Title: Chipping Away

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Summary: Things are starting to come to a head as Sam approaches graduation.

A/N: Every time I think I'm ready to end this it takes on a flipping life of its own. Sorry, like I said this thing wrote itself but kept a couple of secrets from me. (It's that time and space thing I mentioned in the last posting) Sorry for the length, I hope it's not boring.

Alone dreaming, your sacrifice does not go unnoticed. Being a beta for me cannot be easy.

"Mr. Winchester?" A different nurse appeared in the ICU doorway, smiling. John dropped the jacket and shot to his feet. "Your son is awake and would like to see you. I think we can bend the visiting hour rules a little. There are no other patients right now-." She just managed to step aside as John brushed past her, smiled and closed the doors behind them.

Dean's eyes were open, a little glazed, but aware. With the ventilator he couldn't speak but he still managed to convey his extreme discomfort and unhappiness with his situation through his eyes. His hands were still tied down and he pulled at the bonds weakly, his eyes pleading with his father.

"Can't you let him loose now?" John asked, a little angrily. He couldn't help but be upset on Dean's behalf, even if he understood the need for such treatment

The nurse pursed her lips. "If he promises not to touch that ventilator again, we'll take the restraints off, but if he so much as tries to remove it…." She gave John and Dean both a look that clearly stated she wasn't kidding.

John leaned over and put his hand on Dean's forehead, still warm but much better than before.

"Dean, listen to me—no, you can't talk with that thing in—just listen. They can't take it out until you can breathe without help, but they'll take the restraints off and leave them off as long as you don't try to pull the mask off." Dean gave a muffled groan, eyes begging John, his body, out of his control, rising and falling in time with the machine. John brushed Dean's hair. "I know it's uncomfortable, but right now you need it. You're doing a lot better this morning. Maybe later in the day they can take it out. But you have to promise not to touch it, you understand?" Dean closed his eyes and he nodded. John stepped back.

"He won't bother it anymore. "

The nurse narrowed her eyes at John and then shot Dean another "I'm serious, here" look. Dean blinked at her. Finally, she reached out and released the straps that held Deans wrists down. One hand shot up instantly to his face and both John and the nurse leaped forward. Dean desperately scratched his forehead.

The nurse bit her lip and walked out laughing audibly. John grinned himself and sat back down in the chair.

The sedatives Dean had been given to keep him quiet were wearing off, but he still felt groggy. His head and chest hurt like hell, he was hot, and he hated the fucking pipe crammed down his throat. But, thank God, at least his hands weren't tied down any longer. The feeling of complete helplessness left him and he felt calmer instantly.

John stared at Dean for a moment, his face hardening over. Dean eyed him and sank back in the bed a little, knowing that expression all to well. Watching his father's face, his heart monitor's beeping sped up slightly.

John opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again struggling for the words. "Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell were you thinking?" he finally said, banging his fist on the mattress. "Sam told me what happened. How could you do something so stupid?" Shit, he hadn't intended to start out with condemnation. "That's not what I meant--." He growled, trying again. Dean stopped him with a hand on John's arm, eyes imploring him. Their gazes locked together for a moment. John was his father. They had fought side by side for years, trusted each other. Dean didn't need to hear it to know what his father was trying to say. His hand tightened on John's arm and John covered it with his. John said it anyway. "I'm sorry, Dean. It shouldn't have come to this."

Dean's shook his head, his eyes starting to flutter closed. God, he was so tired.

"Hey," Sam's quiet greeting jerked them open again. Dean couldn't respond, so he raised one hand and waved it weakly. Sam glanced at John. "The nurse saw me and said Dean was awake." He came to the side of the bed. "I like you better with your eyes open," he commented. "You feelin' okay, there? Cause you look like crap." Sam softened the insult with a grin and shook Dean's knee.

Dean rolled his eyes and made an obscene gesture at the ventilator. His hand fell back on the bed. Both Sam and John laughed. "When you feel better," John said, squeezing Dean's shoulder, glad to see some of Dean's old self showing, "I'll let you take a shotgun to it." Dean made a soft sound that might have been laughter. He couldn't hold his eyes open any longer and drifted back to sleep.

By the end of the day Dean's fever had dropped and his lungs were starting to clear up thanks to the heavy antibiotics. He was forced to endure the ventilator one more night, unfortunately with the restraints, because, in his restless sleep he had tried to remove it again. The antibiotics made him nauseous and he was terrified that he might vomit with that thing on his face and choke to death. Sam and John had taken turns coming into sit with him, talking softly about nothing during his waking moments, keeping his mind off his discomfort as much as possible.

Early the second morning, he was given a breathing test that lasted for three hours. John and Sam had sat with him as he struggled to breath through the tube without the ventilator turned on. Every breath was an effort and he coughed continuously, which bothered Sam and John but seemed to please the therapist. Apparently, the coughing helped clear his lungs. Finally, at the end of the test, the decision was made to remove the tube, to Dean's great relief but with a warning that it would be reinserted if necessary. He still had to wear an oxygen mask but no big deal there.

Dean's throat ached but at least he could talk if he wanted to. Exhausted, but as happy as he could be under the circumstances, he was told he would be in ICU for monitoring the rest of the day and would then be moved to a regular room if he continued to improve. Now that he was free of the ventilator he didn't give a damn where they put him.

Even the bitch therapist who came in every 2 hours and made him breath into this thing that left him hacking up crap didn't keep him from getting some decent sleep in between her unwelcome visits.

Mid- morning of the third day, settled in his new room, Dean slept. Sam sat at the foot of the bed watching him. John had dropped him off on the way to running some errands with the promise he would stop by later. Dean's breathing was still rough but he was doing it on his own. Sam hated seeing Dean sick but at least he could be happy that Dean was getting better. Dean jerked suddenly and his eyes popped open, clearer than they had been for several days even though he was still running a low grade fever. His hand went to the oxygen tube clipped under his nose but Sam stopped him.

"Leave it alone, Dean," Sam drew his hand back as Dean allowed his to fall back on the bed. "So, you feel a little better? You sure as hell look better."

"Glad that…..God damn thing is…gone." Dean rasped. He choked and sat up suddenly, coughing deeply into a towel that was gripped in one hand. He cleared his throat and spit. That shit tasted awful.

"You want the bed up?" Sam asked, reaching for the buttons. Dean nodded, trying to get the fit under control. Sam pressed the switch that lifted the head of the bed until Dean raised his hand and sank back into the pillows, still trying to clear his throat. He grimaced and pressed his hand against his forehead.

"You okay?" Sam asked, concerned.

Dean nodded, swallowing with an effort. His throat was still raw and although he was breathing better, was still an exhausting effort. "All that…friggin' coughing gives me….a headache." He groaned. "And that shit they're pumping into me…" he gestured at the IV rack, "makes me wanta puke." He accepted the water Sam offered him and took a small sip from the straw. "Where's Dad?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "Said he had to take care of some stuff. He'll be by in a little while. We gotta get dressed for graduation and junk. Have to be there at least 30 minutes early. "

Dean took another sip of water, eyeing Sam's face. "So," he began, pausing to clear his throat. "I'm sorry I can't come to your…..graduation. I mentioned it to Dad…… and he told me he'd kick the crap out of me….. if I set foot outta the bed." He nibbled his lower lip. "I really wanted….. to come, Sam. If I hadn't-"

Sam smiled at him. "It's no big deal, Dean. We're coming right back here afterwards. It's just a stupid ceremony---" It doesn't mean anything, Sam thought. It's a means to an end.

"It's not stupid!" Dean snapped. He coughed again, cursing. "This is important, Sam! You've worked hard…..hard for this." Dean wheezed. "I want to be there….for you!"

Sam put a hand on his arm. "Calm down, dude. Don't worry about it. I'll bring you my diploma tonight, okay? Just stay quiet. If you get all worked up they won't let you go home day after tomorrow. It'll be fine." He waited for Dean to settle back down. "You'll be there, Dean, even if you can't make it in person. You've always been there."

Dean grimaced, studying Sam's face for a long moment and then turned to the window. "Did you… tell Dad yet?" he felt his heart start racing again and unconsciously rested a hand on his chest. Did you tell him you're leaving us…for good? Leaving me…..

"Tell Dad what?" Sam replied.

Dean glared at him. "Don't be… an asshole, Sammy. You know what!"

Sam eyes slid sideways. "No, I haven't told him."

"Why the hell not?" Dean blurted in outrage. "You think….he won't notice when…you're gone!"

"If you don't know why, then you must have been living somewhere else for the last 12 years!" Sam spat, surprised at his own vehemence.

Dean sat back stunned. Sam's retort shocked him. He swallowed and his hands opened and closed. "So, what are you…gonna do?" He asked. "Just leave without a word?" His voice cut out and he took another quick, angry sip of water, annoyed by his own weakness as well as Sam's. He banged the glass back down. Sweat started to form on his upper lip. "You told me!"

"Yeah, I told you!" Sam sighed and grabbed a handful of his hair, just to have something to hold on to. "I told you because I knew you would be happy for me. That you wouldn't make me feel like shit, like I'd done something unthinkable. I thought you would understand. You know how I feel about all of this—."

Dean cut him off. "How could I not know? You never shut up…about it!" At Sam's hurt look Dean made a fist and hit the table, wincing when it jarred the IV needle. "If you're gonna leave, Sam…dammit…then leave. But don't sneak out like no ones…gonna care!" Dean stopped to get his breath.

"I'm not sneaking out!" Sam cried. "You were right, I have worked hard for this. But you know Dad, all he's gonna care about is the hunt! Not what you want and sure as hell not what I want!" Sam stood and paced the room. "I need this, Dean. More than you can imagine."

"More…than your family?" Dean asked in a low voice. The hand splayed on his chest turned into a fist gripping the thin fabric of the hospital gown.

Sam hit the wall with the flat if his hand. "Don't lay a guilt trip on me! I get all I need of that from Dad." He stayed facing the wall, breathing heavily. "I'm not doing this to hurt Dad, or you—why is it so awful to want more from my life than this? Are we supposed to fight our way through the rest of our lives with no hope of anything but going out in a blaze of glory fighting evil, like some God damned superhero?"

"We do a lot of good….Sam." Dean brushed his hand across his eyes. It was starting to shake. The room was getting hot and his head was buzzing. He started coughing again. Sam was to angry too notice, still staring at the wall.

"You and dad don't need me," Sam finally said. "Dad and I can't go five minutes without fighting about some stupid ass thing. Hell," he swung his hand at Dean. "Look what we did to you!"

"This isn't…you're fault." Dean gasped. He was breathing, short, shallow breaths. "Have enough respect…for him…to be honest!" Dean shoved the towel against his mouth again to muffle his coughs, gagging. Sam turned and realized how much trouble Dean was having. He hurried back to the bed, catching Dean's shoulders.

"Dean—Dean, stop…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Please, calm down—" Sam reached over and gave him several strong shots between his shoulders.

Dean fell back , chest heaving. "Jesus…" he groaned hoarsely. Sweat glistened on his face. His head felt like it was going to blow apart. His heart had settled into heavy, throbbing thumps. He knew he was hyperventilating but he couldn't stop.

"You don't look so good, Dean." Becoming alarmed, Sam stabbed the red call button. .

"I'm….fine…" Dean gritted, covering his face with his hands. He felt nauseous and his head was starting to spin.

"No, you're not!" Sam retorted, hitting the button again

"Did you call—" The nurse walked into the room. She took in Dean's distress and made it to the bed in two strides. "What happened?" She demanded. She sat on the side of the bed and cupped Dean's face in her hands.

Sam stood back, frightened. "Nothing, we were talking…"

Dean's eyes were frantic and he was breathing in smothered gasps. She pulled the oxygen away and snatched a plastic bag from the drawer of the bedside table. She clamped it against Deans nose and mouth. "Dean, calm down, breathe slowly, slowly….in…. and out….in…. and out…"

God, I love a cliffhanger…….. read and review please. I can take hatred but not being ignored.