Part 2

The first thing that told Dean that Sam was waking up was the fact that his breathing became more and more shallow. As soon as that bit of information had found its way into his brain, he switched from the chair over to the side of the bed and carefully took his brother's good hand into his hand.

"Sammy?" he asked in hushed tones.

A muscle in Sam's face twitched and his head rolled ever so slightly in the direction of Dean's voice. Relieved that the younger man had heard him, Dean squeezed his fingers. He was all too familiar with the leaden feeling of tiredness after surgery. The confusion and fear.

The movements of the clammy fingers, which he got in response, were weak. Sam seemed to gather all his strength to prey his eyes open, though that wasn't met with much success. His eyelids fluttered for a few seconds and for a short moment, Dean was able to catch the sight of murky hazel through the slits.

Before Sam was able to focus on anything, his eyes already had drifted shut again and Dean smile ever so slightly. "Sleep, Sam. I got you. Everything's a'right."

The nod was barely visible, but it was enough for Dean. Sam never had taken kindly to anesthetics. When most other people already were asking for water or started to get more active, Sam did nothing but sleep. The first time, John and himself had gone sick with worry and had pestered the doctors with questions, not quite believing that this wasn't something totally out of the common. Meanwhile – four surgeries later – Dean accepted it the way it was and rather focused on reassuring Sam whenever he was awake.

He waited until Sam's finger relaxed before getting up and stretching. He would have another few hours before wake up again. He could as well get some coffee to help him through the night.

-S-S-S-

Wednesday, January 16th 2001

Dean maneuvered the car around another vehicle parked on the curb. Cautiously, because he couldn't quite survey the curve. As he passed, he eyeballed the young woman who flung a cable to the ground, obviously more than a little displeased with the situation, before her upper half disappeared under the hood again.

She had to be about twenty – not much younger than he himself. Her brown her went down to her shoulders and she didn't stand higher than 5'5. She wore a pair of jeans and a sweater, the jacket that she should have probably been wearing at this time of year lay on top of the red car.

Dean sighed and pulled the Impala over. The last town was more than 40 miles behind – and there wasn't any other for several miles down the road either according to his map. Moreover, there wasn't anyone waiting for him, which meant that he could as well lend a helping hand and maybe have a little fun.

The door swung open with the trademark creak of an old car.

"Did it break down?" he asked as he approached and the brunette hit her head when she whirled around without taking her situation into account.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and ignored the black stains, that her fingers left on her lightly colored sweater. "How does it look like?" she asked back and tilted her head.

A grin stole its way into Dean's features. The 'fun' part could prove to be a little tricky.

"Well, like a problem," he finally stated and stopped a couple of steps in front of her.

"If it wasn't a problem, my car surely wouldn't have broken down," she shot back, but seemed reluctant to turn her back at Dean. In a way, he could understand her: they were out somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Oregon – who knew what kind of people you came across there?

"Shall I take a look at it?" he offered, disregarding her objection. "I know the odd bit 'bout cars."

Light gray eyes fixed hazel-green eyes, surprisingly unyielding. Phew – someone seemed to dislike trust even more than he did.

"Sure, that's what they all say – and in the end, I'll be stranded here in this damn wood with the car taken to pieces."

"If I can't manage to get the car running again, I'll take you to the next town. How 'bout that?"

She laughed at him in disbelief. "You think I'm THAT stupid? I don't even know you!"

"That can be changed. I'm Dean," he replied with a shrug and extended his hand towards her. She kept standing there with her arms crossed in front of her chest. With an inward groan he added: "Winchester. And just to put this straight: I'm not a serial killer."

"Yeah, that's what every serial killer would tell me," the nameless girl huffed, but before Dean could come up with another reply, she grabbed his hand. "Rachel. Rachel Taylor."

There you go! They were making some progress after all.

-S-S-S-

"... penny f' ya though's ..." Sam's raspy voice reached Dean's ear. The older Winchester swallowed down, opened his eyes and pushed off the wall on which he had been leaning with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He turned around to Sam.

For how long had his brother been awake if he could manage to form a coherent sentence? He shouldn't have taken his eyes off him.

"'s nothing, Sam," Dean deflected the implicit question, approaching his younger brother and peering down at him. "How are you?"

Sam seemed to take a while to consider and squinted down onto himself. "Does cut open 'n' patched up hit it?" he asked with a lopsided grin and Dean gratefully picked up on it.

"Dead center actually," he replied. "Your exit yesterday was rather pathetic, Sammy. I'd expected something like a ghost or a demon nearly offing you – not a fall down the stairs."

"Through ..."

"Right, through the stairs," Dean admitted. His expression softened, when he met Sam's gaze. "Ya need anything?" he asked suddenly when he noticed that Sam was about to see through his facade. "Something to drink? Pain killer?"

Dean was about to walk back towards the door, but Sam reached out to grab his hand and hold him back. No, actually he didn't hold him back – he lacked the strength for that at the moment – but the touch was enough to make Dean stop in his tracks.

"Everything's a'right," Sam repeated the words that Dean had whispered to him a couple of hours ago. His voice was raspy and frail. In a few days, his throat wouldn't be irritated by the tube, but for now he would have to live with that.

Dean hesitated a second, because one part of him screamed at him to finally get out of the room – out of the hospital, because he couldn't deal with it. The larger part made him settle back on the edge of the bed and nod. Leaving Sam behind alone would score on top of his list of miserable failures. There wasn't much that Sam asked for and if he needed him here, Dean wouldn't leave, even if it drove him crazy.

"'kay," he agreed and took his brother's fingers back into his own hand and realized with surprise that they still felt small in his hand, even if Sam's hands were the same size as his.

He couldn't tell, whom of them was more reassured by this subtle connection. In any case, Sam on his part was already drifting back to sleep.

-S-S-S-

Wednesday, January 16th 2001

God, they had been out here for what seemed to be an eternity.

"Hey, why don't you drive on and send someone here to tow my car to the garage?" Rachel asked from the driver's seat, meanwhile having wrapped herself tightly into her jacket. The evening wind chilled the already cool air even more.

"You really think, that I'd just leave you out here after sunset? Alone?" asked a muffled voice from under the hood which was rewarded by an annoyed sigh.

"Seriously. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. Nobody is going to come and snatch me during the hour or two that I'll wait here for the help you are going to send my way."

Dean raised his arm to make sure she saw the dismissive gesture with which he discarded her comment and buried himself in his work again. It wasn't that he hadn't found the problem already. He just had to …

"Turn the key," he ordered and heard a low muttering which he was sure he didn't want to understand.

The motor ignited, purring like a kitten.

"How the …?"

"You didn't want to believe me," he returned, as Rachel hopped out of the car. "My dad owned a garage. He taught me ..."

The brunette looked at him quizzically, but Dean simply shook his head. "Okay, looks like we both could drive on." He turned to leave. All of a sudden, he wasn't quite in the mood for some fun anymore.

"Dean?"

He paused. "Yeah?"

"Where are you going to stay tonight?"