Author's Note: This was extremely hard to write. I wrote it all out, hated it and deleted it, and now I'm finally happy with this. I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for all the kind words/story favorites/story alerts/etc.! It means a lot to me! Just a brief warning, there's a bit of foul language in here so read at your own risk. Please enjoy!


And all I need is you

Come please I'm callin'

And oh I scream for you

Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'

Nickleback "Savin' Me"


God, Sammy, I'm sorry . . .

Sam was burning.

Flames licked his chest and if Sam could've cried out for help, he would have. The pain was too much though and he could barely breathe let alone speak. He could hear broken sobs beside him and he wondered with an odd sense of detachment if John was crying over him. He then dismissed that as impossible—his father never cried and he certainly would never cry over him. John hated him.

If you walk out that door, Sam, don't you ever come back!

Visions of the fight over Stanford filled his head. Watching sheer fury fill John's eyes, seeing Dean stand helplessly by, finally storming out the door with his duffel in hand when John had given him that ultimatum, walking aimlessly until Dean had managed to catch up to him in the Impala. Sam had learned that night the lengths his father was willing to go to keep his boys under his control. No, John had never loved him. The sobbing must've been for someone else's sake.

My point is, Sam, that this was never the life I wanted for you.

The vision shifted and Sam was suddenly in that room, smiling and laughing with his father. That night had been one where Sam realized that maybe John had made some mistakes, but he still cared for Sam—still loved him and protected him. They had bonded that evening and for a brief respite they had simply been father and son, not commander and soldier. Sam wished that they had shared more of those moments together.

The vision faded and Sam was left with his father's voice in his mind saying 100 different phrases and expressing 100 different emotions. Memories replayed of John—some good, some bad—but in every single one Sam could tell that his father had cared about him. Maybe he had expressed his care in the wrong fashion, maybe Sam had made some mistakes too, but the point was that John had loved him in some way.

That made the fact that he was dying much harder to accept.

If John cared, why had he done this? What did he think he was saving Sam from? The fire that seemed to consume him burned even hotter and caused Sam's train of thought to derail as he tried to focus on breathing—a task which was becoming more difficult by the second.

"Dean." Sam whimpered, wanting his brother beside him. Dean could take the pain away. Dean could save him. He wanted his big brother. He wanted Dean to make a snarky remark—Chicks dig scars, Sammy—and hide his worry behind the façade that only Sam had learned to see past. Dean could make things better, could save him.

But Dean was halfway through town looking for Bobby. Sam might've been losing consciousness from the blood loss and his head might've been spinning, but even so, he deduced that the wound was bad enough that if Dean didn't show up within the next ten minutes, he was a goner.

I'm so sorry, Sammy.

The voice continued weeping.

Sam let his eyes close.


Something was wrong—Dean could sense it to the very core of his being.

Forcing the mini-van—his baby was almost repaired, but Dean didn't want to risk her just yet—to speed even faster, he scanned the road looking for Bobby's worn-down truck. Their dad's sudden appearance had spooked Dean and frankly, he wanted to get back to Bobby's house as soon as possible. There was a haunted look in their dad's eyes—something that caused Dean's instincts to protect Sam to flare up. He knew this was, of course, ridiculous because Sam was safe with their father. Sure the two argued like no tomorrow, but in the end, they were family and family looked after each other.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Still, the dark feeling lingered and Dean couldn't shake it. Why was he so worried? Sure, their dad had looked sick, but there was no sign of anything worse—no blood, no bruises, nothing. Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his pounding heart. He was running on adrenaline, almost as if he was in the middle of a hunt. It was odd, considering that he wasn't chasing down any monsters.

It also made him want to get back to Sam that much quicker.

"Yahtzee!" Dean exclaimed as he saw Bobby's truck parked in a gas station. Pulling in quickly, he spotted the older hunter and killed the engine and practically sprinted over to Bobby. The older hunter was startled by Dean's sudden appearance and almost dropped his book that he held within his hands.

"Dean, what the hell is your—?" Bobby began.

"It's Dad! He's back." Dean exclaimed and realization dawned in their friend's eyes. Still, the older hunter kept calm—that was one thing Bobby always was, calm, even in the face of impossible odds—and simply took a deep breath in before speaking.

"He hurt?" Dean shook his head. Confusion then filled Bobby's eyes and Dean understood why it was there. He wasn't making much sense, but the feeling of foreboding was consuming him completely and if he didn't get back to Sam right fucking now, there was going to be hell to pay—that Dean knew.

"No, but he looked sick," Dean answered, desperately trying to contain the panic that was threatening to destroy him. "Said he needed your help. Told me to come get you." Bobby nodded his head and put the gas pump back. Pulling out his keys, he opened the car door.

"Where's Sam?" Bobby questioned suddenly.

"He's with Dad." Whether it was because he heard the edge of fear in his voice or whether because he knew something was wrong, Bobby moved with quickness that Dean hadn't seen in him in years.

"I'll follow you." Bobby told him.

They took off towards the house.


The house was deserted and the Impala was missing. Sam's cellphone lay on the kitchen counter and John's was not turned on, leaving Dean only to wonder where his father and his brother had gone.

"Did your daddy say he was heading anywhere?" Bobby questioned gruffly and Dean shook his head. He wanted to panic, wanted to scream, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. He had to remain calm and in control. Sam was fine. Currently missing along with his father, but fine otherwise. He had to be fine.

"No." Dean mumbled, trying to shake the fear out of his head, trying to shun the foreboding that was coursing through his veins.

"We'll find them." Bobby assured Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder and shooting him a small grin. Dean nodded his head and wondered where they should start looking when Bobby's phone rang. Immediately, the older hunter answered it and Dean observed his face fall and Dean felt his own heart plummet.

"Who—?" Bobby pulled out his car keys and barked an order for Dean to get in the truck. Bobby sped and ran three red lights before the two hit a dirt road that led to an open field filled with dead grass. The grass crunched under Dean's boots and as he scanned the area, he wondered why they were here. It was in the middle of this pondering that Dean eyes caught the sight of a crumpled form in the grass.

"Sammy!" Sam's name tore from his throat as his sprinted across the field. The cold wind burned, but Dean ignored it and found that he could only focus on his little brother lying so still—deathly still—on the ground. Reaching his brother, Dean glanced down and saw the crimson pool of blood that had stained Sam's shirt red and was continually bleeding. Dean felt like he had been punched for it suddenly very hard to breathe. "Sammy, hey, Sammy, please, God, Sam, open your eyes." Dean placed hand a on his brother's cheek and wished that Sam would sit up and say that this was all some messed up prank that he had pulled—Got you Dean! I finally got you!—and then they would all laugh together.

Except Sam wasn't waking up.

Cursing himself for not doing this earlier, Dean's hand flew to Sam's neck as he checked for a pulse. Those few seconds of waiting were the longest in Dean's life, but with a relief Dean found Sam's pulse. It was slow and weak, but it was still there. Smiling affectionately, Dean carded a hand through Sam's hair. His brother had always been a fighter.

"Sammy, please, open your eyes," Dean pleaded. "Sammy—"

"Dean." Bobby's voice pulled him away from his brother as Dean focused on what Bobby had found—a gun.

"Shit," Dean swore because this had suddenly become so much worse. Sam had a gunshot to the chest and they needed to get to a hospital right now before the blood loss created any more problems and they needed to find their father. "Bobby, there's so much blood and—"

"One thing at a time," Bobby told him gruffly. "And first things first, we get your brother to the nearest hospital—"

"And then find out who the hell is responsible for this." Dean hissed, his eyes turning murderous. Bobby nodded his head in agreement because while these two may be John's boys, they were his family too and an attack on one of them was an attack on all of them.

"D'n?" Sam wheezed and instantly Dean's attention was once again was focused on his little brother.

"Hey there, Sammy," Dean greeted, a blinding smile on his lips. "You're gonna be okay. Bobby and I are going to get you to the hospital. Hang in there, alright?" Something dawned in Sam's eyes and he bolted upright. "Sam, easy there!" Blood poured out of the gunshot wound and Dean grimaced. Not good.

"Dad!" Sam shouted, his eyes filled with panic. "Dean, Dad—!" Sam groaned with the effort that talking took and Dean instantly supported his brother as Sam wheezed and tried to get some oxygen into his damaged lungs.

"Sam, breathe!" Dean snapped, worry seeping into his tone. God, he hated it when Sam was hurt. He always felt so powerless, so useless! His job was to protect Sam, to keep him safe and he had failed that. He had failed Sam. "We'll find him, don't worry."

"No, Dean," Sam wheezed in-between the gasps. "Dad, he's not—" Sam's voice gave out as his brother sagged against Dean's arms, clearly exhausted.

"Sam, shut up." Dean ordered gently. Sam's babbling was just making his injury worse. He needed to focus on breathing and let Dean worry about everything else.

"Dean, we need to get moving." Bobby's voice interjected and Dean nodded his head. Finding his father would have to wait for now—Sam was his first priority. With a strength that he didn't know he had in him, Dean hefted his brother up and apologized softly when Sam's face contorted in pain. Slowly, they began to move towards Bobby's truck.

"Stop."

"John," Bobby greeted, relief evident in his tone. "You hurt?" Dean allowed his gaze to travel to his father whose own shirt was covered in darkened blood. His eyes still held that haunted look and he was shaking, all of which caused the foreboding that Dean had felt earlier to go into overdrive.

"Put him down." John ordered and Dean's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Dad—" Dean began.

"He needs a hospital." Bobby spat.

"I said," John began, pulling out a pistol and aiming it at Dean. "Put Sam down."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Bobby growled, stepping dangerously close to eldest Winchester. "You hit your head or somethin'? Sam's been shot! He needs a hospital."

"I know," John mumbled, his eyes clouding with grief. "I shot him."

For the briefest of seconds, no one said anything and the field was silent.

Then, it all went to hell.

"You shot him?" Dean echoed, unable to comprehend what was going on. No, this had to be a trick. It had to be a demon—that was the only logical explanation. "Christo!"

John didn't flinch; Dean's heart fell.

"I had to!" John protested, waving the gun around in his hands. "Dean, it's the only way to save Sam."

"Save Sam?" Dean muttered angrily, because Sam was bleeding out—Sam was dying—and John was saying that this was saving Sam. "Dad, move!"

"Dean, stand down!" John barked as he aimed at his eldest. "This is not your call to make anymore."

"It's not yours either," Bobby informed John as he held the other pistol that had been used to shoot Sam. "John, something's wrong with you. Put the gun down and we'll figure out what it is."

"Nothing is wrong!" John shouted.

"Then, why did you call me at the house?" Bobby challenged. "Why did you shoot Sam right above his heart?" The implications of this newfound information filled John's eyes with sadness, grief and hope all mixed into one look—a look that seemed to pierce Dean's soul. "John, I refuse to believe that you actually want to kill Sam."

"Sam has to die." John mumbled.

"Why?" Bobby challenged, but John remained silent.

"D'n," Sam slurred and Dean's attention once again was focused on his brother. "Go. Leave me."

"No way in hell, Sammy," Dean spat. "It's you and me against the world, right?"

"Right." Sam whispered right as he faded into unconsciousness.

"Sammy?" Dean frowned as he noticed the growing puddle of blood that was forming beneath Sam. They had to get out of here fast or Sam wasn't going to make it. "Hold on, Sammy. We're moving." Dean began to walk towards the truck, but John cut off his path, gun leveled at his heart.

"I said, put him down." It was an order given from his commander. Dean never disobeyed. No, rebelling had always been Sam's thing. Sure, John had taught Dean to always obey him; however, John had also taught him that Sam came first. You protect your brother—those had been John's words and the mantra that Dean lived by. If it came down to his father and Sam, then Dean would choose Sam. He had prayed it would never come to that, but now . . . Sam wasn't dying, not on his watch. And if John intended to kill Sam, well, that was too bad because Sam wasn't going to die today. Dean would make sure that his brother got out of this in one piece or her would die trying.

"No." Dean's voice came out as hard and unyielding. Brief shock lit up on John's face before being replaced by fury. He readied the gun.

"Fine."

Another gunshot rang out in the field.


Dean had prepared himself for the pain of being shot, but none came. Instead, John crumpled in the field, cursing as the gun flew out of his hand. It dawned on Dean that Bobby had shot John in the leg and now the old friend of the family was towering above John, ready to shoot his other leg if necessary.

"You get Sam in the truck," Bobby commanded. "I'll stay here." Dean nodded and slowly, but surely made his way to the reliable truck. He wasn't sure where his baby was, but John had the keys and right now, Sam needed help so they hadn't a moment to lose. As soon as Sam was settled, Dean made his way back to Bobby.

"You don't understand!" John screamed, voice mixed with fury and grief. "Sam's fate—he has to die!"

"John," Bobby began, shaking his head. "Listen, to yourself! You're talking about killing your son!"

"It's the greatest gift I can give." John mumbled, his voice becoming quiet.

"Bobby—" Dean began.

"Go on," Bobby told him. "Get Sam to the hospital."

"But what about—?"

"Get Sam to the hospital now." Bobby ground out and Dean nodded his head. Bobby would handle things here and frankly, Dean wasn't sure if he could handle being around his angry and possibly delusional father. He wasn't sure he could trust himself to control his fury and not attack his father. No one hurt Sam and got away with it—not even John Winchester.

So, he got in the truck and drove like there was no tomorrow.


The hospital staff had taken one look at Sam and quickly rushed him into surgery, leaving Dean to worry and wait. Thankfully, there had been no questions and their fake insurance had gone through so for the moment, it seemed things were looking up.

If you call Sam being shot by their dad looking up that is.

Dean had tried to process that bit of information, but found that he couldn't truly believe it. Even though John had admitted it and even pointed a gun at Dean, the older Winchester brother's mind seemingly refused to believe it as possible. John loved Sam. He cared for Sam.

Right?

"Mr. Jones?" Dean's head instantly snapped up as rose to greet the young surgeon.

"How is my brother?" Dean questioned urgently.

"Well, we removed the bullet," She explained. "And thankfully, it lodged above his heart. He's going to need a lot of rest, but he's stable."

"He'll make it?" Dean pressed, needing to hear the official diagnosis.

"Well, there is always the risk of infection," She added. "However, in Sam's case, he's very healthy and all his organs were spared. I think it's safe to say he'll be okay." Immediately, the tension from Dean's shoulders was lifted and a smile lit up on his face.

"Can I see him?" Dean asked.

"Yes," She replied. "Follow me."

She led him to a small private room and Dean finally felt himself breathe as he saw Sam's sleeping form. He rushed in and parked himself in the crappy chair that would hurt his back, but who cares? Sam was going to be okay—at the end of the day that was all that mattered.

"Scared me today, Sammy," Dean whispered, knowing his brother would never hear it, but that was okay. He wasn't a "chick-flick" moment kind of guy, but when it came to Sam . . . Well, sometimes his little brother brought out that side of him. "Glad you're going to be okay."

"D'n?" Sam mumbled groggily as he turned towards his older brother's voice.

"I'm here." Dean told him. Sam opened his eyes and Dean had never felt more relieved. "You with me?"

"Uh-huh." Sam murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"The doctor said you'd be alright." Dean told him with a grin on his lips and joy in his eyes.

"Dad?" That was the question he had been dreading. What should he say? Bobby's taking care of it?

"He's with Bobby." Sam nodded his head slowly and then groped for his brother's hand. Dean held it and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"M'sorry." Sam slurred.

"It's not your fault, Sammy." Dean assured him.

"I saw it." Dean titled his head to the side in confusion.

"What?"

"Vision." Sam explained simply and Dean's blood ran cold. The visions that Sam had been having everyday—he had known John was going to shoot him and not said anything?

"Why didn't you—?" Dean began, a 100 different emotions swirling within him and yet, he was unable to express what he was truly feeling. He was hurt that Sam hadn't told him about the vision's subject matter and also a bit worried.

"Didn't want . . ." Sam wheezed. "To be a pain."

And suddenly, Dean understood why Sam hadn't said anything.

"Hey," Dean interjected sharply. "You are not a pain." Sam smirked and it was the most beautiful sight that Dean had seen all day.

"Sure about that?" Sam challenged.

"Okay," Dean relented, allowing himself to be drawn into the banter. "Sometimes you are quite the pain in the ass." They both laughed and for the first time in a long time, things felt okay. It felt like they could survive whatever else was thrown their way. After a few more minutes, Sam's eyes began to droop once more.

"Dean?" Sam began, eyes shutting.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Stay?" His voice sounded so weak, so pitiful. It reminded him of when Sam had been little and had begged him not to go out on hunts with their father.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

It was a guarantee.


Hours passed.

By the time morning rolled around, Bobby had arrived and Dean knew the moments he saw him that he came bearing bad news.

"That bad?" Bobby said nothing, simply sat in another chair across from Sam's bed.

"How is he?"

"He's going to be fine." Dean informed him.

A pause passed.

"Your daddy got away," Bobby began. "But not before I found out what was wrong with him. You ever hear of being possessed by a ghost?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "But I thought that ghosts couldn't really do that."

"Normally, they can't," Bobby started. "But some ghosts—the really powerful ones—they form bonds with people. And your daddy, he's bonded with one nasty spirit."

"What?" Dean asked, shock dripping into his tone. His father—the man he used to know anyways—would've never joined forces with a spirit. It went against every code John Winchester stood for! "What do you mean bonded?"

"The spirit will lend the host some of their power in exchange for having a home inside their body." Dean shook his head, trying to dispel the image of his father from his head. Something had been off when he had returned home. Why hadn't Dean seen it?

"How do you get rid of it?" Dean pressed.

"Special kind of exorcism," Bobby replied. "But Dean, there's something else."

"What?"

"To be bonded with a spirit," Bobby shifted uncomfortably. "You have to agree to do it. Your daddy . . . he wanted to be possessed in order to "save" Sam, whatever the hell that means."

"He chose to do it?" Dean questioned, needing to hear it once more because it was so impossible. John working with the very same things he hunted? Trying to kill his son? It all sounded too bizarre to be true and yet, here Dean was being told just that.

"Yes," Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to process everything that was being thrown at him. "Look, Dean, I hate to bring it up, but your daddy . . . he'll come after Sam again. He won't stop until Sam's dead or that ghost is gone."

"I know." Dean sighed.

"You know," Bobby began, almost conversationally. "You two are welcome to stay with me as long as you need."

"Bobby, I can't let you—"

"The hell you can't!" Bobby snapped. "Family is more than just blood, Dean. I know things are screwed up now, but you're gonna need help."

Dean nodded his head because yeah, he will need help protecting his brother from his own father, from a hunter that has way more experience that Dean does. He wished it could be different, this wasn't happening, but this was real. There was no more denying it.

"Okay," Dean said. "Thank you, Bobby."

Their father might've gone AWOL and had become possessed, but the Winchester boys were not alone.

They were never alone.


They released Sam from the hospital a week later.

John was still missing and, as far as anyone could tell, he had completely dropped off the radar. The fact that his father was out there though, waiting for his moment to get to Sam scared Dean to no end, not that he let Sam see that. Sam had recovered quickly and almost two weeks after being shot, he was back at 100% and itching to get out and go somewhere—anywhere.

A hunt came up—a simple salt and burn. It was something small, something to get them back on their feet after an experience that would've shattered anyone else. They left with Bobby's blessing and a promise to keep in touch. They hadn't talk about what had transpired, though Dean knew Bobby told Sam everything about the ghost possession.

So, they drove and didn't talk about it and tried to pretend like everything's okay when it was obviously not. It was the Winchester way of dealing with things. After a few hours though, Sam finally turned to Dean and his eyes were full of sadness and guilt.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" He prepared himself to reassure Sam that John was crazy and that this was in no way Sam's fault when Sam simply smiled.

"Thanks." Dean felt the burden on his shoulder lighten considerably.

Sure, things suck right now and their dad is out to kill one of them, but it's moments like these that make Dean's life better. The apocalypse could be happening right outside and one smile from Sam would make it better—that's always the way it would be.

"You're welcome."

They continued driving, leaving the bad memories behind and knowing that as long as they had each other, they could handle anything.

And in the end, that was all the mattered.


Author's Note: Phew! That was really long and difficult to write. Still, I hope you enjoyed it. Forgive me if Bobby seemed out of character, as this was my first time really writing as him. I might do more stories set in this universe, but I'm not sure. I hope you all enjoyed though! Please review!