A/N: I'm so sorry about taking so long to finally update this story, but my mind sort of turned to mush with it and I needed to take a break from writing in order to get it working again. Anyhoo, I hope you like this next chapter, there's not a whole lot of action going on and it's kinda short, but I'm happy to at least get the ball rolling again. :D

Chapter 8

Three hours later...

John counted the tiles on the floor for the hundredth time, the television in the corner replaying CNN's headlines offered no distraction to his dark and morose mood. Next to him, Dean nervously tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his impatience and worry palpable to the older man.

Dean was up and moving a moment later, once again taking to pacing back and forth across the small waiting area, unable to sit still any longer. There wasn't anything john could say to his eldest son that might alleviate his anxiety, for he felt it all himself; the uncertainty, the fear of losing his youngest, of losing whatever semblance of 'normal' they might enjoy... all of it was overwhelming and he was in no shape to provide any comfort at that moment.

Damn, but he was failing, he thought. He had driven Sam away and now he didn't even have a clue as to how he could help Dean deal with his raging emotions, how could he when he didn't even know how to handle his own. What kind of father was he?

"John?" he turned as a familiar voice filled the room.

"Caleb." he sighed in relief, glad to see his friend had made it out of the forest unscathed.

"How is he?" Caleb asked as he strode into the room and took as seat next to him.

"Don't know yet." Was all he could reply, his vision once again drifting to the tiles. "The ER doc seemed to think..." He almost couldn't say the next few words. "that he might lose his leg."

"It won't come to that, ya know. Sam is a strong kid."

"I know..." John hollowly came back. "But, she said the infection is bad...really bad."

"He'll beat it, John." Caleb responded swiftly and assuredly.

He nodded half-heartedly. Sure, Sam was strong for his age, but there was only so much one could do when faced with billions of uncontrolled microbes invading a body.

"You look beat...maybe you and Dean should take a little nap. I'll wake you when the doctor comes in."

Nap? Was Caleb serious? How could he sleep right now? His son might already be getting his leg amputated as they speak. He shot the younger man a look that explained better his opinion than any words ever could.

"How about some coffee then?"

John nodded. He could use the caffeine.

Caleb gave his shoulder a quick pat before he left the room. John sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his coarse stubble. When he drew his hand away from his face, he noticed how Dean's attention had shifted to the door, his face frozen. He turned to see what had gripped his son's attention.

A grim-faced, balding man in green scrubs strode into the room and walked straight over to him. John was on his feet immediately.

"Are you Sam's father?"

"Yes" He felt his mouth go dry.

The man, whom he could only assume was Sam's doctor, offered his hand and John took it, shaking it briefly.

"I'm Dr. Ellison, your son's surgeon. Why don't you take a seat so we can talk..."

OOOOOOOOOO

He floated in and out, up and down in a vast land filled with absolutely nothing. The pillow-like softness encasing his brain that was all too enticing to leave. It was heavenly at first and he would have liked stayed in that safe and comfortable place forever but, like everything in his life, it was too good to last.

A dull ache surfaced, annoying a first and easily pushed aside in favor of more rest, but when it grew into a throbbing mass of overwhelming pain, his time in that nether-region between sleep and wakefulness had come to a crashing end.

Slowly, he pried crusty, heavy eyelids open. For a moment, he was confused, unsure of where he was, but the memory of teeth digging into his flesh came back at him like a boomerang. He closed his eyes again to block out the mental image and the ever-increasing pain shooting from his leg, into his hips and up his spine.

He wasn't even aware that he had started whimpering pathetically nor that his hand had instinctively wrapped around the side-rail of his bed and squeezed it in a death-grip, riding out the waves of pain in the only way he could.

It wasn't until he felt someone grab his hand and pry it from the rail and hold it that he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Sammy?"

Dean? He reflexively squeezed back, not at all self-conscious of the fact that he was so relieved, comforted and assured that all would be alright while he held his big brother's hand.

He braved opening his eyes once again and was greeted by Dean's face floating fuzzily over him.

"Hey" Dean smiled, but even through the haze of pain, Sam could see the underlying concern. "Welcome back, Bud."

Sam was confused at first. Where had he been? What happened? Why did everything hurt? But, only a moment after prodding his memories, he had a flash of recall; hunting werewolves, the fight with his father, teeth sinking and shredding into his flesh. It all came back to him.

"Dean?" he tried to speak, his throat crusty and sore so that his voice was barely audible and nearly a squeak. "Dad?"

He hadn't seen his father yet, but the moment he spoke, the man himself appeared.

"Hey, Sammy."

Despite the pain he was in, Sam found it hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn't recall a time when he felt so tired, so drained and weak, but there were things he had to know before he could let himself fall back into sleep. He knew his leg had been a complete mess and he wasn't so naive to think that it would ever be the same again, but the only thing he truly cared about was whether it was even still attached to his body.

"My leg..." He forced out, nearly choking on the thought that it might be gone. "Is it?..."

Sam felt pressure on his head. Was that his father stroking his hair? He couldn't remember the last time he had done that and Sam couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad sign that his worst fears had come true.

"Don't worry, it's still there and you're gonna be okay, son." Dad replied calmly, but he could almost feel the tension in his voice. "The docs did a good job patching you up, you just need to stay strong and get better. Everything'll be alright, got it?"

Sam glanced over at Dean, trying to read his face. There were times when his brother was an open book, when he wore his emotions on his sleeve, but this was not one of those times. He had on his best poker face, the one he used when he had a terrible hand yet made the world believe he had a royal flush.

They weren't telling him everything and he would have demanded that they did if it weren't for the fact that his eyelids were increasingly becoming heavier and heavier. At least he had the feeling that no matter what happened, his family would be there, that he wouldn't be alone and after remembering the way he had longed for them during his struggles in the woods, that certainty would be enough to comfort him for now and allow him to drift off into the rest his body demanded.

OOOOOOOOOO

Three days later

Dean was restless.

Dad had ordered him to the motel room for a full eight hours of sleep in a real bed, promising to call him should anything happen, but he just couldn't turn his thoughts off enough to actually find any sort of rest. He lay in bed, staring up at the whirling ceiling fan as far from sleep as possible.

How could he sleep when Sam was still so sick?

The doctors were 'cautiously optimistic' that they could fight the infection with antibiotics and possibly another surgery without removing his leg, but to Dean, the situation was dire. Dean had stayed once for a changing of Sam's bandages, getting an in-your-face look at the damage done to Sam's leg and even after all of the gore and blood he had seen over the span of his short lifetime, he nearly lost his lunch seeing the wound.

On top of that, He had never seen his brother so ill before and there just wasn't anything he could do about it. In the three days since Sam's surgery, he had only woken up a couple of times for a few, brief moments before slipping back into sleep. His fever was still higher than the doctor's would have liked and even though they said that was to be expected, Dean never the less, felt like his world was spinning out of control. He had never felt so completely useless when it came to Sam's well-being and now he couldn't even be there for him.

He was frustrated and angry that his father had sent him here for sleep he was never going to get and he had half a mind to forget his orders and go back to the hospital anyway, but orders were orders and despite his temptation to resist them, he knew his father was only doing this for his own good.

But, that still didn't make him feel any better.

He was just about to give up even trying to rest in bed when there was a knock at the door, startling him. Dean grabbed his nearest weapon, a .45 that was resting on the nightstand as he wasn't expecting anyone to come by.

Cautiously, he headed for the door, standing off to the side and peeking through the peephole then breathing a quiet sigh of relief seeing that it was Caleb on the other side. Unlocking the dead-bolt, Dean opened the door and greeted the older hunter.

"Caleb, what are you doing here? I thought you left town a couple of days ago."

"I did, but the job Pastor Jim called me for was only a few hours away and I wrapped it up yesterday, so I thought I's swing by and check on Sam. Your father said I could stay with you for the night since visiting hours were over for non-family members."

"Yeah, sure...c'mon in." Dean gestured and Caleb strode into the room, carrying a small duffel bag and dropping it on the other bed in the room.

"So...how is he?" Caleb asked.

Dean exhaled deeply before answering. "He's hanging in there...He's still pretty sick, but uh..." Dean rubbed his head as he took a seat on the bed then leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor. "Doctors are hopeful that they won't have to..ya know...do anything drastic."

Caleb nodded, understanding how Dean couldn't quite show or put into words how frightened he was.

Dean tried to let the tightening ball of anxiety he'd been carrying around settle in the pit of his stomach in order to keep it from taking over in the presence of the other hunter and he had found that the best way to do that was with distraction. "So...wanna beer?" he asked.

"Nah...I'm good." Caleb replied, sitting on his own bed then sighing as though he had a confession to make. "Look, Dean...truth is, your Dad is worried. He asked me to come look in on you. He says you haven't been sleeping or eating much and I know all of this stuff going on with Sam is tough, but you know that you can't help your brother out by killing yourself." Dean at first was a little miffed that his father had pulled this on him, sending Caleb to come and babysit. It wasn't as if his old man had been eating or sleeping all that well lately either, yet he was still at the hospital.

Caleb offered Dean a little grin to break up some of the heaviness and tension growing in the room. "So, whether you like it or not, you're going to get some sleep tonight, even if I have to knock you out to do it."

"S'that a threat?" Dean chimed back, feeling his own lips curl up a little at the corners.

"You bet." Caleb answered. "And in the morning, you're eating a full breakfast too."

"Okay...but only if you give my father the same treatment tomorrow."

"I would, but I sort of like living."

Dean had to grin a little at that and true to his word, Caleb began turning off lights and ordered Dean to get under the covers. He wondered petulantly if the man was also going to read him a story and sing him a lullaby in order to get him to sleep. But, as it turns out, Caleb didn't need to. Moments after he climbed into bed, his phone rang with his father's number popping up on his caller ID.

Immediately he was on edge holding the thing, almost afraid to answer it as it couldn't be good if Dad was calling this late at night.

Almost mechanically, he brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Dean, you need to get down here." His father spoke without preamble and minutes later, Dean was gunning the engine of the Impala down the highway, racing for the hospital.

To Be Continued...