Redemption

by neonchica

Death was always an option. This - this was not. Dean has been rendered permanantly disabled by an enemy. Now, quadriplegic & vent-dependent, Dean and Sam must work hard to overcome their new obstacles and learn to accept this new definition of living.

3. Chapter 3

A/N: So, what I had feared would happen is beginning to happen... While no one has actually said anything negative to me (Thank You!) I'm beginning to feel just a tad anxious about writing such a horrendous injury for Dean. This is not an easy subject to read, nor is it easy to write. And in light of that, I wanted to maybe explain my reasons behind it - if nothing else, to make me feel better.
For as long as I can remember I have been enamored with anything pertaining to the medical field, particularly the brain and spinal cord and the effects of damage to these fragile structures. The Central nervous system, in general, is fascinating because it is the only part of our bodies that does not completely and unquestionably regenerate, and it takes intense and constant rehabilitation to offer even a glimmer of hope of returning to ones old life. Ever since I was old enough to understand this I have known I wanted to be a part of that hope, and I will graduate next Spring with a Master's degree in Speech-Language Pathology, with an emphasis on Traumatic Brain Injury.
I have been writing these injuries and disabilities into fiction for just as long (with my own characters and for my own enjoyment), so when I discovered that I could connect with the Winchester boys in such a way that I felt I could do their characters justice it was only natural for me to transfer my interest into that fanfiction realm. At first, my goal was simply to write something that hadn't been written. In just a year into the show I had already seen stories dealing with every injury and emotional conflice under the sun, but at that point I had yet to see anything dealing with permanent injury, particularly to the brain or Spinal cord. With Weston House, I hoped to share my knowledge as well as prod others to write that type of injury into their fics (and some have - would LOVE to read more!!!).
As Weston House came to a close, though, I realized that it wasn't just about influencing other fics in that genre, but also about providing a complete and accurate account of the effects this kind of injury has on the body and the mind. By no means do I claim to be an expert, and I'm always seeking more knowledge, but I try to be as accurate in these stories as I can. I know sometimes that can come off as a bit "too intense" for the more squeamish readers, and I apologize for that, but I feel like I would be doing a disservice to the thousands of people living with injuries just like those I write if I were to ignore the less "pretty" aspects of daily life. I seek to inform and to entertain, and hopefully am succeeding at that. And while I'm sorry that it has to be Dean...just remember that the "real" Dean is still fully intact and off fighting the good fight every Thursday night on the CW! LOL.
Anyway, hopefully that explains some of "me." And if nothing else, at least I feel better. : ) Thanks for listening to my ramblings.

And again, if you're interested their are pictures over on my lj - make sure to check those out too!

So on with the story....

Sam is in the hallway when he hears the alarms scream out from his brother's room and sees the flurry of medical staff come flying down the hall. He'd returned several minutes before and was just waiting for the door to open and Holly to emerge before he went back in to join Dean.

Now, he frantically follows the doctors and nurses into the room, but gets no further than the doorway before he stops, panic preventing him from going any closer to the bed. They wouldn't have allowed it anyway, knows he would be shuffled aside immediately even if he did manage to make it to Dean's side, but right now he can't manage to make his feet work to save his life.

Holly and the doctor on call are hovering over his brother, calling to him and examining him as two other nurses help to check every inch of his body and the hoses surrounding him. Dean is writhing on the bed, limbs flailing, head shifting, and for a minute Sam thinks maybe Dean has gotten sensation and movement back in his useless body. But there's too much anxiety surrounding the situation, not enough relief.

"Dean, can you hear us sweetheart? It's going to be okay. We'll get this figured out, we've got you." It's Holly's voice that Sam hears, her hands that he sees planted firmly on either side of Dean's cheeks as the young doctor spouts orders and consults Dean's chart. He spews out orders for medications, administers the drugs himself through the port on Dean's IV line, waits impatiently for the flailing to stop and Dean to relax.

When the initial panic is over the doctor spouts new orders and suddenly there's a flurry of fresh activity as one of the nurses pushes past Sam and disappears out into the hall, returning soon after with an orderly pushing a gurney. They prepare Dean, work and maneuver him to slip a sheet underneath and then the whole crew takes hold of different parts of the sheet and transfer him from the bed onto the gurney, swapping out the room ventilator for a portable vent and gathering up the IV lines and tubes before rushing their patient from the room.

No one seems to notice Sam is even there until the room is empty of staff once again and it's suddenly only Sam and Holly. She's stayed behind to finish cleaning up the remnants of the bowel routine and Dean's dinner, allowing the trauma team to do their work without her intervention. In shock, Sam slowly makes his way to the chair near Dean's bed and sinks into it, startling the nurse out of her own daze.

"Sam, you scared me," Holly says, clasping her well manicured hand to her chest. "I didn't know you were here."

"What just happened?" he demands, not interested in small talk. "What's going on with my brother?"

She grimaces and drops the load of sheets she's holding back onto the bed in a giant ball. "That's what they're trying to figure out," she tells him. "He seemed a little off when I got here, but when I asked him if he was feeling alright he said he was fine. As near as we can tell he's suffering from a condition called autonomic dysreflexia. Dr. Robinson was able to stabilize him but they took him for some testing to figure out what's causing it."

"I don't know what that is," Sam says, brushing the hair out of his eyes and looking imploringly at the grandmotherly nurse. He considers telling her that he's not surprised Dean didn't complain, but decides that isn't important right now. What is important is making sure his brother gets better. "How serious is it?"

"It can be very serious if it's not caught in time. Autonomic dysreflexia is where the blood pressure soars dangerously high, and can occur from any number of different irritants. It can be a blocked catheter, backed up bowel, an infection, even a wrinkle in the sheet pressing on his skin, anything that affects the body and causes it to react negatively can lead to AD. You should be aware of the early symptoms, things to watch out for, like tingling and dizziness, headaches, excessive sweating and a feeling of heat to the skin, sometimes a flush as well. I think your brother may have been experiencing some of those symptoms, but, like I said, he told me he was feeling fine."

Now's the time to tell her, Sam thinks as he realizes he missed some key signs earlier in the day too. Damn you, Dean! You have to tell us when you're sick. "Dean sometimes thinks he's invincible - you know, that the little things won't hurt him. I guess, in the grand scheme of things, he figured a little headache wasn't much to complain about. He's stubborn that way." Sam says it apologetically, as though it's his fault that Dean keeps these things to himself.

"Well he can't be stubborn like that anymore," Holly says gently. "A little headache can indicate something much bigger. If he had told one of us that he wasn't feeling well earlier a lot of this probably could have been prevented."

Silence follows as Sam takes in the information she's presenting him. He hesitates, wonders if he should ask the next question, then slowly does. "He um...I mean I saw...he was moving."

Holly's face pinches up in nervous reservation and she immediately goes back to concentrating on cleaning up the bed and preparing it for Dean's return. She doesn't seem to want to look at Sam anymore, and stalls as long as she can before coming out with an answer.

"Please, Holly, just tell me. That means he's getting better, right?"

Finally realizing she can't escape this, Holly turns back around and looks at Sam, propping a hip against the bed for support. "No, Sam, I'm sorry. What you saw were involuntary spasms. It's just a misfire in the nerve synapses - not a sign that he's improving. I'm sorry, Sam. I really am."

"Oh," he says softly, looking down at his hands and blinking furiously to keep from crying. Stupid, stupid! "I just thought...I mean it kind of–"

He feels hands wrapping around his own and Sam looks up to see Holly staring at him, compassion filling her expression. "Sam, I wish I could tell you that he's going to get better, I really do. But the reality of the situation is that he's going to be paralyzed like this for the rest of his life. Give it time, honey. You both just need some time to wrap your minds around this, to process everything."

Sam isn't sure what to say to that, how to respond, and instead he just sinks further back into the chair and closes his eyes. He didn't want to get his hopes up, yet he did anyway, and the disappointment is suffocating. But all he really hears is that Dean hasn't improved yet, doesn't hear Holly's conviction that he'll never improve. That one little ray of hope is the only thing Sam has left to hold on to. He's seen miracles in his line of work, has seen things happen when they shouldn't have. There is no reason to think that this time will be any different.

Right now, he shouldn't even be worrying about whether Dean will walk or not, he finally tells himself as he hears Holly gather up the remainder of the stuff and tiptoe out of the room. Right now it's about focusing on what's just happened, making sure Dean recovers from that. Everything is going to be fine.

* * *

It's hours later when they return Dean to his room and Sam hasn't left his post once in all that time, frustrated as he waits for word from the doctors. Holly is still on duty and she joins the doctor and the two orderlies as they work in reverse to return Dean to his special bed. She then takes over his care, arranging him back in the frame and checking the tubes and wires once again to make sure everything is in working order.

Sam had jumped out of the way to allow the staff to work, but now stands imposingly over the doctor, pleading with his eyes for information. Dr. Robinson sighs and asks Sam to take a seat, tells him exactly what Holly had about autonomic dysreflexia and the life threatening problems it can cause if not caught in time.

"In Dean's case," he continues, "the AD was caused by a delayed infection inside his trachea from the less than sterile environment when the procedure was performed, and then exacerbated by the attack a few days ago. He's apparently been trying to fight off the bacteria, but finally succumbed to it. I've put him on a high dose of antibiotics to fight the infection, and also some blood pressure medication temporarily to counter-balance the effects of his elevated blood pressure."

The news, although still scary, isn't as bad as Sam had originally anticipated and he sighs in relief, allows his shoulders to loosen up and drop slightly. "So we can prevent this in the future if he just starts to admit when he's not feeling well?"

"That's a very large part of it," Dr. Robinson agrees. "He probably could have prevented such a severe infection in itself, as well. As it is, his throat's nearly swollen shut around the breathing tube and I'm afraid swallowing will be out of the question for a while. As a result of this, I also went ahead and inserted a gastrostomy tube - a feeding tube - directly into his stomach so we can bypass his throat and still get sustenance into him."

As he explains this, the doctor pulls down the sheet covering Dean's torso and shows Sam the location of the tube sticking out just above the belly button. Sam cringes, distraught to see yet another tube coming out of his brother's body. It sticks out about six inches, is capped off at the end like his IV ports, and gauze covers the swollen area around the surgical site.

"We will let this sit for a few hours and allow Dean to recover from the mild anesthetic we administered. Later this evening the nurses will set him up for a continuous, slow drip feed. He should be consuming at least 2000 calories a day, as much as 2500, but even before this was happening your brother was barely getting 1000. He just wasn't eating enough of his meals. This will be good for him. He needs energy if he's going to stand a fighting chance at rehab."

Sam's ears perk up at that, encouraged by the doctors words. "Rehab?" Sam asks eagerly, hoping for clarification.

The doctor nods. "Of course. As soon as he's ready we need to get him admitted into a rehab hospital, need to get him sitting up in a wheelchair and learning to maneuver it, hopefully some day get him home with family that loves him."

"Oh. Right, of course." Sam's heart sinks and he tries to hide his disappointment as his eyes roam over the still, sleeping form of his now quadriplegic brother. He's still unnerved by the ventilator and the catheter, the IV's, and now the G-tube, as though his brother is merely a piece of machinery pumping fluids in and back out. He doesn't ever think he'll get used to that.

And he's sick to death of hearing about rehab, tired of the doctors redefining the word. They may as well call it coping or making do, because what they're considering rehab isn't going to make his brother better. That's not rehab. Not in Sam's book.

* * *

Dean is clearly exhausted. It takes him until the next afternoon to fight off the effects of the sedative, and even then Sam can see the glassiness that seems to have taken up residence over his brother's eyes. He's barely alert, has trouble focusing on Sam or anything else, and doesn't seem capable of keeping his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time.

Nonetheless, Sam makes a valiant effort to pull Dean out of the fog every time he sees his brother open his eyes.

"Dean, hey there, hey Dean," Sam calls gently, leaning over the bed and putting himself well within eye sight. His thumb has taken up a permanent residence over Dean's temple, and Sam is surprised that he hasn't rubbed the spot raw yet.

He smiles as his brother blinks groggily up at him and moves his lips, maybe mouthing something. Sam convinces himself that it's his name Dean's trying to say.

"Hey now, come on, I'm getting bored sitting here all by myself. Think you can wake up and keep me company?"

Dean blinks a few more times, licks his dry lips with his sandpaper tongue, then closes his eyes again.

"Dean? Come on, man, wake up. Come on," Sam pleads, rubbing a little harder at the temple. But that's the end of it, and he soon sighs and retreats back to the chair beside the bed, resumes watching the bed rotate and listening to the ventilator and the monitors.

A little after three when Holly came on duty she'd stopped in the room to check the leads and tubes, and had pored a new can of Ensure into the slow drip dispenser that now feeds Dean almost constantly. For a while, Sam watches the thick beige glop make its way down the plastic tubing and into Dean's stomach, fascinated and disgusted all at the same time.

He almost misses hearing the soft footsteps that come into the room and stop just inside the doorway, doesn't look up until he hears the clearing of a throat.

The doctor from Dean's captivity is standing there, arms tucked up tight across her chest as she tries to pull in on herself and look as small as possible. Her eyes dart from brother to brother, resting too long on Dean as she takes everything in once again.

"Milla," Sam says rather harshly. He's forgotten about her in all the confusion of the last several days, but seeing her now - now that he knows Dean's future - brings feelings of hatred and even violence bubbling to the surface. He knows he shouldn't be angry with her, but try as he might he just can't manage to think anything but.

"Why are you here?" he demands coldly, laying a protective hand across Dean's chest.

"I– I heard," she replies timidly, hand gesturing out towards Dean and then quickly retreating back to its original position under her armpit. "Thought there might be something I could do."

"Don't you think you've done enough?"

She bites her bottom lip and takes a step closer, eyes imploring Sam to give her a chance. "I can't blame you for being angry with me. But I've done some digging and, well, it doesn't appear that the two of you have any other family to speak of. And I know how draining an injury like this can be - not just on the victim, but also on loved ones."

Sam glares at her, his steely eyed gaze slicing right through her already hesitant exterior. "Yeah? So what's your point?"

"I want to help, Sam." She spits it out, hurrying through the suggestion before she loses her nerve. "I– I know this is partly my fault, and you can't go it alone. I want to be around, give you guys a hand."

He knows he should tell her it's ok, not her fault, tell her he knows she was just a victim of circumstance and manipulation. But right now all he can think of is the idea of her touching his brother and how sick to his stomach it makes him feel. "Are you crazy?" His entire body is quivering with rage and he jumps up, forgets his knee for a minute and storms toward her. He grabs the woman roughly by the arm and drags her out of the room, away from Dean.

"You think I want you anywhere close to my brother right now?" he hisses through clenched teeth, trying to keep his voice down so he doesn't attract a crowd. "You think there's any way in hell that I'm gonna let you help take care of him? I think you better get your brain checked, lady, cause you're delusional. Think maybe Adam did more damage than we thought."

Milla flinches and pulls her arm out of Sam's grasp when he lets go, but she doesn't entirely back down. He can see her hands are shaking, and he's not sure if it's a reaction to him or if they've been shaking all along, but either way he retreats a step. The last thing he needs is for the staff on this floor to see him blow up and deny him access to Dean.

"I can see this wasn't the best time to try and talk to you," Milla says, somehow managing to compose herself and keep the tremble in her voice under control. "But my offer stands. I want to help. Please, just...just think it over."

She doesn't even make eye contact as she turns away. Sam watches her walk a few steps down the hallway, hesitate and put a hand on the wall, then continue on her way. He waits until she's out of sight before limping back into the room, knee now protesting the abrupt exercise it's been forced to endure.

Dean is still asleep, oblivious to the strange turn of events that just took place around him, and for once Sam is grateful for that. He can't imagine the emotional toil it would create for his brother to have to come face to face with Milla again. And letting her help? If the thought wasn't so downright terrifying it might just be laughable. He'll take care of his brother on his own, thank you very much. They'll be fine. They always are.

SUPERNATURAL

The first time Dean is really aware of his surroundings again is nearly three days later when his fever finally breaks and the doctors declare him to be on the downhill slope of fighting the infection. He soon learns of the G-tube in his stomach from Sam, and tries desperately to forget about it immediately, doesn't want to think of one more thing that's been taken from him. Can't move, can't breath, can't talk, now I can't even eat. Useless.

'Wanna get out of here,' he mouths to Sam, face screwed up in anguish. Sam's the only one he can really talk to, the only one who understands him. As much as they try, most of the nurses can only understand a portion of what he says to them and they pretty much stick to yes or no questions. The doctors barely even try that, mostly relying on Sam for interpretation.

He's tired of it. Tired of lying in bed, tired of being sick, tired of not being able to communicate. He doesn't want to be like this, but if he has to then he wants to go somewhere where it's just him and Sam. Somewhere safe and secluded and away from all the hospital sights and sounds and smells. Somewhere where he can focus solely on getting his life back.

"I know, Dean. I want to get you out of here more than you know. I wish it were that simple."

'Don't patronize me,' Dean begs. 'Just figure it out.'

"Not this time, bro. Sorry. We gotta focus on getting you better - but that means rehab and more doctors and therapists. I want you up and walking again." And I don't know how to take care of you, he silently adds.

Hearing about the G-tube was the last straw for Dean, and ever since he's felt himself sinking into a deep pit of despair. Things are clearly not getting any better – worse, if anything - and he's pretty much resigned himself to living like this for the rest of his life. If Sam wants to play optimist then fine, let him. Dean's done with it.

He looks away, blinks to ward off the push of tears he feels at the back of his eyes.

"Come on, man," Sam pleads. "Don't turn away. Don't be giving up hope, okay? Please...we'll figure this out. We will."

He says it with such conviction Dean's inclined to believe him. Almost does. But then Jeanette knocks on the door for the daily lunch routine, makes a big deal out of the fact that Dean is alert again as she sends Sam from the room. It's all too much, gets him thinking once again about all the crap they've got him hooked up to, keeping him alive.

Sam throws out one more mournful, "Dean, please," as he leaves the room but Dean can't bring himself to look at his brother. His eyes glisten with tears as he keeps his head turned away as far as it can go and he has to bite his lip to keep it from trembling.

"What was that all about?" Jeanette asks gently. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, arms braced straight on either side of him as she gazes down with concern.

Dean blinks furiously, swallows down the lump in his throat, and hates himself for the fact that he's crying - in front of a woman no less - and he can't do a damn thing about it. 'Nothing,' he mouths. He doesn't look at her until he feels her soft hands press on either side of his face, but he can't help the look of relief that comes across at the contact and he finally directs his gaze to her.

"I'm here if you need to talk," Jeanette tells him, using her thumbs to nudge the tears away. She pretends not to notice, and he's grateful for that, but it still hurts to know his emotions are just as out of his control as the rest of his body.

He blinks twice for 'no' and leaves it at that, doesn't even try to explain away the situation.

They sit like that for another minute or so, Dean just relishing the feel of contact while Jeanette's expression urges him to open up to her. Finally she sighs, accepting things as they are, and pulls away. "You know the drill. You ready?"

Emotions still running high, Dean can only blink his grudging approval before he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about this routine.

Lunch is no longer a part of it, replaced instead by another can of Ensure being fed into the dispenser. He never thought he would miss eating the bland hospital food they'd insisted on feeding him, but he's already yearning for the too thin mashed potatoes and the sticky oatmeal. Now, the only satisfaction that he gets from food is the slight feeling of fullness that just barely manages to slip past the paralyzed synapses into his brain. And even that comes with a price as it will inevitably lead to another humiliating bowel routine.

* * *

When Sam returns they both pretend that the earlier conversation didn't happen, and instead fall into an uneasy silence that is filled only by the sounds of the television and, of course, Dean's machinery. At some point, Dean glances over at his brother and realizes that Sam isn't actually watching the TV but rather is staring at him, his hands more precisely, as they rest crossed against his stomach as he was last left.

He watches Sam right back, frustrated as the bed continues to rotate on its frame making it close to impossible to get his brother's attention. But finally, on the third rotation, Sam catches sight of Dean's eyes on him and he breaks his trance. "You okay?"

'You're staring,' Dean mouths. 'Why?'

Sam shrugs, drags his hands through his hair nervously, and lies. "Nothing. I just...I thought...It's nothing, Dean."

'Sam?' Even as incapacitated as he is, Dean is still perfectly capable of getting his point across with facial expressions, and this time is no different. He demands truth with one word and a steely look, and Sam shrinks back.

"I thought I saw something," Sam says, sighing heavily. "But it wasn't what I thought. Just...go back to the show. I'm sorry."

For now, Dean lets it go. He rolls his eyes, but looks back up at the screen mounted from the ceiling and tries to ignore his brother, who doesn't avert his gaze from Dean's hand.

Ten more minutes go by, the end of one show and the beginning of another, yet Sam hasn't once looked up at the TV. And then Sam leans forward, arms bumping into the bed, and mere seconds later he's literally shrieking with delight as he jumps from his seat and dances awkwardly in front of Dean.

In an afterthought, Sam reaches out and hits the switch on the bed, bringing it to an abrupt halt. He's babbling wildly, screaming, "you did it! I knew it - knew you could. This is great!"

Dean stares at his little brother in shocked wonderment, trying desperately to decipher the rambling excitement. But honestly, Dean has no idea what the hell Sam is talking about, and truth be told his little brother is looking a little bit on the lock 'em down crazy side of things. He can't even catch his eye to ask him what the hell he's so all over the place about, not really sure what there is exactly to be all happy about anyway.

"We've gotta get someone in here," Sam is saying now, obviously talking to himself because he sure as hell hasn't been talking to Dean for the last couple of minutes. "Do you think you can do it again? Could you show the doctors, Dean?"

I don't know what the hell you think I did in the first place! Dean thinks to himself, couldn't relay the question even if he could speak since Sam hasn't once looked down at his face since this whole thing started. And then his little brother is out the door and hollering down the hall to anyone who'll listen that he's got something great to show them.

Just wish I knew what it is I'm supposed to be doing.

It isn't long before Sam has a whole team of medical personnel gathered around Dean's bed, all looking expectantly down at their bewildered patient. Jeanette comes, and another nurse who has checked in on Dean a time or two. Dr. Prentiss is back on call today, so he's here with his arms crossed sternly against his chest, and he's brought with him two new nameless, voiceless med students who stand back in the shadows but try and cran their necks around the gathering crowd to see the show.

Prentiss takes control of the situation, leaning over Dean and scowling. "Your brother says he saw you move your finger, Dean. Can you show us?"

I did? I don't think... Dean's eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he stretches his gaze down to his right hand where he can just barely make out the tips of the fingers.

He puts forth every ounce of concentration he's got, willing and pleading and begging the fingers to move, to twitch. Hell, just to flicker. Sam says he saw them move; that's why they've got this big crowd gathered around. And if Sam says he saw it then it must be true. Right?

But they don't move. Nothing. And when Dean looks back up to apologize he first lands his gaze on Sam's desperate face, the look of determination and sheer will, and he can't stand to be the one to let his baby brother down.

Looking back down at his fingers, this time Dean prays and bargains, promises to go to church five days a week and say the rosary every hour on the hour if he can just move one damn finger. For Sam. Always for Sam.

It's actually Jeanette who breaks into the tense silence of the room. She steps forward and leans over Dean, blocking his view of his hand as she embraces his cheeks with her warm hands. "Dean, honey, you can stop now. I don't think it's going to happen."

He looks back at her, tears glistening on the surface. 'Sam says it happened,' he mouths desperately. 'If I can just–"

"Shhhh shh shh, it's okay, Dean. We'll try it again later. Maybe you're just tired."

Prentiss is already standing, turning to leave the room with his entourage, and he makes a gesture towards Sam for him to follow them out. Hands in pockets, shoulders slumped, Sam does just that as Jeanette tends to Dean.

Dean wants to call out to them, tell them to come back, that he can do better - will do better. He's got a million thoughts running through his head about the possibility that maybe he'd moved his hand a few minutes earlier, and that maybe it was a fluke - a one time deal. He wants to apologize, to ask questions, needs to talk to Sam about this and find out exactly what he saw. But no one turns to look at him, and he's lost in the silence of the ventilator. He watches as the doctor leaves and the students. And Sam.

And then he can't hold his tears back any longer and he begins to cry, noiselessly and effortlessly. His chest doesn't hitch up and he never loses his breath, doesn't make a sound. But the tears fall all the same and Jeanette is there to comfort him, hands stroking over his face and carding through his hair, using tissues to dry his eyes as she whispers soothing words of comfort and hope.

SUPERNATURAL

Out in the hallway Prentiss sends his students away and turns to glare at Sam, arms crossed tightly across his chest. "What the hell was that little show you just put on in there?" he demands angrily. He keeps his teeth clenched and his voice down, but the ire is noticeable regardless.

"I saw his finger move," Sam protests. "I did. It twitched. I swear it."

"No it didn't," Prentiss spits. "You know it, and I know it."

"Honest. It did!"

Prentiss sighs, comes out with a voice that's about as compassionate as he can muster which, to be honest, isn't much, but still he tries. "Look kid, I know you want your brother to get better. But getting his hopes up over movements that aren't there and cures that aren't possible is only making things worse for him. You're giving him unrealistic expectations, making him strive for a future that includes him walking. You need to get him to see the truth, Sam. You need to see the truth."

Sam shakes his head, meeting the doctor steely eyed gaze for steely eyed gaze. "I'm sorry, doc, I just can't do that. I can't accept that there's no hope."

"Well you're going to have to accept something, Sam. You've got to at least accept that this is as good as he is right now. Learn to deal with the here and now, and then, sometime in the future if - and I mean if - Dean somehow manages to start improving then you deal with that. But right now you're just making things a hundred times worse. For Dean...and for yourself."

"I can't let him give up hope!" Sam protests, leaving out the need to keep his own hope alive as well.

But Prentiss just sighs again and shakes his head. "A little bit of hope is alright. But this, Sam, this idea that you're convincing yourself he's making gains where there are none is unhealthy. There's a difference between giving up hope and learning to deal with the present. No one is saying you have to be giving up entirely; we're just saying that you need to move forward with what you've got right now. And what you've g–"

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Prentiss is quick to hold a hand up in the air and put a halt to it. He forges on, picking up where he left off. "What you've got, Sam, is a brother who can't move his body from the neck down and can't breathe without mechanical support. He'll be confined to a bed or a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He's going to need round the clock care and support - something I don't think you're emotionally ready or able to provide, quite honestly. This is the time when you have to be looking into rehab hospitals and equipment and trying to find ways to make his life easier, ways to make your life easier. But right now you're so focused on chasing pipe dreams that you're unable to actually think about anything pertinent."

The words sting, but not nearly as much as the truth they convey, and it's all Sam can do to keep his composure in front of the doctor. It's no secret that he wants Dean back the way he was before, but he can't deny the fact that helping his brother, doing everything in his power to make all of this okay, needs to come first. And he can't make things okay if he's constantly running around pretending that things aren't what they are. As much as he hates to admit it, Prentiss is right. He owes it to Dean to accept fact, to work with what they have and focus on dealing with that.

There's been talk on the floor about his brother being discharged within the week, sending him to a rehab facility or a nursing home. Sam has ignored it for the most part, pretended they were talking about another Dean, another patient. When the nurses address the subject point blank he brushes it off and convinces himself that it is weeks down the road, months even. He'll deal with it later. Always later.

But apparently, Later is now. And as much as he wants to run away and find a corner to cry in, it's time that he man up and face facts.

Dean's got a new life. One where he's paralyzed.

Quadriplegic.

The word tastes bitter in his mouth. He wants to spit it out, step on it like a used piece of chewing gum. But instead he forces himself to say it again.

Dean is a quadriplegic. A ventilator dependent quadriplegic.

Saying it over and over doesn't really make it better, but it makes it easier to swallow, easier to wrap his mind around it and go for the next step.

"What do I have to do?" He doesn't even realize he's talking out loud until he takes notice of Prentiss' double take, surprise at Sam's about face on the subject.

There's a pause as the doctor composes himself and reprograms for the new, cooperative Sam. "For starters, you begin researching rehab hospitals. Make a decision as to whether you're going to use one near here or whether you're going to take him somewhere else. I can give you recommendations, but you have to decide what's best for Dean. And for you."

Sam nods, over eager. "Ok, ok, I can do that. What else?"

"Um...," for a change Prentiss seems out of his element, as though he's not used to having these types of conversations, and Sam can't help but wonder how often the over-zealous doctor pawns these conversations onto other, unsuspecting doctors after he's performed his "miracle" surgeries.

Lotta good that did Dean.

"You also need to take a more active role in Dean's care, start to learn what's needed to sustain him in day to day life. I've noticed you leave every time the nurses come for procedures."

"That's because he kicks me out. He doesn't want me in there," Sam protests. He hates to say it, hates to admit that there's something Dean doesn't need him for, doesn't want him to see. But he hasn't exactly put up much of a fight, either. Sure, he goes through the motions. Says the obligatory protests, You sure you don't want me to stay? 'Cause I will if you want me to. But in the end, Sam's never really been too upset about being told to leave. He hates to leave Dean, but he never really wanted to see all that other stuff. It's too real, too final. Too much of this new life that he doesn't want to accept.

Prentiss shrugs and begins to back away, apparently having decided his work is finished. "You'll just have to work it out between the two of you."

With a final glance toward Dean's closed door, Prentiss turns on his heel and stalks off down the hall, leaving a shell-shocked Sam in his wake. Sam just stands there, watches the man disappear before he stumbles back against the wall. His knees give out and he sinks down to the floor, head in hands and fighting tears. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he whispers, voice choked with emotion.

It could be seconds or minutes that he sits on the floor desperately seeking out an answer that doesn't come to him. Eventually, he hears Dean's door open and Jeanette emerges. She seems a bit rattled, and a lot annoyed, as she addresses Sam a little too curtly. "He's finally calmed down." She doesn't say the rest, doesn't tell him to watch what he says or does from here on out, and she doesn't have to. Sam gets it.

He screwed up; big time.

He just nods and staggers to his feet, deciding it's now or never. Gotta face him sometime.

Jeanette hasn't restarted the bed yet so Dean can very conveniently keep his head turned away, his eyes averted. Whether he knows it's Sam whose just entered the room or whether he just isn't acknowledging anyone, Sam isn't sure, but he doesn't look. He's deathly still, worse even than normal these days, and if it weren't for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest and the beeping of the heart monitor Sam might have wondered if...no, he's not going there.

"Dean?" It comes out in a hoarse whisper, hesitant and weak. Sam clears his throat and tries again when he gets no response.

"Dean." He walks closer to the bed, puts his hand on his brother's bare chest, and regrets it instantly. Stupid! Moving the hand upward, across Dean's neck and then onto his face Sam feels an instant flare of remorse as he watches the contact cause his brother to flinch and draw away.

The movement isn't much, only the little bit he's able, but Sam gets it and he, regretfully, removes his hand. Suddenly he isn't sure what to do with it and he flops it about for a while before finally stuffing it into his jeans pocket.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean–" Sam stops, unsure where to go with that statement. The words seem so insignificant, so meaningless in the grand scheme of things. I know I got your hopes up that you could freakin move again. Didn't really mean it. Sorry 'bout that, bro. I'll try to do better next time.

A closer look at his brother fills Sam with a realization that he's been fighting for sometime now. Adam and Lori Ann didn't just take Dean's mobility from him with their sick, sadistic form of payback. No, they took a lot more.

Watching his brother now, Sam can see him fighting off a well of emotion that he usually keeps hidden deep inside of himself. It's all bubbling to the surface now, the pain and the toil of being kept prisoner in his own body forcing what little he has left to the top. He can't fight it the way he used to do, can't even control it.

Dean's face is set in a stone of desperation, mouth held tight to ward off the trembles. He blinks compulsively, but tears have managed to surface despite his best efforts to keep them at bay, and his eyes are rimmed red. He's been crying, Sam can tell, and he's trying desperately not to continue.

"Dean, please," Sam begs. He wants to sit down, but knows his only chance of Dean seeing him, seeing any of him, is to remain standing, within sight out of the corner of his brother's eye. He moves to the foot of the bed and leans over top of it, arms propping himself up on the wooden frame at the base. "I hate myself for doing that to you," Sam begins. "I just...I want so much for you to get better. I think, maybe, that I just finally managed to convince myself that I was seeing things that weren't really happening."

He's not exactly sure what he expects from his brother. 'It's okay, Sam. I forgive you' would be really nice, but not really logical. And it's not exactly in Dean's nature to yell at him and blame him for things. So he isn't too shocked when Dean's response is a big, fat, nothing. He remains unresponsive, eyes squeezed shut against the tears and head turned minutely away from Sam, biting his quivering lower lip compulsively.

Once again Sam reaches a hand out to Dean, lets it hover mere inches away from his brother's face for several seconds before jerking it away. He'd like nothing more than for his touch to offer comfort, for his words to be the right ones. But Dean isn't in that mind set right now, and Sam put him there, and right now there's no way he's bringing him back.

"I guess I'm gonna let you get some rest," Sam says, realizing there's really nothing else to say. Apologies only sound like excuses, and excuses sound like cries for forgiveness. And Sam knows he doesn't deserve his brother's forgiveness. Not after what he's just put him through, not after throwing all that hope out to him only to tear it from his grasp with a mighty jerk.

Sam flips the switch for the bed and waits for the gears to start back up, for the bed to resume its rotation, before he crosses to the easy chair in the corner of the room. He isn't able to bring himself to leave the room entirely, but knows Dean needs some time to himself nonetheless. So Sam curls up facing the wall, back to his brother, and just lays there. The thoughts and realizations of the past hour begin to sink in, ramifications of his actions flash through his mind and questions of where to go next and what to do start building up. Now that he's actually come to grips with their situation there's so much that needs to be done, and Sam has no idea where to even start.

He's never needed his big brother more than he needs him now. But despite their close proximity to one another, they're farther apart than ever. It doesn't matter how much Sam needs Dean. He's got to figure this one out on his own.

SUPERNATURAL

Days pass and Dean finally gives in and forgives Sam. It's more out of desperation and loneliness than anything else, but when Sam is the only one who understands him, the only one with the patience to sit for hours and have a conversation with him when he can't even make a sound, Dean quickly learns that forgiving his brother is in his best interest. It's the only thing that will keep him sane.

When he really gets down to thinking about it he can't exactly blame Sam for his reaction. Dean's been imagining that he's better for days now, in that time just after he wakes up and before he opens his eyes. He imagines he can move his fingers, can feel the pressure of air filling his lungs once again, can wiggle his toes. The only difference between himself and Sam is that Sam was able to jump up and run away, could convince himself that things were different because he wasn't actually living it. Truth be told, Dean won't deny he would react any differently if their situations were reversed.

So one day he finally answers Sam when he asks Dean how he is that morning. It's short and succinct, one word. But it's a start.

He moves on from there, replying with short sentences. And finally begins asking questions of his own again, initiating conversation. It isn't long before they fall once again into the brotherly banter that they're so used to. Sure, it would be better if it came out in full surround sound instead of the volume coming out through only one speaker, but it's better than nothing.

Dean is slowly getting used to sitting more upright and the hospital staff has swapped beds so that he's now on one that looks slightly more normal with a combination of air pressure and sand underneath the mattress to help avoid the pressure sores instead of the rotating contraption he's been in. This one has more mattress flexibility, too, and they've got Dean sitting upright at a 30 degree angle, propped up by pillows on all sides. They've got him in a stiff Philadelphia neck brace with a hole in front for the vent. The muscles in his neck are too weak to hold his head up alone, and the further he manages to sit up in bed the more he needs the brace for support.

Sam has his chair turned so that he's facing Dean, back to the TV, and they're discussing the finer points of the nursing staff and the difference between the nurses on the ICU and those on the neuro-floor when someone knocks on the door.

"Door's open," Sam calls out without even looking up. They've gotten so used to people coming in at all hours of the day and night, and Dean has noticed that Sam no longer gets up unless it's absolutely necessary.

He winks at Dean and makes some smartass comment about one of the college aged candy stripers that is always coming around peddling magazines and crossword puzzles. Dean can't help but smile at that, knowing exactly the girl he's talking about. But his smile quickly wanes as footsteps approach from the little alcove near the door and he comes face to face with the doctor zombon. That gets Sam's attention, and he turns around.

"Milla?" Sam says, teeth clenched and anger escalating quickly. "I thought we'd been over this already. You're not welcome here."

Dean's not entirely sure what she's here for, but he knows he has to calm Sam down first, needs to hear her out before they throw her out. When Sam turns to offer an apologetic look Dean is quick to start talking, the look of desperation that keeps his little brother's attention.

'She can stay. Hear her out.' Dean mouths to his brother. He isn't too surprised when Sam makes him repeat himself, the look of disbelief on his little brother's face enough to tell Dean that Sam doesn't believe what he's asking.

"Let her stay?" Sam asks, incredulously. "Dean, you can't be serious."

'Not her fault.' Dean mouths. 'Victim, too.'

"She's the reason you're like this!" Sam protests frantically. "She did this to you."

'No, Adam did this. She was a pawn.'

"It was still her hands that threaded the wire, still her that hooked you up to the pulley system."

'Mind control, Sam. You've been there.' Dean is determined, eyes steely and controlled. 'Our responsibility.'

"What's our responsibility?" Sam demands. "Right now my only responsibility is figuring out how to get you the best care possible. My responsibility is getting you better. I have no other responsibility."

"That's actually why I'm here," Milla interrupts, drawing both sets of eyes back to her. She continues before Sam has the chance to stop her. "They told me at the nurse's station that you hadn't decided on a rehab hospital yet. I called in a favor; got you an opening at the top rehab hospital in the state. It's called New Beginnings, and it just so happens it's only about 20 minutes from here." She's looking straight at Dean, begging him for forgiveness, pleading with him to say he's grateful, or thanks, or even just ok.

"I already looked into that hospital," Sam says coldly. "It's a private facility. We can't afford it."

Dean feels his gut clench, can see it's killing his brother to say that. Sam has talked to Dean endlessly about his search for rehab hospitals, has talked extensively about the fact that they can't financially afford the good places, can't risk the poor care he'll get at the bad ones. None of their fake insurance will hold out long enough for Dean to get the full effect of therapy, which means paying out of pocket. And the cold hard fact of the matter is that they don't have any money. Even if he could find the money for New Beginnings the wait list is months long, yet here it is being handed to them on a silver platter. Dean has no doubt Sam clearly wants what's best for him, will do whatever it takes to do that. And lord knows this is what's best. If Dean stands any chance at all of regaining his life this is the place to go.

"Then let me cover it," she volunteers far too quickly, too desperately. "I can work something out with them; I'm sure of it. Please, you have to let me do this."

Something softens inside of Sam at the woman's words. Not a lot, mind you, but Dean sees a change in his brother's demeanor, and he plays off of it. 'Hear her out', he insists when Sam looks at him for guidance.

"Why do you want to help us so badly?" he asks, more gently this time.

She doesn't even hesitate. "Because I couldn't before. Because there was nothing I could do under Adam's spell, but I can do something about it now."

That seems to chisel away at Sam's toughened exterior even more. Dean knows it's softened him up more to the woman. In a way he can see where Sam's coming from, understands the hatred his brother seems to harbor for this woman. And it's not as though Dean isn't pissed as hell over what happened to him. But he saw the way she acted when he was in captivity, could see her fighting against something the whole time...and losing. He knows it's no more her fault than it is his own. Which, he supposes, makes it easier to carry more compassion for her.

Still wary, Sam broaches his next question cautiously, diplomatically. "Suppose we do go along with what you're suggesting. What exactly are you offering here?"

Milla noticeably relaxes and sinks onto the small stool the doctor's normally use when they're talking to Dean and Sam. "I'm offering as much help as you'll allow me to give," she says timidly, wringing her hands around themselves as her eyes dart back and forth between each brother. "I'm a neurosurgeon, so I know all about SCI's. I can offer advice and information. I can get you into a good rehab facility. More importantly, I can offer you a place to stay." She looks straight at Sam as she says the last part and Dean directs his eyes to watch his little brother's reaction.

"I can stay with Dean," Sam says, as though the idea of him being anywhere else is pure nonsense. Dean has to admit, he can't imagine not sleeping in the same room as his brother; not before, and especially not now. And clearly Sam feels the same way.

Milla shakes her head apologetically. "Not in rehab you can't. They won't allow it."

"Then I'll get a hotel," Sam replies. He's quick on the response even though the reality of the situation clearly unnerves him. It does Dean, too.

"For 3 to 5 months?" Milla questions. "That's a lot of money. Especially when I'm offering you a place in my home for free."

"Sometimes there's more at stake than money."

She chuckles nervously, and her voice comes out shaky. "What do you expect me to do, Sam? What do you think is going to happen?"

"We don't accept charity," Sam says, trying to be tactful. But when he sees her skepticism at that response, he adds, "and I'm not entirely certain I can trust myself to be around you that much."

Dean notices the slight flinch Milla has towards that comment, but she recovers quickly. He guesses she must have prepared herself for abrasive comments, for a fight. "I'm not asking you to keep me company," she tells Sam. "If all you want to do is sleep there, that's your business. I just want–" she pauses, amends her comment, "I need to do everything I can to help. I think it's the only way I'll be able to come to terms with all of this."

She doesn't say 'forgive herself,' Dean realizes, and he wonders if she ever will. Wonders if he could ever completely forgive her, even knowing that none of this is truly her fault.

Sam looks back at Dean, desperation in his eyes as he begs his brother for guidance. Dean nods, almost imperceptibly, but the message is clear. It's okay. Take her up on the offer. Give her a chance.

Sighing, Sam drops his head into his hands for a few seconds, then drags his hands down his face, his neck, and lets out a pent up breath of air. It's clear he doesn't like the situation, but just as clear that he realizes he's got no other choice.

"My brother deserves the best treatment available," Sam says, finally looking at Milla again. He's almost staring her down, his gaze is so intense. "The things we do, the people we've helped...he shouldn't go down like this. It's not fair."

Dean feels tears invading the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them back. It's hard hearing Sam's words, knowing how true they are. He's always been prepared for the inevitable, but the inevitable - to Dean - has always been death. Not this. Never this.

"This place, this...New Beginnings. It's the best chance Dean has?"

Milla flinches again, and Dean can see she's warring with herself over details left unsaid. But she finally just gives a nod, chooses her next words very carefully. "They'll do everything possible to give Dean independence."

The unspoken words are almost as loud as the spoken ones. Dean won't ever go back to how he was; will never walk again or hunt again, will most likely never even breathe on his own again. Independence, the type of independence Milla is talking about, involves learning to control his wheelchair by himself and maybe being able to be left alone for a while without panicking that something may go wrong. The people at rehab will do their job, and they'll do it well. But it won't be about getting him back on his feet. He hears her loud and clear, but obviously Sam doesn't. And for that, Dean is grateful.

He tunes the rest of the conversation out. He's done his part, gotten Sam the help he needs whether he likes it or not. Milla will prove herself to be a good ally, despite the reasons they've come to know her, and Sam needs all the people he can get in his corner right now.

But Dean doesn't want to hear the finer points of moving to the rehab hospital, doesn't want to hear how Sam will have to find somewhere else to stay, that they'll be separated for hours a day and all night long, over the next several months.

He's not sure how much longer Milla stays after that, but he knows when she leaves. She draws him back, this time going the distance and placing her warm, gentle hand on his cheek to say goodbye, and thank you. He stares back at her, unsure what she's thanking him for and unable to acknowledge it, instead blinks his eyes and bites his lip as he continues to fight back tears that seem unwilling to relent.

Watch out for my brother, Dean finally pleads of her, finding relief when she seems to understand him on the first try.

"I can't fix what's happened," she replies, doesn't even try to mask the sorrow in her expression. "But I can make the rest of this a little bit easier. You're both in good hands. I hope you know that."

In time, he's sure he'll come to trust it. But the emotions are still too raw right now and Dean can't bring himself to accept her statement just yet. Although he does find comfort in the fact that she seems genuine, honest, hopeful.

SUPERNATURAL

The next day starts like all the other ones before. Sam wakes up to the rattling of the suction hose, keeping his eyes shut tightly at the sound of it. He knows that there will be a time when he has to follow Dr. Prentiss' words and start participating in his brother's care, but that's not today. His nerves are still too raw from everything that went on this week and helping a nurse do all these… things to Dean is something that Sam can't think about now, not when his brother is so obviously against the mere idea of it. Dean is a stubborn bastard and it takes a lot of energy to stand up against his wishes; besides, there are other, more urgent things to do today.

He waits for the nurse to finish with the first part of the routine, and then it's his turn to officially wake up, with a little careful stretch, then to participate in their little "Want-me-to-help-No-Sure-Yes" ritual and then to disappear for the bathroom and later for a cup of coffee and breakfast downstairs.

It takes more and more energy to get up every day. Almost four weeks have passed since that night at the abandoned school and that makes it 25 nights Sam has slept on the easy chair in Dean's room, worrying about too many things at once, watching how his brother's life fell apart, and he doesn't even want to think about what Dean must have suffered all this time.

By now the muscles in Sam's back are sore almost all the time. Apparently, all those hours he was asleep in the passenger seat of the Impala – and god, it hurts to think about the car, the road, their past- didn't prepare him for night after night after night on a piece of furniture that was obviously designed for someone at least a foot shorter than him. Every morning, he wakes up with a back that feels like rock and legs that are still asleep and the knowledge that Dean feels nothing at all - and that is the worst.

Sam waits until the door to Dean's room is securely closed before he starts stretching in earnest, trying to work out as many kinks as possible before he has to be back. These days he's careful with moving too overtly in front of Dean, doesn't want to remind him of what he's lost –temporarily, Sam's mind insists, it's only temporary, Dean will be fine.

He spends some time in the bathroom, where he splashes cold water in his face, brushes his teeth and ponders his new attitude. Suddenly, there are all these decisions to make, and a new responsibility of finally having something to do instead of moping around in Dean's room, combined with the stern talk he got from Dr. Prentiss, have woken up Sam from a stupor he didn't even know he was in.

Now, future seems to be something that starts the day after tomorrow, when they'll transfer Dean to the rehab clinic. The spot at New Beginnings that Milla has secured for them has a tight time frame. Favors can only get you so far and thus they'll have to take Dean there at the end of the week.

So far, Dean hasn't been wearing clothes, to make his care routine easier; still something tells Sam that the rehab hospital might require pants at least, considering that the people grinning from the cover of that expensive looking brochure all wear track pants or something similar. He still only has a vague idea what rehab will actually mean for his brother. Maybe a sort of physiotherapy? Whatever it will be, there is a tiny problem.

Dean Winchester doesn't own a single pair of track pants.

SUPERNATURAL

It takes some of Sam's inherited Winchester willpower to wander down to the cafeteria and from there to the little smokers' porch in front of the door where cell phones are allowed and it takes even more to dial Milla's number. He doesn't want her help and he hates it that he needs her help, but he has no choice in this. Therefore, he reluctantly waits for her to answer the phone, cursing because he just realized that it's ridiculously early in the morning and she's probably still asleep.

Milla answers the phone after two rings and she doesn't sound sleepy at all but rather like someone who's been up for ages, waiting for an important call, and now has that specific breathlessness of sprinting across a room to get to the phone in time.

"Hi, it's me… Sam. Listen, I need your help with something. Can you meet me at the hospital, the cafeteria? Around lunch time, maybe?"

She agrees so quickly and wholeheartedly that Sam can't help but thaw the tiniest little bit. He knows she's hurting, but, damn it, Dean is definitely suffering the most and it was her… No, no, he won't think about it, not when he'll have to spend at least some hours of this day with her. So, Sam gets a cup of coffee and something that vaguely resembles a sandwich and makes his way upstairs to Dean's room again, where he waits another five minutes in front of the closed door. He knows the nurse has finished the morning routine by now, but better safe than sorry and he's pretty sure that Dean needs these few moments on his own.

They spend the next few hours watching TV, just like every other day before. Sam pays even less attention than he usually does, at the same time trying hard not to look at Dean's hands. He's still not sure if he really saw movement or not, but he doesn't want to risk seeing anything before Dean is ready to repeat the action in front of the doctors. Soon enough, Sam has sunken into a deep daydream; how Dean moves first one finger, then two; the unbelieving, shocked expression on Dr. Prentiss' face and Sam's "I told you so" and Dean breathing on his own, later therapy and finally, them together, back in the car, still hunting evil things in the dark and all this, all this horrible scary crap in too bright hospital rooms is forgotten as if it never happened.

Time goes by so much faster when you're lost in your thoughts and Sam startles from his dream world the moment he first hears the lunch trolley on the corridor. He still hasn't told Dean about his little plan yet, there just wasn't the right moment for it and he really doesn't want to upset Dean more than he already has.

So Sam runs his hand through his hair several times, shuffles a little in his seat and then he stands up, mumbles something about "Errand to run… clothes…stuff" and leaves the room.

Milla is already waiting for him in the cafeteria.

SUPERNATURAL

Dean tensly watches as the nurse connects another feeding drip to the tube in his stomach and then he relaxes while she starts to do things to his feet that are slightly out of his range of view. He didn't exactly understand what Sam mumbled just before he left the room, but strongly suspects that his brother went to do some laundry, and that means some alone time for Dean - at least an hour of precious being on his own – without Sam lurking and babbling nonsense of getting better.

Dean knows, and has known from the beginning, that there will be no recovery. Even if he likes to pretend that it never happened, even if he does nothing to stop Sam from dreaming, knowing full well that he's encouraging his little brother's self-conceit, Dean is a realist, and as a realist he knows that there is no coming back from an injury like his, not without a little supernatural help.

But there's no way that Dean will give in to another visit to a faith healer, not if it means that someone else could get burdened with his fate, and the demon option is just completely out of the question. Seriously, nothing good ever came from messing with fate, so no miracle cure this time, thank you very much, because if it has to be someone than it should rather be Dean than anyone else. He can only hope that he got it into Sam's thick skull that he wants nothing less than another fucked up demon deal. After all, there's still a final way out of this mess, one that Dean will think about sooner or later. Maybe sooner.

Time passes as Dean ponders all this, letting his thoughts run wild; thoughts that inevitably return to Layla Rourke's beautiful face, to his father, to Sam. And speaking of, where is Sam? Almost two hours have passed since he left at feeding time, he really should be back by now, at least for a check in. Where the hell is he? He'd better be back before Oprah's on, because the TV's off and obviously, Dean can't turn it on himself.

Suddenly, Dean is missing the touch of a ginormous hand on his forehand, a thumb stroking his temple, Sam's smile of "I know you'll make it", and almost immediately, he feels himself close up against that surge of emotion. Really, what would his father think if he saw him like this, helpless and needy?

But he needs people now; there is nothing he can do to change that, and most of all he needs Sam. Sam, who has gone who knows where to do something unintelligible to clothes. It really shouldn't come as a surprise, this startling realization of just how much he is dependent on his brother, not after almost a month. Yet, it was almost a month with Sam constantly at his side, only leaving when nurses were around or Dean was asleep. Now, with Sam gone that long, the solitude that Dean has craved turns into a new kind of hell, more painful than everything he has felt since he first woke up in the hospital.

It's so hard to know that you can't move or do things, but if you have someone to do them for you, then you at least you can still get things done.

But alone?

A black hole opens, when Dean realizes for the first time that there really is absolutely nothing he can do on his own. And then this overwhelming craving for body contact. He'll never ever tell Sam about this, never. When Sam comes back, he'll.. And then a new, terrible thought rips Dean apart like a knife and Lori Ann's words echo in his mind. If. If Sam comes back...

SUPERNATURAL

Sam's and Milla's greeting in the cafeteria consists of a small wave, a nod and a lot of feet shuffling, followed by one of the most uncomfortable silences of Sam's life. He tries desperately to hold himself back and keep this whole endeavor as civil as possible, while his previous behavior seems to have intimidated Milla to the point of speechlessness. Thus they wander to her car without a word between them, and it takes some time in the little red Ford on their way to the nearest Target for Milla to find the courage to speak up. "What exactly did you have in mind then?"

Sam sighs, but keeps his eyes glued to the road. "I'm not really sure. He'll need stuff to wear. I thought you might know what to get." He pauses before he comes out with the most difficult part and turns slightly to look at her. "And I'm completely out of money. So, could you lend me some? Just for the time?"

Milla's face is filled with understanding and something else that Sam can only think of as fierce determination as she nods her agreement. "Sure. He'll get whatever he needs; you don't really have to ask for it, ok? Whatever I can do or give, it's his..."

Again, Sam is taken aback by her eagerness to help. So taken aback in fact that a tiny smile escapes his icy exterior, together with an almost inaudible thank you. Milla responds with a fractionally bigger smile, but Sam notices that her hands, tightly gripping the steering wheel, are trembling like an aspen leaf. "Are you cold?" he asks astounded, because it's as warm as it can be on a sunny day in late May. Very warm, actually.

She grimaces, but doesn't look at him, keeps her eyes on the road as Sam did before. "No", she finally answers in a clipped voice that clearly conveys that she doesn't want to talk about it, "I'm just ... they say it's a PTSD thing. You know, post traumatic stress disorder. My hands... sometimes, I just can't stop them from shaking like this."

"Oh", Sam can't think of much else to say at this revelation. A tiny voice inside him is laughing and whispering "Yes, she deserves this, only fair after what she did...", but a much larger part of him can't help but feel for her. Something like this must really suck, especially for a surgeon.

"Yep, sure does", she says and Sam realizes that he actually said the last part out loud. "But sometimes I think that it's only fair, you know." She changes gears to stop at a red light. "After what I did to him..."

They remain silent for the rest of the drive, the only interruption when Sam points out a good parking spot. Then they stand in front of the first aisle and Sam remembers once again why he needed her - apart from the ride.

"So, what do we actually need?"

She frowns a little, and Sam thinks that her hands relax slightly, now there is an actual task at hand. But then again, he's not the best judge for hand movement these days.

"Well, the obvious. Sweatpants and zip up hoodies, some plain t-shirts but mostly button up shirts. Warm socks that don't constrict at the elastic. Tennis shoes slightly bigger than necessary so his feet slide in easily - scrunched up toes happen far too often and are a nightmare for dysreflexia issues. Loose boxers for sleeping in at rehab. An electric toothbrush to make it easier for someone to brush his teeth. Lotion - paralyzed limbs tend to get very dry skin because there isn't as much contact to slough off the dead skin. Lotion helps a lot. Maybe a good blanket in place of a jacket, especially for the immediate future."

She counts it all off on her fingers as though she's gone through this list hundreds of times with patients, families, and when she's done she points off to the left of the store and says, "we'll want to start over there."

So they get a shopping cart and soon enough it starts filling up with stuff. There are cotton track suits in grey and navy blue, one in a dark green that Milla insists on with a "Believe me; it will look great with his eyes." Sam couldn't care less about his brother's eye color, he's more occupied with other things, like, Dean getting well again, for example, but he still allows her to take it. They find underwear and socks, and in the next aisle Sam notices that behind his back Milla has replaced the cheap black cotton socks that Sam had chosen with warm woolen ones that are about three times as expensive. He picks them up and turns to take them back, when her small trembling hand holds him back by the arm. "Please," she says. "They are better. Better for him."

Oh, and Sam wants nothing but the best for Dean, in fact he's so filled with things he wants for Dean that he feels like exploding, but still – he just can't get too indebted and especially not too her.

Milla takes her hand away, but her eyes remain pleading. "Don't let your pride hold him back, Sam." And just when he wants to snarl at her that she understands absolutely nothing, she adds "You know what? The socks can be a treat. Pay me back on the rest, but these are my get well present for him. No charity involved, alright?" And Sam reigns himself and agrees; then they split up to get the rest, Sam to electronics for the toothbrush and Milla for the lotion.

SUPERNATURAL

Meanwhile, Dean knows that with too many thoughts at the same time, and no way to release some of the stress he'll eventually go crazy. Would Sam leave him like this, with just a little not-even-a-real-sentence for a goodbye?

Absolutely not.

Or would he? After all, he has left before. But he came back. But still, he left. Could Dean be sure that he'd come back this time?

Worries like these have turned into an infinite loop in Dean's head. He's not sure what exactly managed to shatter his trust in his little brother's loyalty, but suddenly he doesn't understand how he could ever be so sure that Sam wouldn't leave him. After half an hour a dull pain starts to pulsate in the back of his head and the terror of another dysreflexia attack is the icing on Dean's cake of hell.

Holly enters the room like a rescuing angel some twenty minutes later. Her eyebrows immediately shoot up when she sees that Sam is not on his usual spot next to Dean's bed. She's at Dean's side in an instant, her warm hands on his cheeks as she leans over him. Her touch is salvation and damnation at the same, because oh, it's so wonderful to feel someone's skin on his, and yet, it's not what he wants; he wants Sam's hand there, goddamit, and Sam isn't here.

"Are you ok, honey?"

Dean blinks twice for "no", and for the umptieth time this month has to keep himself from crying. "Head aches", he mouths and has to repeat it twice before Holly gets it.

"Where is Sam?" she asks while she checks if the brace sits correctly. Dean wants to shrug his shoulders and can't and really, this day just gets worse and worse.

"Don't know" he answers. Holly now has both her hands at his jaw.

"Dean, you're way too tense here. You've been grinding your teeth, right? For quite some time?"

Dean thinks back and yes, he has since Sam didn't come back at lunch time. That's more than three hours now. He blinks once.

Holly looks at him for a second.

"Just wait a moment, it will all be ok, soon. Promise." Then she slips out of the room again, only to return a few moments later. Dean is surprised that she doesn't bring new medication with her, but instead levers the bed down until it's completely flat and then carefully takes off the neck brace, making sure that the vent is only disconnected for a minimal amount of time. When Dean's weak neck is bare, she slowly starts to massage the back of his head, the top of his neck and his jaw.

"Don't worry", Holly says and puts a little lotion on her hands. "Nothing ever escapes the attention of nurses, especially not a fine looking young man like your brother. We'll know where he is in about fifteen minutes."

Under the nurses skilled hands, the tension disappears from Dean's neck like a nightmare at the break of dawn and takes the headache with it. When he's relaxed enough, she puts the brace back on and slowly lifts the bed up to a little over 30°. Holly stays with him and they watch TV while she tells him about her grandchildren, until - just as she predicted - about fifteen minutes later a student nurse, a bland young thing that Dean has never seen before, comes in to tell them that someone from the third floor heard that a cafeteria girl saw Sam leave the hospital with Dr Landly.

It takes a second for Dean to understand that Dr Landly is in fact Milla, the doctor zombon. This little clue is enough for him to figure out what Sam actually wanted to tell him when he left; because Dean isn't stupid and he can make the connection from Milla to rehab and help and from there to "Errand to run… clothes…stuff". So, Sam left with Milla to get Dean suitable clothes for rehab. He'll be back soon and everything will be alright again.

But why isn't Dean more relieved? There still remains a ball of emotion resting at the base of his neck, lurking in the shadow. Maybe because nothing of his situation is even remotely "alright", and Sam coming back might make it slightly more bearable but certainly won't fix anything? Dean forces himself to relax his jaw again. Why did Sam leave him at all, why couldn't he just tell Milla... Then understanding hits Dean and suddenly he knows why it makes his teeth hurt that Sam can leave and Dean can't, suddenly it's crystal clear.

He's angry. Angry with Sam for leaving without telling him where he'd go, but most of all, Dean is angry with himself.

It doesn't help at all that Sam is back in time for Oprah, bouncing into the room with two bags in hand and a smile on his face. He startles when he sees the cloud on Dean's face and quickly puts down the bags to crouch over his brother.

"Where have you been?" Dean asks and it's every bit the bitter accusation that he didn't want it to be. How pathetic, Dean. How needy.

"I got you some stuff for rehab", Sam says and places his hand - so warm and familiar, so longed for – on his brother's cheek. Dean shrinks back from it as if it was poison, as far as he can. Which isn't really far, but enough movement to make Sam take away his hand.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks. "Is it because I went out? Dean, it was barely more than three hours. And you had a nurse for company!"

Dean's surprised expression is enough of a tell for Sam to understand that maybe he that last bit didn't actually happen.

"You mean, she didn't..." and he swears under his breath. "Dean, really, I asked a nurse – one of the young ones – to hang out with you, and she said she'd have time to... She really didn't?"

Dean blinks twice and Sam continues swearing. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't think you'd be alone. Really, I just wanted to get some stuff for you, so I went with Milla and we got you... She really didn't come?"

Dean can tell that Sam is absolutely outraged and he softens a little bit. Now that his gigantic little brother looms over him again, he can't even imagine how he could ever think that Sam might leave him behind like that. And when Sam starts spreading his swag - with focus on the new walkman - all over Dean's bed, his enthusiasm is infectious.

SUPERNATURAL

Sam could kick himself. That look on Dean's face when Sam came back from his little shopping trip? Worse than getting shot at.

He doesn't want to think about his brother being trapped in this room all afternoon, so he spends more time than necessary on showing off what he bought for Dean. There are stories to tell, like the one about the guy in the electronics department and his unbelieving look when Sam asked for a walkman.

"And then he's all like: 'Sure you don't want an I-pod, son?'", Sam actually does the voice, a deep bass like a bear roaring. "But I thought you'll maybe wanna listen to your tapes, so I got this one", and he taps lightly on the black little box on his lap.

"You got them?" Dean mouths. Sam is confused for a second and it shows on his face. "The tapes? From the car?"

Sam nods reluctantly, scared that he might have accidentally touched a wound he has been careful to avoid for the last month. The car. Dean's car.

"They're in my bag in the corner. You wanna listen to them now?"

Dean blinks twice. Hard.

"Ok then" Sam says, desperate to change the topic. He puts the walkman on the little side table in the corner, out of Dean's range of view, and then rummages around in the shopping bag, hoping to fish out something that will distract Dean from the fate of his car. Something like socks.

"You know what Milla did with these here?" Of course, he embellishes the truth a little bit, makes Milla a little stealthier in her sock exchange. He even tries a terrible pun with stock exchange. He knows that he's clowning around, but right now Sam would do anything to make Dean smile. Anything. "Milla, she's alright, I think". Dean blinks once.

After the initial distance, Dean once again signals willingness to be touched and Sam tries his best to be casual when he puts his hand on his brother's face whenever he's not presenting men's wear. Finally, they come to the bottom of the last shopping bag and soon the blaring of the TV is drowning out a semi-comfortable silence.

Sam's not quite sure what exactly is going on with Dean. He knows that his brother's ticked off – seriously, who wouldn't be? - but there is also something new in Dean's eyes that he can't classify, can't put his finger on. It scares him.

Late after lunch time, they are just getting ready for bed when another nurse strolls into Dean's room with a big smile plastered on her face. Sam has never seen her before, but sorts her into the "annoyingly perky" batch the minute she walks through the door, even before he notices the disposable camera in her hand.

"Hey, you two!" She chirps. "They say that you have had no pictures taken so far. And we can't have that, right?"

Dean and Sam share a quick look, both clearly without an idea what that woman is talking about. She doesn't seem to care.

"Oh, come on" says the nurse and pushes Sam closer to Dean's bed. "Everyone takes pictures when they're in the hospital, so one day they can look back and see the progress they have made".

Sam isn't quite sure if he'll ever want to look back at this day, at Dean lying half-naked in a hospital bed with the brace around his neck and this expression on his face that is half bravery and half bone deep despair. Sam isn't really sure about most things these days and he just can't bring himself to talk to Dean about any of this, not now, not as long as Dean can't speak properly.

But Sam worries so much that it eats him alive and being around Dean is maybe the only thing that keeps him from breaking down completely. After all, it's Dean and not Sam who's lying in the hospital bed, so Sam has to be the brave one, right? Even if his thoughts make his head hurt, he'll never show. But...how will they ever pay for rehab? Taking it all from Milla? Another scam so close to the hospital? No way. And speaking of it, how will that vague future they'll have to face after rehab look? What if the doctors are right and Dean won't get better?

Sam has read the fucking brochure and, quite frankly, it has scared him shitless how much care and money it takes to keep someone in Dean's position alive.

The nurse - still perky, possibly even more annoying, and apparently too cheery to introduce herself - is finally satisfied with Sam standing behind his brother at the head of the bed, and then she raises the mattress, quickly and way more than the 30 degree Dean has slowly gotten used to. Of course, Dean gets dizzy immediately and tries desperately to get Sam's attention, but the only thing he can do is roll his eyes upwards to where Sam is leaning and resting his crossed arms on the back of the bed.

Sam is too focused on getting the damn picture taken to notice, too focused on faking a convincing smile that still comes slowly even after all his years of practice. Soon enough, the nurse clicks a few times and then, when Sam just wants to ask her for the camera or how they'll get the developed pictures, the woman just... leaves.

Sam wants to follow her, but when he rounds the bed he sees how Dean's eyes are squeezed together and beads of sweat roll down his brother's temple. He pushes the alarm button a millisecond later, then he lowers the bed down flat. He strokes Dean's temple until a battalion of nurses storms in, and again, he's kicked out of the room, but this time it's only for a short period of time. Dean's asleep when Sam comes back into the room.

Of course, no nurse has ever seen a woman that fits Ms Photography's description.

SUPERNATURAL

The next day Dean wakes up with the first rays of the sun. They are getting closer to the longest day of the year and now, dawn no longer falls together with the morning shift change. The air is filled with a new energy; Dean can feel it bubbling in his throat, his newfound anger simmering below the surface, in the gray zone where sensation flickers like an old light bulb. Rationally, he knows that Sam had no chance to detect the impostor, knows that his brother only wants the best for him, but still? Hasn't he picked up anything all these years? Wasn't it clear that had to be a zombon?

He can see parts of Sam's back, of tousled hair, his giant brother sleeping in the corner. How uncomfortable it must be over there, and Dean just can't bring himself to care. If Sam is uncomfortable, he'll have to turn around all by himself. There is so much venom in this thought that Dean creeps himself out with it. He really shouldn't feel this way, but he's so far gone that he can't even feel guilty for not feeling guilty at all. Not like he ever has before.

Again, Jeanette has the morning shift. Her smile is the same as every morning when she whispers her cheerful greeting. Only this time, the Sam heap in the corner actually wakes up at her silent entry, moves and sits up.

"Good morning to you, too, honey" Jeanette takes the time to greet him, then she takes something out of her pocket that Dean can't see and hands it to Sam. "This came for you two about ten minutes ago. They said it was urgent, but we didn't want to wake you too early on your big day."

Sam gets up and walks up to Dean's bed. It's an envelope, regular sized but apparently stuffed all the way. It seems rather heavy, even in Sam's hand.

"Open it!" Dean says. Sam obliges immediately. He rips it open without caring about the envelope itself, and then Dean can see his little brother pale. There is something in his hand now; it seems to be small and Sam is staring at it with a mixture of fury – and tenderness.

Internally, Dean curses that he can't make a sound to get Sam's attention. He wants to know what's in that envelope, goddammit, the whatever-it-is definitely not being the only thing; Dean can see paper peeking out at the open end. It's got to be something important. Why can't you just show me, Sammy? Why?

Sam wakes abruptly from his contemplation of the mystery object, and a second later he's at Dean's side.

"It's your necklace, Dean! The necklace I gave you". On Sam's open palm, the little gold pendant is shimmering in the morning light. "That bastard..."

Jeanette takes that moment to clear her throat, reminding them both that she's still there and that, even if she's completely flabbergasted by Sam's intense reaction, she still has got a job to do .

Sam motions her to go on and sits down on the chair next to Dean's bed. He's obviously too worked up about their letter from Adam – because who else could it really be – so that he doesn't seem to pay attention to what the nurse is doing with Dean's body. Thank God for small favors.

Dean once again tries to blend out everything connected to his morning routine and instead focuses on Sam, who has extracted a bunch of photos from the envelope. They are wrapped with a sheet of paper that is covered with neatly handwritten letters. Sam holds the pictures up for Dean to see, one after one. Not surprisingly, they have been taken by the mysterious nurse from yesterday. Dean is now absolutely convinced that she was an improved version of a zombon, equipped with the ability to speak, but still under Adam's control. Every photo shows an enlarged detail of the original scene; there is Sam's forced smile, Dean's lifeless hands, the anguish in his eyes. It's all there.

Jeanette has stepped up to Dean, putting a hand on his cheek. "I can come back later, ok? Deal with this first." Dean thanks her and she leaves the room. He has no idea how far she got. He also doesn't care.

By now, Sam has skimmed the letter and is cursing under his breath. He shoots Dean a little glance, as if he had to check that Dean can actually take what it says and it annoys Dean more than anything that Sam thinks he's that weak. He mouths "Go on!" as bossy as he can.

"Ok, listen to this." As Sam starts reading, Dean can hear another voice in his head. A voice filled with malice and anger, accompanied by the whoosh sound of a ventilator and the manic laughter of a woman.

"WELL, DEAN. HOW DID YOU ENJOY THESE FIRST FEW WEEKS? WE HOPE YOU HAVE JUST AS MUCH FUN AS ADAM HAD IN THE HOSPITAL. YOU ARE LOOKING A LITTLE PALE, BUT WE ARE SURE THAT IT WILL ONLY GET WORSE WITH THE FUTURE. THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINNING. ENJOY YOUR NON-LIFE.

ADAM AND LORI ANN

"P.S. YOUR BROTHER IS STILL AROUND?"

Sam takes a ragged breath at that and continues reading with a tremble in his voice that Dean knows for sure is anger, not pain.

"WE TOLD YOU. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE HE LEAVES YOU. AGAIN."

Sam looks up at Dean. "Never, you hear me? You know I'll never leave you behind like that!"

"I know, Sammy" Dean lies. "More?"

Sam looks back on the paper. "Oh, yeah.

'P.P.S. JUST TO PROVE THAT YOUR LIFE WILL SUCK NO MATTER WHAT, HERE IS A LITTLE PRESENT FROM US TO YOU.'"

Confusion has replaced the fury on Sam's face. "They can't mean the necklace, right?"

"Back of the paper" Dean tries to tell him. And when Sam turns the paper, there are rows of numbers written on the back.

One final question... apparently this isn't actually posting to the boards on . I know those of you who have me alerted are getting the story, but I've been told that the actual listing doesn't have it. Have any of you ever had this problem or have thoughts on a solution? I guess I could email the admins, but I wanted to try and fix it myself before I go bugging them. Thanks!