The curtain swished as the nurse pulled it closed behind her, providing some semblance of isolation from the barely controlled chaos of the emergency room. Dean looked up from Sam's motionless form on the bed expectantly. "Well?"

"Mr. Page. I need you to sign some consent forms for a packed blood cell transfusion. The blood is already on its way." The nurse glanced at Sam. "Whatever your brother was using did a number on him. His hematocrit is so low that I'm astounded he's still alive. Hematocrit is the percentage of red blood cells in a sample," the nurse explained as Dean opened his mouth, incorrectly assuming that Dean had been about to ask. "I think your brother got into something that was contaminated. There almost weren't enough living cells in the samples we took for the lab to analyze."

Dean reached up to wipe his upper lip uselessly. It clearly didn't matter what Dean said: the nurse was going to insist on the idea that Sam was strung out on something. Given the punctures and bruises on Sam's forearms, Dean didn't particularly blame her. "Okay. Where do I sign?"

The nurse flipped open the file she was holding and produced a pen; Dean gave the form a cursory glance and scribbled something illegible at the bottom. "Is he going to be all right?"

The nurse's lips formed a thin line. "Once we've stabilized his blood pressure and gotten his blood delivering oxygen to his organs again, we'll have a better idea. I've already called upstairs to admit him for the night. We may need to keep him longer, depending on what he's got in his system." She leveled a stern gaze at him, eyebrow set in an inquisitive curve.

Dean threw his hands up, frustrated. "I don't know. I honestly don't. I don't know what you're going to find. Just - get him better. Please." He licked his lips, suddenly very aware of the burning lump at the back of his throat. "He's my little brother, and he's - he's all I've got."

Something in Dean's tone must have struck a chord, because the nurse's face softened slightly. "Sam is very sick," she said in the kindest tone with which those words could be said. "You did right to bring him here. We're going to do everything we possibly can." She lowered her voice so she could barely be heard over the steady whir of the machines at the head of the hospital bed. "He's not going to be in any sort of trouble. Neither are you. This is a safe place."

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, looking down at his shoes. There were bloodstains on his jeans - fresh ones, from that night, punctuating the old ones that no amount of detergent could wash away. He must look every bit as delinquent as Sam. He nearly jumped as the nurse laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You should go get some coffee."

"I'm not leaving him." Dean edged closer to the bed. "If I'm not here when he wakes up -"

"Of course." The nurse closed the file and nodded as the curtain was whisked open again to admit yet another employee in scrubs, carrying a basin filled with plastic bags of blood. "I've already paged the specialist on call. She should be here shortly. She'll have questions for you - and Sam, if he's awake."

Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from the swift, deliberate moves with which the technician was assembling the apparatus to deliver the blood. "He needs all of that?"

The technician glanced down at the bags. "Each bag will raise his crit by about six percent," the technician said with a distracted air as he did something with a tube. So many tubes. Dean didn't know if he'd even be able to find Sam under them all. "And he's about fifteen percent lower than Tammy wants him to be." The technician dropped his voice to mutter something under his breath. It sounded like "veins are collapsed," but that couldn't be it - that sounded entirely too serious, and Sam was going to be just fine. He'd been through worse.

"He's about twenty percent lower than I'd like him to be," the nurse corrected, glancing at Dean as though to include him in the conversation that was quickly climbing over his head, "but I want to see how he reacts to the transfusion first. We may need plasma as well."

"Have some right here," the technician said, jerking his chin in the direction of the basin he'd brought with him. "I usually bring some."

"When will I be able to take him home?" Dean interrupted. "Tomorrow morning? The day after?" He refused to let his stomach drop at the pitying look the nurse was giving him. "Sammy doesn't like hospitals. The food doesn't agree with him."

"We need him stable first," the nurse said firmly. "You'll know as soon as we do."

"This our young man?" The makeshift cubicle of the curtain was getting crowded; Dean felt as though he was being forced further and further away. He planted himself by Sam's elbow and crossed his arms as the newcomer in the white coat took the file from the nurse. She did not open it; instead she looked to Dean. "You're his brother?" Dean nodded. "I'm Dr. Harper. I work in internal medicine here at the hospital. Do you have any questions about what is happening here?"

"Yeah." Dean glanced down at Sam. "I haven't gotten a straight answer since I walked in here. What's happening?"

"Medical jargon is like a different language," Dr. Harper replied, nodding. "Sam's blood isn't working right. We don't know why for certain, so right now, we're trying to replace the blood that isn't working with donated blood. Once we have him out of immediate danger, we can start figuring out what's causing the problem."

The tubes connected to Sam's arms had begun filling with dark red; it made Dean inexplicably queasy. Blood was blood. He saw it nearly every day. He averted his gaze and stared determinedly at the pattern on the curtain. "Is he going to be okay?"

This time the obvious hesitation of the nurse and Dr. Harper sent a cold stab of dread through him. "You brought him to us quickly, which increases his chances of avoiding brain damage," Dr. Harper said finally. "But his entire body went without oxygen for quite a while. That's very hard on organs like the liver and the brain. That's why he's unconscious right now. His body is trying to conserve what little it has left and reroute it to the most important life-sustaining functions."

"So what you're saying is that he's dying." The words felt strange on his tongue. He didn't know why. He and Sam were constantly on the brink of dying. They weren't exactly strangers to the experience. But death wasn't something that happened in a hospital bed. Not to them. Death was supposed to be a violent and painful affair, met head on with a weapon and a smart remark. Not like this. Not without a fighting chance.

"I'm not saying anything of the sort," Dr. Harper corrected him. "He's remarkably stable for someone in his condition, and once we've gotten the donor blood in him we'll know more." She glanced at one of the monitors at the head of the bed. "That being said, if there's anyone else who should know that he's here, now would be a good time to call them. Not," she added quickly, "that he's on any sort of timer - just that I expect we'll know things more definitively within a few hours, and if there is any other family, you may want to have them around."

"Right." Dying. That's what all the words were trying to hide. Dean nodded, and he could tell that Dr. Harper knew what was going through his mind by the way her eyes tightened slightly. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "I hope you don't mind if I make a few calls right here," he said, holding up the phone and waving it. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Dr. Harper not only seemed not to mind, she went so far as to move to the other side of the bed to confer quietly with the nurse and the other technician. Dean took a deep breath and unlocked his phone.

13 new messages

Perplexed, Dean thumbed open his text messages - all from Kevin.

He's in surgery now. call ASAP

At Allenmore General. Checking in. Told them his name is Cas and don't know last name.

Are you okay?

Dean gritted his teeth against the sour taste that was rising up his throat as he skimmed up to the previous messages.

Sam isnt answering either

Where are you?

Ambulance is here now

Ambulance can't find the place. Should I just drive him?

CALL ASAP

Are you guys okay?

WHERE ARE YOU

I called 911 and ambulance is on its way

CALL ASAP

Cas is hurt bad. I thought he was with you? He didn't know where you were?

The phone took a few seconds to connect before it began ringing; barely two rings had completed before Kevin picked up. "Dean. You're alive." The relief in his voice was almost palpable, even over the phone, and Dean shifted uneasily.

"Just barely. What's happening? Surgery?"

"Emergency surgery. They won't tell me what's going on, just that they need to stabilize him."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Dean said, glancing over at the huddle of scrubs on the other side of the bed. "Sam's not in tip-top shape either." He reached up to run his hand over his eyes. "I can't leave him, Kev. Not right now."

Dean could hear Kevin swallowing. "He was asking for you. He seemed pretty disoriented, but that's all he could say. He said he needed you."

"He said what?" Dean covered his other ear with one hand to muffle the low drone of the machines.

"Just that. 'I need Dean.' And then he passed out. What's wrong with Sam?"

Something sour was stirring in the pit of Dean's stomach. "Something - blood stuff. He may or may not be braindead. They won't give me a solid answer." He ignored the stern glance the nurse failed to stifle. "It's bad. I can't leave. Not even for Cas."

"Right." Dean could hear Kevin taking a deep breath. "So what should I tell them? I've got a book's worth of paperwork they gave me and I don't know how to fill in any of it. Birthdate? Allergies? Do angels even have allergies?"

"They shouldn't even need surgery, Kevin." Dean closed his eyes. "Dammit. Just - hold down the fort, okay? Don't sign anything. I'll - figure out something."

"I can come stay with Sam," Kevin offered in a small voice. "Switch places. You can be here."

"No, that's - thanks. But no. He's my brother. I can't leave."

"I thought Cas was - was family too."

The sick twist in Dean's gut tightened. "Cas is - complicated. In ways that I don't even want to try and explain." The silence on the end of the line weighed heavily on Dean's chest, and he sighed. "Look, I said I'll figure something out. Hang in there."

"I'm not the one in surgery." There were two beeps and then the silence that indicated Kevin had ended the call. Dean tossed the phone onto the bed and ran both hands over his face wearily.

He shouldn't have closed his eyes; the habit of being able to fall asleep anywhere meant that he didn't know how much time passed in his stupor of a half-doze before a gentle hand on his arm startled him awake. "Mr. Page," an entirely different nurse was saying, "Your brother is stable enough for us to move him upstairs now. Could I get you to sign the admit papers?"

"Hm?" Dean blinked as a clipboard was handed to him. "Yeah. Whatever." Pen hovering above the papers, he looked over at Sam; his brother looked just as sallow and sunken as before. "He doesn't look much better."

"He's not," a slightly familiar voice said as Dr. Harper drew aside the curtain, "which is why we're keeping him. But we've upgraded his room. He even gets limo service." She indicated the gurney that two other hospital workers were pulling up behind her.

"Is he okay?" The question was useless, Dean knew, and was surprised when Dr. Harper nodded.

"He responded very well to the transfusions. What's more interesting is that his tox screen came back negative. Twice." She didn't phrase it as a question, but it was a question nonetheless. Dean didn't know how to even begin answering it, so he just shrugged, watching as the gurney was wheeled into place next to Sam's bed. "At any rate, it means that we likely don't have to worry about liver failure, since his liver isn't having to deal with any toxic chemicals. That's good." She aimed a more pointed look at Dean. "Having ruled out illicit substances, I'm still worried about his brain function. Drugs or not, he still spent a lot of time without enough oxygen. Those papers aren't going to sign themselves, you know."

"I can't take him home, can I?" Dean asked, pen still hovering over the papers. "Even if I didn't sign this?"

Dr. Harper hid her alarm well. Dean could appreciate a good poker face. "I'm going to advise against that in the strongest way possible, Dean."

"But I could. Technically. I could take him home."

"Please don't." He could see genuine concern begin to rise in her eyes. "He needs the kind of care he can only get in a hospital. Transfusions. Imaging. If this is a bone marrow infection he'll need broad-spectrum antibiotics." She walked around the bed and bent down so their eyes were level. "I know it's difficult to see a loved one like this. And I can see that you two are used to taking care of yourselves. But he needs to be here. Taking him home is the worst possible thing for him."

There was an entire closet full of remedies in the bunker, cataloged and ready for nearly every ailment that could come up. Barring that, there was any number of rituals filed away in the library. One of them would have to work.

The bunker was also five hours away, and the expression on Dr. Harper's face was a fairly decent indication that she didn't think Sam would last long outside these walls.

Dean sighed and let his gaze fall to the papers. "Just sign here, then?"

He still in surgery?

Yeah. Sam?

No change. Let you know.

Same.

"You should get some sleep."

Dean tore his gaze away from the monitor, where he'd been listlessly watching the steady peaks and valleys of Sam's heartbeat. "Hmm?"

Not looking up as she scribbled in Sam's chart, the nurse continued. "You've obviously had a rough night of it. You should get some sleep."

"I don't think so." Dean crossed his arms and tried his best to look wide-awake. It was marred, he knew, by how bloodshot his eyes must be, and by the dark circles under his eyes that his usual four hours hadn't been able to dispel for years.

"It's two in the morning, Mr. Page. You can't stay awake all night."

"Just try him."

Dean's head whipped around so quickly that his neck tweaked in painful complaint. "Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes, just once, very briefly, then sighed into his oxygen mask. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck."

"Not exactly." Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands folded beneath his chin. "You okay there, Sammy?"

"I feel like I've been hit by a truck," Sam repeated, opening one eye to look at Dean. "And this is a hospital." It sounded almost accusatory.

"There are some...problems," Dean said, before shooting a glance at the nurse. "Could I get a moment?"

The nurse, for her part, looked absolutely astounded. "I - yes. I'll page Dr. Harper."

It wasn't long before she had left the room, and Dean lowered his voice. "Your blood is doing some weird shit. If I tried to take you home, I might have ended up with one very dead brother, and I don't have so many brothers that I was willing to take the chance. You're here. End of story. I know you think they can't help, but maybe they can."

"What's wrong with me isn't in some medical journal," Sam protested, but it didn't have any real heat behind it. He sighed again and shrugged. "Whatever. I'm here now." He opened his eyes again, although it looked as though it took all his effort to do so. "Crowley still in the car?"

"He should be. Those handcuffs won't let him go anywhere."

"Are you sure about that?"

Dean nodded. "Even if he wasn't still technically a demon, he's attached to the frame of the car. He's not checking out anytime soon."

"And you don't think security is going to get a little suspicious about someone handcuffed inside a car in the parking garage?"

"What, should I bring him in here? Yeah, that sounds like a great way to avoid questions," Dean retorted. "It's not as though we have anywhere else to stash him."

Sam made a face that Dean recognized well. It was the expression that preceded anything that Dean was likely to argue with. "We could always...you know...let him go."

"Let him go," Dean repeated. "King of Hell, fresh out of rehab, and you want to just let him go."

"And what else can we do with him?" Sam demanded, reaching up to tear the oxygen mask from his face. "Cured or not, he's still a demon - a demon with a buttload of power - and if we show him some goodwill maybe we can actually convince him to be on our side instead of hating us for what we did to him."

"On our side?" Dean could not seem to stop repeating the nonsense coming out of Sam's mouth.

"Yes, Dean," Sam said wearily, "On our side. Abaddon is still out there, and she knows what we were doing to Crowley - she could already be rallying demons to stage a coup, or something. Enemy of my enemy, right?"

"Name one time that philosophy has ever gone well for us." Dean reached up with both hands to rub at his face. "We need to do something with him."

The phone on the table by Dean's elbow buzzed, nearly falling off the table before Dean reached out to snatch it.

"Kevin?"

"Cas crashed. They told me to get in contact with his family."

Dean licked his lips, eyes flicking up to Sam. "But he's okay. Right?"

"You know as much as I do now." Kevin's voice was flat with fatigue.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked. Dean held his hand up, but the words tumbling around his mind refused to be pinned down.

"Is that Sam?" Kevin demanded. "Is he awake?"

"Yeah," Dean replied absently. "Just woke up a few minutes ago. Here." At Sam's gesture, he handed over the phone.

"Kevin? Yeah I'm - I'm fine. Tired, mostly. Achy. You - what? He's what?" Sam looked to Dean in alarm. "No, he didn't tell me. Is he okay?"

"Am I interrupting?"

Dean and Sam both looked to the sliding door of the room where Dr. Harper stood, flanked by the nurse. Dean pointedly took the phone from Sam. "We gotta go, Kev. Doc's here. I promise, I will - I'll work something out. I swear." He hung up before Kevin could protest, guilt twisting sharply in his chest.

Dr. Harper was already gazing intently at the monitors around Sam's bed; it wasn't until Dean pocketed his phone that she spoke again. "Good morning, Sam. I'm very glad to see you awake. I'm Dr. Harper." She looked away from one of the monitors with a small smile. "You don't have to say that it's good to meet me."

"Thanks." Sam shifted, trying to sit up. "So what's the verdict?"

Dr. Harper reached out to touch some of the buttons on the bed, and the head began to rise up. Sam nodded once at her gratefully. "It's hard to tell at this point. You're awake and talking, which is honestly more than I'd hoped." She pointed at one of the numbers on the monitor. "Especially considering how low your oxygen levels are. That hasn't changed. I want to do some more blood labs, see if we can't pin down what's causing it."

"Am I going to be alive tomorrow?" Sam asked bluntly.

Dr. Harper's poker face made another appearance. "You won't be out of here by then, I can tell you that, but unless a meteor hits the hospital I should say you'll be alive for at least the next several days - assuming your blood keeps doing its job."

"Good." Sam crossed his arms and looked flatly at Dean. "Dean has somewhere to be."

"Yeah. Right here." Dean leaned back, face carefully composed. "I'm not leaving this room until you do."

Sam glanced at Dr. Harper before taking a sharp breath. "Are you still mad at him?"

Blinking, Dean set his jaw. "At who?"

"Cas. It's hard to keep track."

"Maybe. Probably." Dean shook his head. "You know what he's done."

"Mad enough to not be there when he wakes up?" Sam pressed. "From surgery he shouldn't need?"

"I told you," Dean said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, ignoring how thoroughly the nurse and Dr. Harper were pretending to not hear their conversation. "Nothing comes before you. Not even Cas."

"Dean, I..." Sam closed his eyes and grimaced. "I didn't mean what I said. Not about Cas. I don't - Cas is family. And someone should be there for him."

"Kevin's there."

"I mean one of us." Sam lifted the hand that trailed an IV tube. "And I'm not exactly portable."

In the corner of the room, Dr. Harper coughed. "Not that it's any of my business," she said to no one in particular, "but I'm going to be taking Sam to imaging as soon as I can get it scheduled. He'll be busy for a few hours, and it's going to be mighty boring in this room."

"Cas is my friend, too," Sam said quietly. "If I can't go, I wish you would." His eyes suddenly went very wide and he took a breath. "Maybe Crowley can help with the...transportation," he said, very slowly, with a significant look at Dean.

Dean stared blankly for a moment. "Son of a bitch," he said finally.

"Ah," Crowley said as Dean slid into the front seat of the Impala, closing the door behind him. "He returns."

Dean twisted to face the demon in the backseat of the car. "You all right?" he asked grudgingly.

"I'm spectacular. Although, could you possibly chain me to the other door next time you abandon me for several hours? My shoulder's cramping." Crowley shrugged. "Just a thought."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I meant, are you hungry or anything? I mean..."

"Are you this awkward with everyone the morning after? Because it's rather endearing."

It took every ounce of self-control Dean possessed not to reach back and smack Crowley upside the head. "Crowley, I'm running on empty on the brink of about a dozen situations I'd rather have nothing to do with, you being one of them. Don't test me."

Crowley stared back insolently for a moment before he broke the gaze, looking down first at his manacled hands and then at the empty seat next to Dean. "How's Sam?"

"Not dead," Dean replied shortly, taken aback at the demon's inquiry. Crowley nodded and settled into the back seat, as far as the handcuffs would allow him, eyes not leaving Dean.

"Is there a reason for this visit? Or did you just remember you didn't crack the window?"

Continuing to debate with himself over it wasn't going to do any good. Dean sighed. "You can zap yourself pretty much anywhere you want to. Can you still do it?"

"Hard to tell. I'm a bit tied up at the moment." Crowley did not glance significantly at the manacles, but his raised eyebrows made it perfectly clear that he could have, if such a gesture would not have been inelegant.

"Assuming you can. Can you take a passenger?"

Crowley leaned forward. "Oh, now that's interesting. Where could you possibly need to go so badly that you'd stoop to using me as a taxi service?"

Dean snapped his jaw shut.

"No, really," Crowley said after a few moments of stubborn silence, "I'll need to know if I'm going to take you there. Unless you'd like it to be a surprise."

"So you can."

Crowley responded with a shrug. "I'm still technically the contractual owner of every soul in Hell. That's not easily broken, and my power derives from that. We can get wibbly about how that makes me feel later. Of course I still can. The question is, how do I benefit from it?"

The words felt slimy even before Dean said them. "You don't like Abaddon."

"I would wish us better strangers, yes."

"We don't like Abaddon either."

Long moments passed as they stared at one another, unblinking. Finally Crowley began nodding slowly, his eyes calculating. "We can work out the fiddly details later," he said in a low voice. "Because there will be oh, so many fiddly details." He raised his bound wrists. "How about it? First one is contingent on you unlocking these."

Dean swallowed as he drew a heavily sigiled key from his jacket pocket. "You don't get to bounce as soon as I let you go," he said warningly.

"Of course not."

"And you've got to stick around to bring me back here. No wandering off on your own."

"How tedious. Agreed," Crowley added quickly as Dean's eyes narrowed.

"You lay a finger on anyone - you even talk to anyone - and so help me you will wish we left you in that church for Abbadon to find."

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Dean expected Crowley to laugh.

"Agreed."

Dean tried his best to hide his surprise. "And you have to take me where I actually want to go. No scenic detours." At Crowley's nod, he reached back and shoved the key into the lock on the manacles.

A small sound of relief escaped from Crowley as he massaged first one wrist, then the other, rolling his shoulders as he did so. "Like finally taking a piss after a long night of it."

"Classy," Dean retorted, irritated that he found it slightly amusing.

"That's me. All class." Crowley flexed his neck a few times before looked squarely at Dean. "Now. Where are we off to?"

"Allenmore General Hospital. Kansas."

Nodding, Crowley reached forward. "You're not going to like this much," he warned just before grasping Dean firmly by the ear and pulling him sideways into crushing darkness.