A/N Sorry for the long wait, I am a bad bad author. I just got a little swamped I guess. Anyway, thanks for the amazing reviews from the last chapter, appreciate all of them! Tell me what you think about this one.

Dean leafed through the pages of a magazine that was months out of date, not seeing the words in front of him as he methodically turned the pages, giving the semblance of actually reading the glossy pages in front of him.

He was waiting for them to bring his little brother back. They'd taken Sam to have a CT scan. It had taken the remnants of his shattered strength not to run after them as they took his limp little brother away from him.

He just wanted this all to be over, for Sam not to be sick, not to be in danger of brain damage and organ failure, for him not to have this all resting on his shoulders, the guilt, the responsibility.

He'd been somewhat comforted by the fact Sam had woken up briefly, only muttering his name and saying his head hurt which had increased the raging guilt and the churning in his stomach. He had quickly fallen back into a fevered sleep and Dean had been left alone with his thoughts again.

He'd tried his Dad's phone again but this time he hadn't even got voicemail. He was worried something had happened to his dad but his worry for his brother surpassed the worry for his father. Dad could take care of himself if he was in trouble, Sam was helpless. This wasn't something he could take out with some rock-salt and a salt and burn and that was what scared him the most.

Dean looked up as he heard footsteps and jumped up from his chair, dropping the magazine to the table as he saw his brother's doctors and him being wheeled back into his room. He rushed over, getting a glimpse of his brother.

He looked terrible. Worse than before. He was pale and lying unnaturally still and his pale face was shrouded by an oxygen mask.

"What's wrong with him? What happened?" Dean asked immediately, taking his brother's hand and looking back up at the doctor.

The doctor sighed and walked over to Dean who was looking from his brother to the doctor.

"He was awake and talking to me when he left. What happened? Why does he need this?" He asked gesturing to the oxygen mask with trembling hands.

"Sam had another seizure." He said bluntly and the words hit Dean like a heavy blow to the stomach. The air seemed to disappear from his lungs. He looked back at his brother and felt his throat grow tight.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Sam wasn't supposed to be sick, having seizures. The image of his brother jerking and flailing flashed back at him unpleasantly.

"The infection is causing pressure on his brain. His fever has gone up again to a dangerous level, it's vital that we get his fever down if we want to relieve the pressure from his brain. We've upped the seizure preventing medication." The doctor said as Dean squeezed his brother's hand. He blinked moisture from his eyes as he studied his pale face, pain lines across his features.

"We're doing everything we can but honestly, if we don't get this fever down then there's a good chance Sam's organs will start shutting down and that Sam wont get over this. But this is the worst-case scenario and we're doing everything to make sure this doesn't happen. If the pressure on his brain becomes too great we will have to perform an operation to relieve the pressure." The doctor continued gravely.

Dean swallowed hard, a painful lump settling in his throat and he blanched as the doctor mentioned surgery.

"Wait, you're talking brain surgery here?" Dean questioned incredulously standing up, hoping he had misheard.

"If we can't fight this infection and get the temperature down Sam could be brain-damaged or he could die. It's serious. We would have to drill a small hole into Sam's skull and insert a shunt to relieve the pressure from the fluid building."

Dean struggled to draw a breath, the whole room seemed to be spinning as he desperately tried to focus on the doctor and breathe.

Sammy…surgery…death

Fuck

He felt the room tilt and strong hands grabbed him. He was vaguely aware that he had been sat in a chair and that his head had been forced between his legs. Someone was telling him to breathe.

As the spinning slowed, air began to reach him again and his breathing slowed and his vision cleared.

"You okay now son?" The doctor asked softly and Dean nodded, breathing heavily.

"Sorry." He mumbled.

"I know this is a lot for you to deal with Dean and without trying to sound patronizing, you're young. You shouldn't be dealing with his by yourself. Your brother is extremely sick and you shouldn't be alone with this. Have you been able to contact your father?" Dr Murphy asked, surveying Dean as he slowly sat up straight.

"No…not yet. He's not picking up his phone." Dean said, tendrils of desperation beginning to creep into his voice. His front was slipping.

"Okay well keep trying. We'll be increasing Sam's medication and putting some cold packs on him to try and get this temperature down. There's a monitor monitoring his brain function and if the pressure gets too high we will have to operate." He finished gravely and Dean nodded, feeling extremely nauseous at the thought of someone drilling into his brother's skull.

This was seriously fucked up, he thought to himself desperately.

"Thanks." He muttered to the doctor, forcing something that barely passed as a smile.

He turned back to Sam and sighed shakily, the lump growing more painful as he blinked the fog from his eyes, swiping at them quickly.

"C'mon Sammy. Don't do this, don't leave me alone. You can fight this, you're a Winchester. You can't let some bacteria take you down." He whispered, unable to keep the tremble from his voice.

Sam didn't move or stir and Dean felt heat building in his eyes and his vision blurred.

"Sam just talk to me…Don't do this Sam. You have to be okay…I'll kick your ass if you're not." He said, tears rolling silently down his cheeks as he watched his brother through shining eyes.

But Dean was left with silence as his brother slept fitfully on, sweat beading on his forehead and his bangs curly with the moisture.

Dean swallowed hard and let the tears continue to roll.

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Sam had begun to moan in his sleep once the nurses had placed cold packs under his arms and under his neck and Dean didn't think he could take this anymore. Sam was suffering, dying and he couldn't do anything but sit there.

He'd left the room whilst the nurses took some blood and changed Sam's IVs and now he had found himself out in the hallway once more. He sighed wearily and cradled his head in his hands. He was so tired. He couldn't sleep though, he couldn't leave Sam in case something happened.

Where the fuck was Dad? Why wouldn't he call?

Dean felt a rush of anger and clenched his fists.

"Where is Dad?"

Sam's weak, broken voice echoed through his head and he gripped the arms of the chair hard. This wasn't fair. He'd told them to call if anything happened, now something had and he wouldn't pick up the phone.

For once in his life Dean began to feel bitter resentment towards the life they led. He'd never had any problem with hunting, he loved doing it but seeing what it was doing to their family, to Sammy he felt a rush of hatred towards it. A normal Dad would be here, comforting his sons, making everything better.

Dean got up out of the chair and strode over to the payphone. He slammed quarters into the slot with shaking hands and quickly dialed the number.

"This is John Winchester, leave a message and I'll get back to you."

Dean gripped the phone hard, knuckles turning white.

"Dad for fuck sake pick up your god-damned phone!" He yelled angrily, voice raw and harsh. He paused, breathing raggedly and rested his forehead against the cool metal of the phone box. The anger melted away and was immediately replaced by the sickening feeling of desperation.

"Dad please…I need you. Something's happened and…Sam he's…he's really sick Dad. The doctor's don't know what to do and…I'm really scared we're gonna lose him." Dean said brokenly.

"I can't do this by myself. Just please pick up the fucking phone…Damn it." He cried brokenly before slamming the phone back down and sinking down to the floor.

Sam was all he had. He couldn't lose him.

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John Winchester wearily turned the key into the grotty motel room and shuffled inside. His head was pounding and his limbs felt like lead.

God that hunt had been a nightmare. Maybe he had really made a mistake making Dean stay behind; he could have really used his help.

He sighed and slumped down onto the bed, flicking on the TV. Then he noticed his phone sitting on the nightstand.

He swore under his breath. He always took his phone with him on hunts, for safety if nothing else. God he was getting sloppy. He picked up the cell and glanced at the display and his eyes widened.

17 missed calls.

2 new messages.

Panic immediately gripped at his heart and he scrambled to press the right buttons. He didn't recognize the number at all. Fingers fumbling, he held the phone to his ear and played the messages.

"Dad, it's me Dean…I uh…I know you're on a hunt but I really need you to come home. It's Sam he's…he's sick and he's in the hospital and they don't know what is wrong. Please come."

John swallowed hard feeling sick. Sam was in the hospital, he was that sick that he was in the hospital and John had just brushed him aside and Dean was actually pleading with him, begging him to come.

"Dad for fuck sake pick up your god-damned phone!"

John was startled by the anger in his son's voice and immediately felt a feeling of dread wash over him. Something was seriously wrong.

"Dad please…I need you. Something's happened and…Sam he's…he's really sick Dad. The doctor's don't know what to do and…I'm really scared we're gonna lose him."

The anger in Dean's voice had been replaced by broken desperation and John felt a lump settle in his throat. There was something seriously wrong with his baby boy and Dean was left alone to deal with it.

"I can't do this by myself. Just please pick up the fucking phone…Damn it."

After Dean's curse there was the sound of fumbling before the dial tone resounded in his ears, echoing like an ongoing taunt, reminding him of his failure as a father. Blinking quickly he tucked the phone into his pocket and grabbed his stuff, shoving it into the bag.

His sons needed him, he knew if he lost Sammy he would lose Dean too.

They were all he had left.

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From the recesses of his jumbled and aching head Sam was dimly aware of a steady beeping and it was really starting to piss him off.

His head was pounding worse than before and it felt like someone had put his skull in a vice which was gradually tightening. His neck was throbbing and his back was also fighting for his attention. On top of that he was absolutely freezing.

It felt like he was dying.

He felt a sudden rush of fear and struggled to swallow but as he did fire lanced through his raw throat and he winced.

Why couldn't he open his eyes? They felt one hundred ton weights.

He was cold, tired, hurting and scared and he didn't want to feel like this or be here anymore. He wanted to just curl up and cry. He wanted Dean.

He fought to open his eyes and felt them crack open slightly but as they finally opened blinding light shot through and his head seared in agony and he groaned.

"Sam? Sammy?"

He heard a familiar voice calling his name urgently.

Dean.

Trying to ignore the fire in his throat he finally managed to rasp out.

"Lights…h…hurts." He croaked, barely above a whisper.

Immediately understanding, Dean scrambled out of his chair and rushed over to the wall, flipping off the lights. He felt a smile cross his face as he saw his brother relax slightly and finally manage to open his eyes.

This had to be a good sign right?

Sam's eyes were glazed with fever and he could see chills wracking his body but he was awake.

"Sammy…Christ. How are you feeling?" He asked softly, stroking his brother's hair softly.

Sam's eyes were drooping slightly but he managed to force them open and he looked weakly up at Dean. He looked a wreck.

"Bad." Was all he managed to say.

He shivered violently and pain lanced through his back and head.

"I'm not surprised kiddo. Sam…you're really sick." Dean said softly, looking sadly down at his brother.

Even through his fever-muddled mind Sam knew he had never seen his brother look like that. This was bad. Maybe he was dying.

He wanted to sleep so bad, to escape from the unbearable throbbing in his head and the nausea once again churning in his stomach and now the itching that seemed to be spreading across his arms.

"Am I go…gonna die?" Sam asked weakly, tears welling in his eyes as he looked desperately up at his brother for answers, wanting him to make this all go away, make it all better.

Dean struggled to keep a hold of his emotions as his brother looked desperately up at him through swimming eyes and he swallowed hard, blinking quickly.

"No. You're not Sam. If you do you know I will resurrect your ass and kill you again for even trying it." Dean said and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile flit across his brother's pale, sweaty face.

Sam weakly scratched at his arm, barely able to force his arm to move.

Silence descended upon the room again as Dean watched his brother's every move. He could see the pain he was in and it was breaking him.

"Why do you keep scratching?" Dean asked as his brother weakly scratched at his arm again.

Sam didn't seem to have the energy to reply so Dean leant over and pulled the sleeves of the gown further up.

Dean felt his mouth go try and he stared at the small patch of purple bruises on his brother's arm. It felt like the whole world was crashing down around him.

He quickly pressed the call button and Sam stared at him, eyelids at half-mast.

"It's okay Sam." He soothed. Sam's eyelids drooped again before he forced them slowly back open.

"'m scared." He whispered and a single tear rolled down his fever-flushed cheek. Dean brushed it from his cheek softly.

"It'll be okay Sammy." He replied as the doctor entered the room.

"What's wrong?" He asked walking over and checking Sam's monitors and his chart. Dean noticed that Sam had fallen asleep again and turned to the doctor.

"He's got a rash." He said and he couldn't miss the look of worry that crossed the doctor's face.

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John Winchester slammed down on the brakes and skidded noisily into the parking lot of the hospital. He jumped out of the car, slamming the doors and rushed through the automatic doors to the hospital.

He skidded to a halt at the receptionist's desk and she looked up startled at the man's frenzied entrance.

"My son…Sam Winchester, he was brought in earlier. What room is he in?" He asked breathing heavily.

The receptionist glanced at her computer screen as John waited impatiently, each second feeling like a lifetime.

"Sam Winchester…He's in room 6 in the ICU." She said and John immediately felt sick. The ICU. Sam was sick enough to be in the ICU.

"It's on the third floor."

Leaving with a hurried thanks John rushed over to the elevator and jumped in.

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Dean closed his eyes and desperately tried to hold everything together as he sat outside his brother's room.

Septicemia, blood poisoning, organ failure, 50 chance, death

Dean felt like he was going to be sick. His stomach was churning violently. His brother's life depended on the flip of a coin, the same odds. Heads he lives, Tails he dies.

He heard the elevator doors from down the hall and the soft talking of nurses from the nurse's station but in his head all he could hear was the doctor's words, echoing around and around his head.

"Dean?"

He immediately looked up and stopped still.

"Dad?"