All Grace Abounds

By: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Dean or Sam, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's note: Apologies for the shortness of this chapter! I felt guilty for not meeting my one week update standards so I thought a little offering was better than no offering at all. Just so you know, I had this delusion that this would be a small two chapter story. As you can see, it, however, has morphed into this multi-chapter long winded thing. (Surprise, surprise, right?) I guess I should know by now that I never shut up when I should. Hope the story continues to amuse you.

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Chapter 2

Having reluctantly exchanged his outside vigil for an inside one, Sam restlessly paced the interior of the motel room, his cell phone tightly gripped in the hand he tapped against his thigh without rhythm. He hadn't intended to call Dean, had been resigned to give his brother whatever space he needed even as the timer on Dean's absence clicked past an hour and a half. Dean was a big boy, could take care of himself, wanted to take care of himself. And that resolve had been all good and fine, until the sirens echoed through the room, until Sam flung open the door and watched, his heart in his mouth, as an ambulance passed the motel, heading the same direction Dean had.

Sam was dialing his brother's cell phone number before the ambulance was out of his sight, praying that the ambulance's mission had nothing to do with Dean. The sound of his brother's voice in his ear should have reassured him, lowered his heart rate ….except the voice wasn't 'live'. "This is Dean, leave a message." The voice mail message offered up a poor substitute for the real thing, the recorded voice painfully lacking that familiar inflection of emotions it always had when Dean talked to his brother, an inflection Dean reserved for only the ones he loved. To be greeted by this charade of Dean's voice, of the voice he knew so well, the voice that always saved him, even when his world was imploding around him, only increased the grip of worry in Sam's gut.

That apprehension only intensified as, call after call, Sam was greeted by that sham of his brother's voice. And each time the message played, Sam's hope that the next time, Dean, the real Dean, would answer, would ease the anxiety thrumming through his little brother, faded.

'He has to be OK. I mean this is Dean Winchester we're talking about here, the guy who's too stubborn to die, too bullheaded to admit that he's not invincible…..who's entirely too protective of me to leave me alone.' Mutinously, another thought came on the coattails of that conviction. 'And he is only human, only flesh and blood, vulnerable to the whims of his fate just like the rest of us.'

Fate. It was a word he had been bandying about lately, like a curse word, like an albatross, like a condemnation. His fate, Dean's fate, the uncertainty of both had begun wielding a stranglehold on him when his defenses were down, in the middle of the night, now with Dean inexplicably out of touch.

Suddenly, anger surged through Sam, causing conviction to override fear, giving him the fortitude to rail against fate, his and Dean's. Pulling his coat free from the back of the room's sole chair, he shrugged into it, headed for the door, determined to find his brother, on foot if necessary. He startled as the phone he still held in a death grip came to life. Without bothering to look at the caller ID, Sam breathlessly answered, "Dean?" Sam slumped against the wall in nearly knee buckling relief as Dean's voice came over the phone lines, blessedly interwoven with that beloved inflection.

"Yeah, look…" Dean started.

Pushing off of the wall to stand rigidly in the room, Sam cut off the voice he had desperately wanted to hear for over an hour. "Where have you been, Dean?!" his anger now whitewashing his concern. But before his brother could make a reply, Sam heard a filtered female voice announce in the background, "Paging Dr. Hanson to OR 3. Dr. Hanson to OR 3." Suddenly justified fear swept over Sam, trapping his breath in his lungs for a second before he exhaled in a rush of words, "You're hurt?! How badly? Which hospital are you at?"

"Chill, Sam. I'm not hurt," Dean denied gruffly, feigning annoyance at his brother's worry even as Sam's concern sent warmth through his still too cold body, from his heart outward. Stepping forward, Dean leaned against the wall beside the phone, his eyes taking in the emergency room's waiting area, impassively flickering over the injured and the ill that occupied the chairs, some alone and others accompanied by concerned friends or family members. 'I hate hospitals,' he venomously thought, swallowing hard and dropping his eyes to the floor so he wouldn't have to play spectator to the pain of these strangers.

At Dean's reassurances, Sam drew a steadying breath into his starving lungs, but the tension didn't fade altogether. He trusted Dean…with everything but his own health. "You're at a hospital," he countered evenly, struggling to keep any accusations from creeping into his words.

Running a cold hand over his forehead, Dean winced as his fingers made contact with the cut on his temple. Dropping his hand, he began, "It's this kid.." his mind brutally conjuring up the sight of Kyle lying in the snow, of the blood seeping from the boy's leg, reminding him too much of a young Sam, wounded, cold, lost, depending on his big brother to save him, to always save him.

Whatever comfort Sam had latched onto by Dean's gruff denial was now decimated by the raw emotions laced in Dean's three words, by the silence that fell before Dean continued.

Corralling his emotions back under control, Dean finished his explanation, "He got caught in an animal trap."

Uncertain what a boy getting caught in a trap had to do with his brother, Sam wanted only to focus on what concerned him the most: Dean. Instinctively, Sam knew that whatever had happened to this boy, whatever had occurred to Dean since he had left his side was threatening to breach Dean's emotional barriers. In desperation, Sam struggled to find the right path to Dean, to bridge the gap that this gig, this weather, this phone, this whole crappy lifestyle had wedged between them. Because for all the things Sam Winchester endured stoically, Dean's pain was never one of them.

From too frequent experience, Sam knew that unraveling any of his brother's hurts was always a battle, required some underhanded tactics and stealthy maneuvering through the back door of Dean's defenses. Sam loved his brother enough to play dirty. "Is the kid going to be OK?" he asked, only because he could sense that the boy's fate mattered a great deal to his brother, letting his own questions for Dean's own welfare go unasked, for the time being.

Involuntarily, Dean looked down the hall to the room where Kyle had been taken, remembered being forced to pry the boy's desperate grip from his hand, to abandon the boy to his own fate that lay beyond that door. 'Keep it together, Dean! You don't even know the kid! He's not Sammy! He's not your responsibility! His life isn't yours to protect!' But the boy's first words to him ricocheted through his head, "I knew you'd come. That you'd save me," the boy's conviction, his trust had been like a five alarm fire amid the blizzard, searing into Dean's soul.

Now, standing in another hospital, helpless all over again, Dean felt bitterness pierce through the coldness of his being. 'Save him! If I really had the power to save anyone, I would have saved Kyle from even getting his leg mangled by that trap in the first place, Dad would be alive, Sam wouldn't have lost Jessica, would never have known the touch of evil, would be at college, studying to be the best lawyer this country has ever seen.'

"Dean?" came Sam's trembling voice in his ear, jarring him from the condemnations that threatened to choke him. His little brother's voice sounded too scared, too similar to Kyle's tone as he pleadingly said his name as Dean pulled his hand free. Dean's response to the boy's fear had been automatic, instinctive. Putting his hand on Kyle's forehead, he had leaned close and promised, "Hey, you're going to be alright. Us tough guys always are, you know, 'cause we have a reputation to maintain."

"You'll be here, right? Won't leave?" Kyle had implored, the pain and panic in his eyes gutting Dean, making his reassurance low with emotion. "I'm not going anywhere, kiddo." And then the boy had disappeared into the room, leaving Dean standing there, useless, alone, lost. And his first thought had been, 'Sam. I need to hear Sam's voice.' That need gave him the energy to stalk to the pay phones, to force his stiff fingers to punch in his brother's cell phone number, to press the receiver against his ice cold ear, to hold his breath until the voice his soul craved to hear floated into his ear.

Now that voice was rising in panic, was desperate for a response, "Dean? You there? You alright?! Dean!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Don't get your panties in a knot, Sammy," Dean shot back, striving to gloss over his emotional exposure with gruff jeers. "I'm just gonna hang around here to make sure the kid's alright. If I'm gonna be long, I'll call you," Dean quickly said, hoping Sam didn't notice that he hadn't answered his question, that he was sounding like he himself was caught in a trap, desperate enough to chew off his own leg to get free.

"So, the kid's not hurt badly?" Sam pressed gently, his brother's refusal to answer his initial question cementing his dark suspicions that Dean was teetering on an emotional precipice.

Dean almost sighed. As if he thought Sam, of all people, would drop something just because Dean needed him to. Hating the way his voice betrayed him, Dean made his answer. "I didn't get a good look…he lost pretty much blood…was fighting off shock…" his hand gripping the side of the payphone divider so hard his knuckles were white. "I…I promised him I would hang around…'till…you know…"

"Yeah, right, Ok," Sam stammered, gutted by the fear, the vulnerability in his big brother's tone, wishing he were with Dean right then and in the same breath, relieved to not see the look on his brother's face, the hurt, the helplessness.

"I'll call you later, Sam," Dean rejoined, his voice on firmer ground.

"Sure, Dean. What hospital are you at..you know…just in case…" Sam fumbled, surely spoiling the notion that it was a throw away question, that the answer didn't matter to Sam, that he wasn't about to run for the door and get to the hospital, to his brother's side as quickly as he could.

"Western General, about ten miles south of the motel," Dean offered without hesitation, oblivious to any underlying reasons for Sam's need for the information. "So…see ya later."

"Yeah, OK," Sam agreed a moment before the connection fell silent. Slipping his phone into his pocket, Sam felt shredded apart. How was it possible, amid all the cuts, bruises, stitches, ice packs, Dad's death and Dean's guilt and his own undetermined fate that he had forgotten how much it killed him to hear his brother in pain?! How useless, broken he felt, hearing Dean's strong voice falter, listening to his big brother speak words lacking in humor, in laughter, soaked with bitter, undeniable truth.

"Dean," he choked out with love, with anguish, hating that the world had found a way to slip by his protective defenses, to again hurt the one thing, the one person who meant the most to him. Cursing his failings, Sam headed out the door, intent on getting to the hospital anyway he could, to be at Dean's side, to protect his brother from any more harm, to be the type of brother Dean always was for him.

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TBC

Thanks for reading and as always, I value hearing your opinions.

Have a great day!
Cheryl W.

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