Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long to update this, but as I told TammiTam, my computer hasn't been accepting disks for the past few days, and this chapter was written on a different computer without internet… So I had to wait… Oh and sorry about some of the wording in this chapter, I was channeling Missouri when I wrote it!

As my apology to you guys, I ended up extending this chapter, I made it almost two pages longer…

Your reviews as always warmed my heart, and I sincerely hope you like this chapter…

Big thanks again goes to TammiTam for beta'ing this story.

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Three Hours Later, Louisiana General Hospital:

When Dean had told his father that Sam had a temperature of 103.8, the oldest Winchester hadn't hesitated in bringing him to the hospital. The Winchester's avoided hospitals by nature, but when one of them needed medical treatment that couldn't be provided by family, they wouldn't try to solve the problem themselves, knowing the stupidity of the action.

So when John had come in, carrying his youngest and screaming for help, with a pitiful Dean following closely behind, nurses had flocked. Sam had been whisked away on a stretcher, and with a few brusque questions, Dean and John had been told to wait in the dreaded waiting room for news.

That had been three hours, and four coffee trips ago.

Neither John or Dean were particularly good at being patient, and both men had gone through pacing, growling, and bickering with each other. Both had been concealing their worry, albeit in stupid ways, from each other; and neither had been successful in their actions.

Sammy was and always had been the heart of their family, and if anything happened to him, neither John nor Dean were sure if they could go on with the loss. They weren't sure they could get by without Sam.

To put it bluntly, the eldest Winchesters would end up killing each other without Sam's influence. Both men were too pig-headed to completely agree with each other, and though it usually ended up that Sam and John argued, it was almost always a concept that Dean and their father didn't agree on either.

Without Sam, the remaining Winchesters would be a disaster.

Dean sighed for the umpteenth time and ran his hand roughly through his shorn hair. He needed to hear what was happening with Sam, he needed to know if his brother was okay, but it seemed that no one in the hospital understood that, and had left him to sit there, worrying about his little brother. Grinding his teeth and groaning, Dean slumped down in the chair.

Didn't they get that without Sammy, there was no Dean? Didn't they get that without his little brother there to stable him, Dean would blow? Didn't they get it?

Obviously they didn't and as the hours passed, Dean was starting to get that fact. No one in the hospital seemed to have a brother or sister that they looked after, that they loved and would do anything for. No one seemed to get what Dean was feeling, and wasn't that just a pooper?

Bring both hands up to scrub at his face, Dean groaned, and wrinkled his nose. Why does this always happen to you Sammy? He asked himself, wishing that he really had an answer for the question that had plagued him for years. It seemed like everywhere the Winchesters went, the Supernatural liked to follow, and it seemed like they always had their sights set on Sam.

Just please get better Sammy. Please!

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John Winchester was not a patient man, he never had been, and chances were he was never going to be. So why then did it seem like the doctors and nurses of the hospital were mocking him and his inability to wait for answers?

Assholes... John thought to himself with a rueful grin.

Growling low in his throat, the oldest Winchester stood, and started pacing the length of the floor for the third time since they had been so kindly asked to wait in the waiting room. The whole situation with not knowing what was going on with Sam wasn't making him feel any better, and if he had his way, John would have been at Sam's side, not waiting in some sterile white room, filled with uncomfortable chairs and out of date magazines.

After a while, John groaned and plopped back down in the chair he had vacated, giving Dean a knowing look when his eldest looked at him. Dean wasn't taking the waiting any better than he was, knowing Dean, his son was probably having a harder time waiting than he was.

The bond his boys shared was something to be envious of, with the exception being when one of them was hurt or sick. That's when the bond became a nuisance, a hazard that led the healthy brother to a mothering like state until the other brother was better.

The way Dean looked now, drawn and haggard, John wished that he could take the weight off his shoulders. He wished that he could share some of the responsibility that Dean felt every moment Sam was apart from them. He wished that he could knock Dean out to get him to stop that incessant grinding.

But since he couldn't, or wouldn't do any of those things, John resigned himself to sinking further down in the chair and sighing; unconsciously mimicking his son in his actions. He couldn't help wondering what was taking the doctors so long to figure out what was wrong with Sammy. Then his mind switched to a worry that was eating away at him, he just wanted to known what was happening to his baby boy.

The look on Dean's face when he had told him what Sam's temperature was had been torturous.

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"Uh Dad?" Dean asked looking over at his father. "We've got a problem."

"What?" John asked sharply, trying to figure out what was wrong. Dean's face had drained of color, and his oldest was shaking.

"S-Sam's," Dean grunted, clearing his throat, "Sam's got a temperature dad." Dean stated, obviously not realizing that John already knew that little fact.

"Yeah," John asked, trying to sound gentler this time.

"It's, it's uh, a hundred and three point eight dad," Dean told him, shock reading clearly on his face.

"Shit Dean," John breathed, watching as his eldest nodded, knowing what he was thinking. "Hospital, now!" John ordered, bending over to pick Sam up, his gangly legs and arms hanging limp, as his head lolled onto John's shoulder.

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"Family of Sam Cole?" A young man in scrubs asked, walking into the waiting room.

John and Dean both practically shot up from the uncomfortable chairs. "Yeah?" They asked in unison.

The man skittered back a little bit, but covered up the move with a small smile. "When you brought Sam in, he had a high fever as you know, and the..." he looked down at his chart before continuing, "football? wound was infected." Both Winchesters nodded, practically riveted by the man.

"Well right now, Sam seems to be holding his own, and we've ruled out septicemia, which is good. We are administering a course of antibiotics, and have Sam on a nasal canula, which we are hoping will get rid of the infection." Both men sagged at the news, hoping that meant that Sam was going to be fine.

"But we are concerned about Sam's fever. It seems to be heading to Hyperpyrexia, which can lead to seizures and organ failure, and ultimately death. We're concerned about this possibility because even with the antibiotics Sam's temperature hasn't gone down yet, and has risen to just over one hundred and four.

"We're monitoring him very closely, and have placed him in the ICU for now. If his fever doesn't go down soon, Sam may be in for a very rough time."

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Dean had sat by Sam's side since the doctors had told him he was allowed to see his brother. The youngest Winchester was incredibly pale, as if all the blood had been drained from his face, and at the same time, he was flushed, a rosy hue lining his cheeks. Wires and tubes ran everywhere, seeming to dwarf his usually towering sibling.

The thing that really got to Dean, that really made him stop and draw a breath was the fact that his brother was so still.

In his life his little brother had never been still, having been diagnosed with ADHD when he was eight, and suffering from night terrors that left him tossing and turning during the night. If Sam would so much as twitch, Dean would have been content to believe that he was just asleep rather than unconscious, but though Dean watched, the younger boy never moved.

Dean sighed and looked up at the monitor that displayed his brother vitals. His fever was still hovering between 103.7 and 104.1, and Dean couldn't help but cringe every time he saw the numbers head higher. His respiratory effort was up to 96 with the help of the nasal canula, which even though wasn't one hundred percent, he could live with. His heart rate was a little fast and his breathing a little slow, but other than that there was nothing that told Dean what was happening.

Reaching over, Dean ran his fingers gently through his brother's long, sweat soaked locks. The action had often comforted Sam when he had been little, and though he wasn't responding to the touch now, it made Dean feel better to do something he knew used to help. Snagging a knot with his fingers, Dean played with the clump of hair until it fell apart in his fingers, before he went back to his repetitive stroking.

If the situation had been different, Dean would have been embarrassed to express his feelings as he was, but with Sam lying in the hospital bed, the older brother was willing to do anything to help. He knew Sam would probably tease him about the way he was acting if he were awake to witness it, and Dean wished he was, but the younger hunter wasn't, and no teasing words left the slightly parted lips.

You better pull through Sammy. What am I gonna do without my pain in the ass little brother?

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John Winchester watched as Dean, seemingly unaware that anyone else was in the room, threaded his fingers through Sam's hair. The man could remember when Dean had used the motions when Sammy had been little, the action soothing him. He almost wished that it had been him that had taken care of his youngest, but the bond Dean and Sam had developed was enough for him to see that it had been a good thing for the boys.

John squeezed the lax hand he was holding, and placed the joined hands on his crossed legs, leaning back in his chair as he did so. Using his other hand, he wearily scrubbed his face, the calloused palm catching a little on his stubble-ridden chin.

Oh, how he wished this hadn't happened. He wished that his youngest wasn't lying so deathly still in a hospital bed. He wished he and Dean weren't sitting there, watching and praying for Sammy to be alright.

Damn it, he wished for a do-over!

But do-over's were a rare thing for the Winchesters, and he somehow doubted that he would get a do-over in this situation. Yet watching his youngest fight against the toxins that raged in his body, John couldn't help but wish for what he couldn't have.

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A/N: So I hope you all enjoyed this chapter… Let me know as always either way…

Take care,

OSS