Okay, I just found out something really interesting. Over on LiveJournal there is a CW Fan Fiction Newsletter (no affiliation with the CW) and my Sammie Rae stories have made their recommended reading list. WOW!! So - BIG thanks to the CW FF Newsletter and any new readers we have because of that. Also - another BIG thanks to Brigid Tanner who offered to proof my work, and give me a swift kick you-know-where when I'm too slow in updating.

Chapter 12

"Dad?" Rae peeked in the bedroom, hoping her dad had moved from his position on the bed. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. "Uh, can I have jerky for breakfast?"

He lifted his head just enough to look at her over his fingertips. "How bad was it last night?"

Rae frowned. What was Dad talking about? She slipped into the room to sit beside him. "What do you mean, how bad was it?"

He groaned, dropping his hands. "You know," he waved a hand, "with the box." His head dropped down, chin resting on his chest.

Rae grinned. "It was really great, Dad." She watched as his head lifted a little. "I had no idea you kept all those pictures and drawings. It was neat seeing them again. There was stuff I totally forgot about." She leaned against him. "So, why haven't you brought it out before?"

He shrugged, one arm wrapping around her shoulders. "Guess I can't hide it anymore, huh?"

"What I don't get is why you were hiding it in the first place," she said. "Or was it because of those bald pictures of Uncle Sam?"

"Shit!" Dad charged out of the room like his pants were on fire. Rae followed at a slower pace, finding him digging through his box. She pulled the photos out of her pocket. Leaning around Dad, Rae waved them in front of his face. He snatched them out of her hand. "Not funny."

She grinned back. "Yes it was."

"Dean?" Uncle Sam called from the kitchen, where he sat in front of his laptop. Sometimes she wondered if he could function without it. "Come here. I think I found a couple of doctors you could try."

Dad rolled his eyes at her before heading over, stuffing the photos of bald Uncle Sam into his shirt pocket. "Already? Come on, Sammy. I thought we were taking the day off."

"We are," Uncle Sam held up a beer.

"Jerky?" Rae called out before they got too engrossed in the laptop.

"Eat breakfast first," Uncle Sam shouted back, not looking at her.

That was not the answer she wanted. "Dad?" she tried, hoping for another answer.

His head snapped up to glare at her. "You heard your uncle. Breakfast first." Dad turned back to Uncle Sam. "Fine. What?"

Uncle Sam's eyes were pretty wide as he looked at Dad for a moment, then he pointed at the laptop screen. Rae grabbed a bowl and poured herself some cereal with milk before sitting at the table.

"So what kind of doctor does Dad need to see?" Rae asked over her cereal.

"Don't worry about it," Dad said. "Why don't you eat that in there?" he pointed to the den, clearly inviting her to watch television while she ate.

Rae dropped her spoon in the bowl. "No. I want to know what's going on. What's wrong with you? Why do you need to see a doctor?"

"Rae, honey," Uncle Sam reached out, patted her hand, "I told you, the doctor said it was nothing serious. Nothing life-threatening."

She snatched her hand away. "Dad?"

Uncle Sam looked up to Dad. Rae figured he must have promised Dad not to say anything to her. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at them both.

Dad pulled out a chair with a heavy sigh. He sat opposite her. "It's called a panic attack. I had one that was bad enough to look like a heart attack, but it wasn't."

Dad looked really worried, that was when Rae noticed her mouth hanging open. She snapped it shut. "Bad enough to look like a heart attack?" she whispered, unable to make her voice louder.

Dad squirmed in his chair with a really guilty look on his face. "Uh, yeah. But don't worry about it, Sammy and me have got it covered."

Rae stared at Dad, unable to believe any of this. An attack that looked like a heart attack but wasn't? What if it was a heart attack? What if Dad…

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Dean watched Rae race from the kitchen, tears streaming down her face. "Well, that could have gone better." He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the cool table surface. That feeling was coming back, the one that made breathing difficult and his chest muscles contract. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deep and control it. Dean concentrated on a sense of calm, the way he felt driving the Impala down a long stretch of highway. That feeling passed. He lifted his head to find Sam staring at him.

"What?"

Sam frowned. "Was that one?"

Dean groaned. Cripes. "One what?"

"Dean," Sam had that tone in his voice, the one that set his teeth on edge, "seriously, man, you need to be straight with me about this."

"Weren't you the guy just telling Rae how this wasn't serious?" Dean demanded.

"I believe I said it wasn't life-threatening," Sam argued.

"Yeah, right after you said it wasn't serious!" he shouted. God, why the hell was he shouting? And when did he stand up? "Make up your mind, Sam!" His fist slammed into the wall, sheetrock disintegrating before it.

Dean looked at his arm in shock. It was halfway through the wall that separated the eating area of the kitchen from the den.

Sam stood, inspected the entry hole and then walked around to the den. "Good thing you didn't hit a stud."

Dean pulled his arm gently from the wall. "Yeah. Thanks," he mumbled.

Sam reappeared, leaning around the corner. "How about we see if you can get an appointment today?"

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Dean grumbled something before heading to the bedrooms. Sam sat down, phone in hand, to start calling some of the doctors' offices. After the third time he was refused a same-day appointment, Sam started asking to speak directly with the doctor. The next one readily agreed to an appointment that afternoon, after he explained the situation.

Relieved, Sam headed to check on Dean and Rae. Her door was partially open, so he stood back, listening.

"Come on, Rae. I told you, it wasn't that bad."

"Then why were you at the hospital?" Rae demanded.

"I guess it looked bad," Dean said. Sam noticed his brother's voice was soft.

"Dad," Rae still sounded upset, "you should tell me these things. I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Yeah, I know." Dean sighed. "And I'm not handling that real well."

"Huh?"

Sam pushed the door further open. "Staying in one place for you to go to school is more stressful than we thought it would be," he said, glancing at Dean. His brother had an arm around Rae. "I doubt either of us is handling this new situation as well as we could."

"Who asked you?" Rae snapped.

"Hey," Dean pulled her closer, shaking her a little, "be nice. We're all family here."

Sam had been ready to back out of the room before Dean said that. Now he remained where he was, leaning on the doorframe.

"Sorry," Rae mumbled, looking down.

"Yeah, me too," Sam admitted. Both Dean and Rae gave him a strange look. "I should have picked you up when I found out Dean was in the hospital." Sam scratched the back of his head. "If Dean had pulled that with me over Dad, I would probably still be pissed about it."

"Are you in here because you found a doctor?" Rae asked, still sounding a little hostile.

"Uh, actually, I did." Sam stepped into the room. Might as well get this over with. "We have an appointment for two."

"We?" Dean asked. "Don't you mean, me?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Ah, no. The doctor would like to meet all of us."

Dean and Rae asked simultaneously, "Why?"

"I guess we'll find out at two."

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Dean stomped toward the waiting room, jerked his head at his brother before sitting down next to Rae. Only Sam could find a psychiatrist/psychologist willing to make a same-day appointment in this stupid town. The little white paper with his prescription felt heavy in his pocket. The doctor told him to take one if he felt an attack coming on, that it should help to relax him.

He rested a hand on Rae's leg. What would relax him would be to hit the road, get away from all these people they had to see every freaking day now. Like Marty at work – the guy was starting to act like they were best friends or something just because Dean liked eating lunch with him. Hell, Sam was more fun to hang out with than Marty, but Marty knew all the best places to eat cheap.

"Dad?" Rae whispered, forcing Dean to lean over to hear her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he smiled at her, "just fine. The doctor wants to talk to you, too. I warned him you might not talk to him if you went in there alone."

"And?"

Dean shrugged. "He said he didn't care. But he definitely wanted to talk to you alone." He leaned in close to whisper, "You okay with that?"

She shrugged. It was not convincing. Dean wondered if he should get her gun from the trunk before it was her turn.

"Will you be right outside the door?" she asked softly. "So I can call you if I need to?"

He squeezed her leg. "You bet."

The doctor did not take long with Sam at all, much to Dean's surprise. He expected that to last, considering how much Sam liked to talk. Sam held the door open for Rae. Dean followed, pointedly standing outside the door when the doctor closed it. He leaned against it, studying his brother. Sam had definitely looked better.

"How did it go?" he asked.

Sam looked away, avoiding eye contact. "Fine."

"What did he say?"

Sam shrugged.

"Still meeting Sarah tonight?"

Sam's eyes snapped back to him. About frigging time. "What? Sarah?"

"Yeah, genius," Dean said with a smirk, "don't you have a date tonight?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know. I was thinking that maybe you could take the night off. You know, go shoot some pool or something." Sam gave him that fake smile.

"Shoot pool?" Dean stared back. What the hell did that doctor say to his brother? "Sam, you're going on that date. We'll be just fine."

"But, you know, I don't remember the last night you went out to play pool." Sam was nearly whining now.

"Sam," Dean glared at him, "if you must know, I took the girls out to play pool last weekend. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam's jaw dropped. "You took the girls out to play pool? Are you crazy?"

"It's a family pool hall, Sam. Besides, it's not like Rae hasn't seen her share of pool halls before." Dean leaned back against the door, trying to see if he could hear what was going on inside. "Now, what's up with this giving me the night off crap?"

Sam's eyes widened, making him look more like that hurt puppy dog. Dean swallowed the irritation he felt over that. "Nothing. Just trying to be nice, that's all."

"Is that what he told you?" Dean demanded. "To be nice to me?" The damn doors here must be soundproof. He shifted around, trying to put his ear closer to the door.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked. "Are you trying to listen in?"

"Ssshhh!" Dean hissed, waving a hand at his brother.

"Sir, you should really step away from the door. That's a private conference." The woman at the reception desk rushed over to them.

Dean shifted his glare to her. "That's my kid in there. I'm not moving."

"Sir, you really should…"

The door opened. Dean fell back, catching himself with the doorframe. He threw the doctor a quick grin as he searched for Rae. She rushed from behind the doctor to throw herself on him.

"Hey, Sunshine," Dean held her close, "what happened?"

The doctor, a middle aged man with streaks of silver in his dark brown hair, motioned for them to step inside. "I would like to see you all again in a week. Dean, let me know if there are any side effects from that medication immediately, just call the office. How does next Tuesday sound? Same time?" He opened an appointment book on his desk.

"Uh, we kind of have jobs," Dean replied. "I'm only here because he made me," he jerked his head at Sam.

The doctor smiled. "I understand. Well, let's discuss when would be convenient for all of you."

Dean wondered if he slammed his head into the wall now, would that constitute a need for stronger meds to be forced on him. This thing was really getting out of control now. All of them were in therapy? Great, what would be next? Group hugs?