they agree this is the best option. I need your consent before we can move forward with this."

"Where would I get the transplant from?" He asked, not sure if this would even work out.

"Both Dean and your dad were tested for compatibility and Dean is a perfect match. He wants to go through with this."

"Okay. If this is what everybody thinks is best, then let's do this." He replied. The fight that he'd had when all this started seemed to have broken down into nothing. He would be okay, though, and the two other Winchester men would help build him back up when this was all over.

"Okay, well, I need to go get some papers for you to sign and then we can start medication to kill off the rest of the cancer-producing bone marrow, so that there will be a successful transplant. I'll be right back. Do you have any questions?" He told them.

"No. That's okay." Sam responded, feeling the tug of fatigue winning a silent battle to stay awake.

Dean looked at his brother. This was just more medications that could just make him worse. For now, though, he had his brother and they would be okay. He would be okay.

Hope you liked this chapter. Please feel free to leave any kind of review.

doyoufeellikeyour falling down: My sister thinks I'm nuts too. She goes "Ohmigod" and rolls her eyes. It's a big sister thing. Smile.