A/N: Sorry about the stupid italics in the last couple chapters. Don't know what happened there.

xxxx

Now that he was here, Sam was not entirely sure that he could handle it. Sitting in the uncomfotable plastic chair next to Dean's bedside, he allowed his head to drop tiredly into his hands, guiltily relieved that he couldn't see his brother anymore, but unable to block out the whoosh of the ventilator and the steady beeping of the heart monitor. They weren't sounds Sam was used to, and he could feel a lump growing in the back of his throat as he stared at Dean, his older brother and protector, lying still in the bed with a tube taped to his face, chest rising evenly with the cound of the ventilator.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned to find his dad sitting in a wheelchair behind him. Equally embarrassed that John had been able to sneak up on him and surprised to see his dad in a wheelchair, Sam didn't even try to hide the despair that had started out as just a sneaking feeling and that had finally bloomed until it overwhelmed him.

"Son," John said softly, and Sam shrugged, not trusting his voice. "He's doing okay." There was an awkward pause, then a quietly added, "At least, considering…." John's voice trailed off awkwardly.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, doubting the validity of that statement. "He's just, so…"

"I know," John said, and Sam nodded, barely able to keep the tears forming in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. Damn, he had felt like a girl or a little kid more often in the past two days than in the entire rest of his life.

They sat in silence for a long while, both of them deep in their own thoughts, until they were gently ushered out of the room by a nurse.

"Dad, I want to stay with you," Sam said quietly, looking at the floor.

"No son, go with Bobby. I'm checking myself out tomorrow, and I don't want you staying here all night, okay?" Sam set his jaw, ready to argue, and John could see it starting, could feel his own temper rising- he managed to subdue the feeling, took a deep breath and spread his hands placatingly.

"Sam," he said quietly, and he could see his son hesitate for a momment before visibly relaxing, almost deflating.

"Okay," he murmured, and John sighed in relief. "Dad?" Sam looked up and met his eyes, questioning.

"Yeah, son," John answered, wondering what was bothering his youngest.

"Are you okay?" John frowned.

"Yeah, I told you I'd be outta here tomorrow, Sammy, just banged up my leg is all." Sam still didn't look convinced, and it took a bit for John to realize that he was referring to the wheelchair. He sighed to himself, realizing that it was out of character and that he should have said something to reassure his youngest.

"Sammy, I'm okay. Really. I just didn't want to argue with the nurses, not today. I'm tired, Sam, but I'm okay."

"Good," Sam said, nodding, then smiled as Bobby approached them.

"Hey there, Sam," he said, smiling jovially at him. "You ready to go?" Sam nodded, walking slowly to Bobby's side. He completely missed the look of gratitude and understanding that passed between the older hunters.

xxxx

The ride to the motel Bobby had booked was quiet. Sam hadn't wanted to leave the hospital at all, had wanted to fight his dad with everything he had, had wanted to demand that he stay with Dean, because wouldn't Dean stay with him? But he hadn't wanted to start anything, hadn't wanted to break the fragile alliance he and his dad had made.

"Your brother's going to be fine, Sam," Bobby said suddenly, turning his gaze from the road for just a second. "If there's anyone who can come out of damn near anything thrown at him, it's Dean."

"I know." Holy crap, Sam was getting tired of everybody reassuring him. Hadn't they seen him? Because he sure as hell didn't look 'fine' or anywhere close to it. He resumed his position staring out the window, somewhat relieved when they pulled into the motel parking lot. His head was starting to pound and he was tired and cranky and just wanted to sleep. Bobby moved to help him out of the truck but Sam pointedly shoved him off and walked in alone. With a sigh, Bobby followed him in. Damn stubborn Winchesters.

xxxx

John watched in frustration as his son slept silently. He'd woken for a moment, panicked in his uncertainty and nearly pulled out the vent before being sedated and drifting off again. Rubbing at his eyes, John found himself wondering what Mary would think if she could see him now. See him having to come to an agreement with his own son to stop fighting. See him sitting at the side of his other son, unconscious and wounded because of his own damn stupidity and stubbornness. He hadn't felt so low since just after her death.

Green eyes blinked sleepily open, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Dean? Can you hear me son?" He asked, instinctively grabbing at his son's hand as he started to panic. Dean was close to hyperventilation now, and John quickly hit the call button. "You're okay, Dean, you're alright," John murmured, stroking his thumb over Dean's forehead. Dean stared at him, his eyes conveying the anxiety and fear he felt, but also an immense trust that John didn't feel like he deserved.

"It's okay," he repeated, then stepped back as the nurses came in and moved him out of the way. He couldn't watch as they eased his son off the ventilator, could barely endure the painful gagging that seemed to border on retching. Then it was over, and Dean was breathing deeply, on his own, smiling wanly.

"Hey there, kiddo," John said, barely even aware that he had called Dean by the childish nickname.

"Hey," Dean answered, blinking at the raspy sound of his voice. "I sound like shit."

"You look like it too." Dean laughed hoarsely, a bark that made John wince. "Hey. Dean," John said, suddenly getting serious. "Why in the hell didn't you say anything to me? Or to the medics? You nearly killed yourself out there, son, and you had a few chances to get yourself looked at." Dean worked his jaw, looked down.

"Didn't want you to argue," he mumbled, and John sighed.

"That won't happen anymore, Dean," he said. "I promise. But you have to promise me that you won't do anything this stupid again. Got me?" Dean nodded even as his eyelids slid shut.

"Yeah Dad. Got you. M'tired," he slurred, and John smiled as his Dean fell asleep, his hand still wrapped tightly around his own.