Author's Note 1: After a bit of a revision, chapter 3 is finally done. YAY! It turned out much longer than I intended, there wasn't really a good place to end it and I didn't want to cut anything, so...you guys get an extra long chapter of brotherly togetherness.

The medical terminology, treatments prescribed, and symptoms are all accurate. Well...as accurate as they can be when Googling "severe head trauma" and "intercranial pressure" on the internet. Throw in some medical knowledge gained from watching seasons of ER, personal experience from a horrible bout with Vertigo, and the fact that he's a Winchester...and this is the end result.

I'll throw out another warning for language as well.

Author's Note 2: A big thanks to all of you who've reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story. Your words of encourage mean alot to me.

Author's Note 3: Extra big thanks goes once again to Riathe Mai for her wonderful ideas, support, neverending english lessons (I promise someday it will all stick) and doing an incredible job at final editing while my little rug rats ran around the house crazy, interrupting us a least a dozen times if not more.

spn

Good news. The morphine had run its course and was now out of his system, allowing him to be more alert, awake, and most importantly, in control. 'Damn morphine,' he thought for the umpteenth time.

Bad news. The morphine had run its course and his leg now felt like someone had jammed a spike through it.

'Spike. Bone. Hey, same freakin' thing,' Dean thought as he shifted his weight trying to get comfortable on the low, hard bench. He had chosen to stay in the back of the ambulance after Sam's panicked return to consciousness. He had told Bobby it allowed him more room to stretch his gimp leg out, and Bobby hadn't called him on the utter load of horseshit they both knew it was.

Sam had been silent since his outburst, when exhaustion had pulled him under once again. At first, Dean had been grateful. The one thing his brother needed and deserved more than anything was peaceful rest. But now that he was thinking clearly, snippets of words and conversations about his brother that he had heard in the ambulance and at the hospital had come back to him.

He wasn't so sure anymore that a silent Sam was a good thing.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing once more at his brother before turning towards Bobby and asking the question to which he really didn't want to hear the answer.

"Hey, ah, Bobby?"

Bobby looked up, catching Dean's gaze in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, what is it, Dean?" He kept an even, calm, as close to normal tone to his voice as he could get. The last thing they needed was more drama.

Dean looked once again at Sam and ran his hand wearily across his jaw, garnering his strength, and then just forced the words out. "Uhm… Increased intracranial pressure. Does that mean what I think it means?"

Dread welled up in Bobby as he swung his head around, his eyes immediately going to the unmoving young man still strapped to the gurney. Just once he'd like his boys to catch a break. He didn't think that was asking much after all they'd been through; all they'd sacrificed.

Then again, the powers that be never had been on the Winchester's side.

"Why you asking, boy?" It was a stall, and a pathetic one at that.

"The EMT in the ambulance, he…ah, he was talkin' about it, right after Sam had his seizure; and that doctor chick, she mentioned that he had severe head trauma. He never had that MRI, Bobby. He's been so quiet and still. He's never quiet. He's like a freakin' walking game of Trivial Pursuit, always spouting nonsense about subjects that no one else has ever heard of. He even mumbles in his sleep, for cryin' out loud.

"And unmoving? He doesn't even stop moving when he's asleep, all gangly arms and legs going in every direction. He's like a damn octopus. So, this…this Sleeping Beauty thing he has going on…it ain't good, Bobby."

Bobby gripped the steering wheel tighter, the passing trees and farmland of the unnamed back road in Nowhereville, USA, were a blur as he quickly did a mental scan of everything he knew about head injuries. He was no doctor, and he wasn't about to take any chances with one of his boys, but he had accumulated a vast knowledge of many a subject over the years. 'Jack of all trades, Master of none' he thought, fit him perfectly.

"Nah, I think it's gonna be awhile yet 'fer he doesn't feel like he's on a tilt-a-whirl, but I think we mighta' dodged a bullet on this one."

"When have we ever 'dodged a bullet', Bobby?"

"I know, son," Bobby said sympathetically, not liking the defeat he heard in Dean's voice. "But we've been on the road for hours now. He took that whack to his noggin an hour or two before that, and other than waking up half-crazed from Hell flashbacks, he's been stable.

"No throwin' up, breathin's been good. When he was yellin', his speech wasn't slurred, and once you brought him 'round to the right reality, he was pretty coherent. Considering what the kid's been through lately, I'll take that as a win."

Bobby took his eyes off the road, looking back at Dean and giving him what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

It was never easy on either of the boys when one was injured, but when it was Sam down, well, Dean was worse than a mother bear with her cub. Sam had called his older brother a 'mother hen' on more than one occasion, and the term fit Dean to a tee.

Bobby could clearly see the worry and fear behind Dean's growing frustration at not being able to do anything to help his younger brother. It didn't matter that Sam outweighed and towered above him, he would always be Dean's little brother and his responsibility.

If Sam was out of action, Dean fixed him; somehow, someway he got the job done. Bobby knew how much it was killing him to just sit by and do nothing; that no amount of consoling words would alleviate Dean's anxiety until his brother was back on his own two legs.

"Him being unconscious, well, again, he ain't exactly been on a walk in the park lately," Bobby said, continuing his roadside evaluation. "Kid deserves a little downtime in my book. He's only had the one seizure; and between you, me, and the lamppost, I'd say that was more courtesy of the sonofavbitch that's locked up in the hotbox playing his damn head games than it was brain swelling."

"I'm not taking any chances, Bobby," Dean said quietly.

"And we won't," Bobby said adamantly. "I'll make a few calls; see who I can scare up for some intel. We have a fully stocked rig here, might as well take advantage of it. Maybe there are some things we can do to prevent that from happening and help speed his recovery."

"Yeah, alright. Good. Make some calls, 'cuz all I got is the cut open your skull thing if this goes south."

"The what? What in the blazes are ya talkin' about?"

"You know when they-"

"Ventriculostomy." The quiet, rough voice cut them both off.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"Sammy." The relief in Dean's voice was palpable. He slid down the bench, sitting opposite of Sam and placed his hand on his shoulder. Tired eyes opened and squinted as they surveyed their surroundings.

Dean saw his brother's eyes cloud over in confusion, fear once again beginning to creep in, and he squeezed his shoulder gently, hoping it would be enough to pull him back and ground him in the here and now. "Hey, Sam. Look at me. What did you just say?"

Sam rolled his head slowly towards his brother, groaning in pain that even that small movement had caused. Dean grimaced in sympathy, giving his brother the time he needed, using the moment to check him over.

His eyes were clear, but lined in understandable pain, and Dean let out the breath he had been holding to see that the sheer terror and doubt that had been reflected in them earlier was gone.

The straps holding him safe and secure to the gurney, what Dean knew had sent him back over the edge the last time, didn't seem to be bothering him now. Instead, he seemed content to just lay there.

Sam cleared his throat, rough and dry from hours of disuse; and did his best to open his eyes further, blinking to bring his older brother into better focus.

"Ventriculostomy," he said slowly. "Word ya looking for. When a…a doctor cuts a small hole in your…skull…" He started to raise his hand to point at his head but his hand was trapped. He furrowed his brow, glancing down at the straps, and finished distractedly, "to relieve pressure."

Sam narrowed his eyes and looked back up at his brother. "You come near m'head with any sharp object…"

"Says the man who's gonna pass out the second he's vertical," Dean snarked. He reached over his brother and unclipped the straps holding him down, waiting until Sam had moved his arms before once again tightening the straps across his chest.

"Dean?"

Dean put his hand on Sam's arm, in an attempt to head off the panic he saw building in his brother's eyes. "It's okay, Sammy," he said reassuringly. "Just trying to keep you safe. Wouldn't want you rollin' outta bed." Dean held his breath as Sam looked around at his surroundings, then sighed with relief when Sam seemed to recognize where he was. "I'll give ya your arms free, but that's it. Get comfortable. Until I'm convinced that brain of yours is gonna stay in that gigantic head where it belongs, you're grounded."

Sam's body relaxed, and Dean knew it had more to do with exhaustion and pain than with believing he was right. Either way, it didn't matter. Dean would take the win.

"Only an egghead like you could pull a word like that outta ya ass at a time like this. How'd you know about that crap anyways?" Dean asked, wanting to keep his brother awake for a while longer, but honestly curious about how he knew. It was not like it would be something they ran across in their line of work.

"I, ah, I don' know," Sam said slowly. "Picked it up s'm'where."

Sam's head drifted lazily to the side, and even from where he was sitting, Dean could see his brother's eyes slide to half-mast, unblinking, as he stared at something Dean knew only his brother could see.

It was a look that Dean, frighteningly, was getting to recognize all too well, and he braced himself for another Hell-round. The slow smile that spread across his brother's lips, however, was not even close to what he had been expecting.

'Hell affected you in many different ways,' Dean thought. 'But smiling? No friggin' way. Okay, so, if not another Cage match…' He looked over at his brother, still staring off into Neverland with the same dumb-ass smile…

Dean shook his head, I'm such an idiot.

"Ah uh, Sammy. You're not gettin' away that easy." He turned to Bobby, "You see that, Bobby?"

"You take me for a fool, boy? I know better than to side with one of ya when it comes to you Winchesters. I ain't seen nothing"

"Lotta help you are, Bobby." Dean turned back to Sam, crossing his arms across his chest. "Spill, dude. You may be able to get away with blaming that blush you've got going on account of your head getting whacked, but that…that drippy, sappy smile you're sportin'...nuh ah, I want answers.

"Tired, Dean."

"Tired? You've been sleepin' all day," Dean said lightly, tapping his brother's cheek. "Open your eyes and start talking. I need to gauge your mental status."

"Liar." A small smile turned his lips. "Bored. Bobby threatened ya ass…s'ya botherin' me now."

"Was no threat boy, it was a promise," Bobby piped up from the front seat. "Told him if he didn't stop his bitchin' and moanin' I'd toss his broken ass outta the back door and make him walk the rest of the way."

Bobby turned his head, flashing Dean a sly smile before glancing at the top of Sam's head. "Glad to see ya up, son. So to speak, that is."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam replied quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. What is this, gang up on the gimp day? You," Dean said, pointing to Bobby, "keep your mouth closed. And you, little brother…" Dean leaned back on the bench, hands clasped on his lap and a smirk on his lips, "aren't getting off that easy. There's a juicy story behind that smile you're trying…unsuccessfully, I might add…to hide, and I want the dirt."

Sam huffed out a breath. "Fine. Not much t'tell. Jess…pre-med. Study of th' brain was one of her classes. W's cool." He stretched his body out as much as he could on the gurney, no doubt trying to ease stiff muscles and find a more comfortable position. "I helped 'em with their labs and tests an' stuff. That's all."

"Wait." Dean furrowed his brow as he looked at his brother. "That was plural, as in more than just Jess. Who was the other one? You holdin' out on me, Sammy?"

Sam took a deep breath as he gingerly rolled his head to the side. He squeezed his eyes shut, no doubt riding out a wave of dizziness. "Oh…um…yeah, Becky. Lived with us f'awhile. Pre-med too."

"Wait a minute." Dean sat up quickly. "Becky? As in perky, blonde, blue eyed, petite Becky from St. Louis, Becky?"

Sam raised a curious eyebrow at his brother.

"What? Dude, come on, she was hot."

"She'da eatin' you alive, bro."

Dean grinned at the thought. "So, you're only telling me this now that you lived with not only one hot chick, but two? And you played doctor with them!" he said incredulously. "Sammy, you sly dog, you."

Sam's eye's slid shut. "An' you said I had no fun at school."

"Apparently, I stand corrected."

"If you two ladies are done doin' yer nails back there, I got some things we can try for Sam. I called Jodi-"

"Jodi?" Dean inquired in puzzlement.

"Jodi Mills." Bobby rolled his eyes. "Sheriff Jodi Mills? Helped us with 'em zombies awhile back? Her doctor was big into eating ya liver instead of removing it? This ringin' any bells in that hard head of yours?"

"Oh, so its Jodi now, is it." Dean said with a smirk. He looked down at his brother, who had his eyes closed but who Dean knew was still awake. "Awww Sammy, I think Bobby is sweet on someone."

"Shuddap, ya idjit. You wanna know what she said or not."

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, trying to gently massage away some of the tension and was surprised when his brother leaned into him, resting his head on his arm. "Yeah, Bobby, whatdaya got?"

"Okay, well, Sheriff Mills got me in touch with a doctor that's a friend of a friend's cousin's brother, or some shit like that. Anyway, specializes in being discreet and keeping secrets. For once I think we have some good news."

Bobby looked back at the dark, empty stretch of road in front of them as he continued. "I explained everything, well hypothetically of course, and he agreed. In a nutshell, professional opinion is, if it's been this long and Sam's been stable, that meaning no throwin' up, breathin's been steady, speech is coherent, and he's had periods were he's lucid, well the doc doesn't think we have to worry about any brain swelling."

"But what about the seizure? What'd he say about that?" Dean asked.

"He said that seizures are always concerning, but once I told him he'd only had the one, and that was hours ago, he wasn't too worried. Said that was normal after getting clocked by a tire iron. If Sam starts having more, well, then we should start being concerned."

Dean wasn't entirely sure what to think about that. It sure sounded like good news, all wrapped up nice and pretty, and man, couldn't they use some of that about now; but he couldn't help but wonder if there was a ticking time bomb waiting beneath the pretty packaging.

Sam's hand came up and grabbed Dean's arm. "L'cifer," he whispered.

"Sonovabitch," Dean cursed, looking around the inside of the ambulance. An intense, furious thought flashed, wanting the bastard to be real, to be sitting with them right now, so he could show the bastard the meaning of real pain for hurting his brother so much.

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean's voice was soft but firm. "He's not-" A firm squeeze on his arm cut him off, years of unspoken communication between them understood immediately.

"No," Sam said stubbornly. "B'fore."

"Before? You mean on the way to the hospital?" Dean prompted. He could see the exhaustion on his brother's face and hard earned experience in the 'Art of reading Sam Winchester' told him that his little brother was going to push himself until he made sure that Dean understood.

"Was there…w'th us," Sam rasped out. "He said…he…he wasn't goin' anywhere. He wasn't leavin'…no matter what I did. I just….I tried…I wanted to tell him to…to shut up. Ya know? Just…shut the…"

Sam winced slightly as he worked himself up. Before Dean could warn him to calm down…cuz' really, one epic performance of the Swooning Sammy show was enough…Sam closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

"I guess it was all just too much," he concluded.

Gee Einstein, ya think? Dean thought. Out loud, he merely said, "Okay." He patted his brother's chest, reassuringly. He felt anything, but. "That's good."

Sam's eyes opened to mere slits. Dean saw the confusion in them and knew this time had nothing to do with Hell walls falling or traumatic head injuries.

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother. "Yeah well, ya know what I mean. Lesser of two evils."

Sam's forehead crinkled in bewilderment.

Dean groaned, running both hands through his hair. How screwed up had the situation gotten that Lucifer was the preferred problem?

"Lucifer phantasm's we can deal with," Dean said, eyes locking on his brother's so he knew he was being understood. "He's not real. Your brain exploding on the outside of your head….all kinds of bad we can't fix."

"Nice visual, D'n" Sam said, sarcasm evident even in the soft tone.

Dean grinned. "I do my best." His tone turned serious as he continued. "Sam, you know he's not real, right? He here now? "

"Yes…no…jus' us."

Sam traced along the bandage that wrapped around his left hand. "Builda' m'self a new wall…outta stone."

Some of the futility and despair that had been shadowing Dean for so long, waiting in the wings for him to make that final slip and pull him completely under lifted away at Sam's determined words. "That's my boy."

"Bobby, did that doc you talked to happen to mention anything we could do to make Sammy more comfortable. Pain meds perhaps?"

"Unfortunately, at the least, doc says we're probably dealing with a severe concussion, and we all know the rule - nothing for pain for at least twenty-four hours." Bobby glanced in the rearview mirror at the boys. "Sorry, Sam."

"Mmm, s'okay."

"There are some things we can do to speed healing up a bit, maybe make Sam a bit more comfortable. Doc says to start an intravenous line on him. It'll keep his blood pressure up, help stave off infection if one starts to try and settle in. He also said oxygen'll help, keeps the blood nice and healthy and flowin' the way it should.

Bobby caught Dean's eye's, "So, Dr. House, why don't you get started on that. Not like you haven't done any of it before. I'm gonna put some more miles between us and our new friends."

"Alright Sammy, I'm gonna get you set up real good."

"'kay."

Dean looked up at the cabinets and drawers surrounding them, grateful that they were all marked so he didn't have to waste time and energy rummaging around for what he was looking for. He took in Sam's pain lined features and closed the cabinet he had just opened, reaching instead for the draw beside him, and pulling out a small package.

'First things first,' he thought.

"We may not be able to give you any of the good stuff, doesn't mean we can't do something for that pain, right?" Dean took the ice packs he had taken from the draw and snapped them both to activate the crystals and then wrapped them each in a piece of gauze, not wanting the cold to shock his brother's system. "Medicine, Winchester style."

"Hey, this is gonna be a little cold on your skin, but we're gonna keep in on for a bit. It'll take the edge off the pain." He gently lifted his brother's head and slid the ice pack under his neck, and placed the other one on his forehead.

Even with warning, Sam startled as the cold hit his flushed, overheated skin, but the startling chill was quickly ignored as it gave way to soothing relief.

"Better?" Dean asked, a small smile tugging his lips as he watched the almost instant change on his little brother's face.

"Mmm Mhm."

Dean opened the cabinets next, pulling out the supplies he knew he would need, passing over the full facial oxygen mask, and opting for the less invasive nasal cannula instead. It had been years since he'd had to set one up, but the long buried knowledge came back quickly and in no time he had it up and running.

He kept up a running, one-sided conversation with Sam while he worked to hook him up to the oxygen and intravenous, wanting the familiar sound of his voice to keep him secure in the knowledge that he was safe as he started to fade off once again.

"How's the head feeling now, Sammy?" Dean asked quietly.

"Only feels like s'mone drove in one spike now, s'tead'f two."

"Must be the mate to the one that's currently taken up residence in my leg," Dean joked.

Concerned hazel eyes fought their way open and scrutinized his older brother. "Ya'll right?" Sam asked tiredly, fighting the tug of exhaustion that wanted to claim him.

"Yeah Sammy, I am. I'm not doing too bad."

Dean held his brother's gaze while he fell back asleep, both knowing that Dean was talking about more than his physical injuries.