Dean couldn't run faster when he saw smoke billowing out of Sam's house, the entire place was a raging inferno, the fire has spread throughout the entire complex. It looked empty, abandoned; the only noise was the cracking noise of the flame as it burnt bright. Dean knew Sam was in there, so was Jess. Sam had done this, he lit the fire and he was letting it consume him. Sam might have given up but Dean hadn't he could still save Sam. Sam could be saved; there was not a single doubt in Dean's mind that he couldn't help his brother. Everyone can be saved, right?

The door burst open as the heel of Dean's boot came in contact with it, the scorched wood falling away with the force of the kick. Splinters and soot filled the air as the door came down; the intensity of the fog blinding him, restricting his senses till they basically were useless. All Dean could see was blackness but that didn't stop him barging into the house, his jacket dampened and wrapped around his head to block out most of the smoke filled air. Sam was in here with Jess somewhere and Dean was sure as hell gonna rescue their sorry arses. All Dean could do was scream, scream till his lungs gave in and until he found his brother, but the only thing that screaming that occurred was a woman's voice in the back room. Jess…

Gotta find Sam…

Rescue Sam…

Sam…

SAM

Sammy!

*.*.*.*

The night Dean rescued Sam was a blur or reds and blacks, the unforgettable stench of burning flesh clotted up his nose, the soot clotted up his lungs but compared to Sam he came out more or less unscathed. They said it was a malfunctioning spark plug, Dean wished he could believe it, Dean wished he could push the image of Sam's letters out of his mind. Sam's words cut deeper than any blade could, held more truth than any book, masked more sorrow than a graveyard. Sam's letters held the truth and Dean would do anything to hide them and protect Sam. He has to.

Dean refused to leave Sam's side after his burns and cuts were treated. Three days he was trapped in a hospital bed slipping in and out of consciousness, unable to see Sam, unable to see if Sam made it through. After Dean was released he made the small chair in Sam's room his home, he only left it to eat, shower or go to the bathroom. He was going to be here when Sam woke up, and nothing was going to stop that.

*.*.*.*

Sam couldn't remember being carried out of the fire, all he knew was he woke up in a stark white room with a fluorescent light beaming down on his face, taking over most of his hazy vision. Sam could feel the IV pressing in his arm and the breathing tube that ran down his throat pumping clean air into his lungs. He couldn't speak or move, not that he had the strength to anyways, and he had too many drugs in him, keeping him for the most part sedated and unaware.

Sam was barely conscience; the only thing he felt was the crushing weight of pain and the ache in his muscles, the rest would come later. The word pain is just a taste of the feeling, who knew how much emotion and feeling could be disguised a four letter word. Pain is a way to describe what it feels like to bump your elbow or scrape your knee. What Sam was feeling now was past pain, it was an indescribable feeling, emotions and sensations all rolled into one.

His bones felt like lead and his muscles felt like they were jello in the hands of a three year old, it was like someone ripped out his lungs and threw them in the washing machine. Sam didn't know what it was like to swallow razors but he could imagine it felt something like this; the sharp pains in his stomach and chest were almost unbearable. Pain…. The only four letter word in the dictionary that was relevant at this moment, the only four letter word that Sam could feel. It clouded his vision, blocking out rational though, that's all that Sam felt and thought… pain. Who knew such a small smile word could encapsulate such emotion; it seemed like such a weak word but for that moment in time it was such a perfect word. Such a simple word; so much feeling hidden with four letters.

After what seemed like fifteen minutes of straining and wincing Sam managed to prop his head up on the pillow, letting the fatigue and dizziness wash away, the room slowly came into focus; it no longer was just a white blur of meaningless objects. Sam's gaze diverted to the heart monitor and the bag of IV fluid that was steadily being pumped into his body, keeping him alive. At least the machinery served as a distraction from the large tube that was sticking out of his chest draining the fluids that had built up in his lungs and the tube that was wedged down his throat force-feeding him oxygen. Sam considered pulling them out, letting himself drown in the too white room of the hospital. No big loss there. Just one less monster in this godforsaken world… one less monster that should have died in the fire, one less monster to fail every single person he loves.

Sam knew he had failed, he failed Jess, he failed Dean and he failed killing both monsters in that house. Sam was a failure and he knew it, the voices knew it… Hell, even bloody Lucifer knew it. They liked to remind him every night, whispering in his ear, invading his dreams. Sam was a failure, unwanted and unneeded, an insignificant speck in the cosmos. He had to die; he was supposed to die; now he even failed at that too. Sam knew if he had the strength he would smother himself with a pillow but moving more than a muscle at a time seemed like an impossible task. That could wait till later; there were other important things to attend to, like wake up Dean who was sprawled across the chair on the other side of the small room, with his head lolling to the side.

*.*.*.*

The soft grunt woke Dean up with a start; he half fell half leapt out of the chair and stumbled to Sam's side. Somehow the kid had managed to lift his head up against the bed frame; Sam was awake and staring at Dean through hooded lids, his expression dazed and vacant. Dean didn't know what to do, what to say, it had been three years since they had last spoken to each other, and three years since Sam ran out on Dean. Three fucking years of Dean's life spent mostly alone, trying to find any job to keep him distracted long enough without thinking 'I wonder if Sam's ok.'

"Heya Sammy…" Dean's smile was faint, barely traceable as he gently placed a hand on Sam's bandaged arms.

The only thing Sam managed was a soft grunt that was mostly muffled by the ventilators tube in his mouth. He peered at Dean with sad, wide eyes, Dean was with Sam ay his most vulnerable and Dean was not going stuff this up like he fucked everything else up. Yep, Dean was definitely going to crash and burn

"I'm gonna go get the nurse and see if they can get this thing out ok?" Sam just gave Dean a jerky nod and sunk back into the bed.

Dean rushed out of the door as fast as he could, Sam needed him and he was running. Running from the one thing he left in his life… Well second if you count the impala… and Bobby, but that was beside the point. Dean was running and he wasn't sure if he wasn't to go back.

*.*.*.*

Sam blinked back the small tears that were beginning to form in the corner of his eyes, Dean was back, and Dean came back for him. Sam didn't know why he was crying, Dean was here and maybe, just maybe everything was going to be ok. Slowly Sam reached up and dried his eyes, waiting patiently for Dean to return, because Dean was going to return.

Sam waited, his gaze never leaving the clock as minutes slowly ticked by. Time was moving too slowly, where was Dean? He promised…. Sam could feel his throat close up; Dean was supposed to be here, be here with him. Sam could feel himself start to panic; he squeezed his eyes shut in hope to block out the taunting laugh that was hiding in the back of his mind.

Why am I alive…?

I shouldn't be…

I should be dead…

Monsters deserve to die…

Dean…

Sam didn't know when he fell asleep but he jolted awake as he felt someone grip his arm, shouting his name over and over. Sam kept his eyes shit tightly, reality was calling and he didn't want to go back.

*.*.*.*

Dean only stepped out of the room for a few minutes, or so he thought. Now that Sam had woken up they had to decide what to do. If they needed to keep him in intensive care any longer or move him to a normal room. Sam was more or less stable, the fluid had drained from his lungs and there was no risk of any major issues… for now.

The hospital was buzzing with activity, nurses running up and down corridors delivering prescriptions and sorting out patients. It was like a sad song, the sound of hurried footsteps mixed with the whirring of machines and the light tapping noise of nails against keyboards. The song of the hospital was mournful, filled with pain and misery. It was driving Dean crazy; he just wanted to grab Sam and go, ran as far as they can from this damn hospital. Dean quickly apologized to the staff and headed right back to Sam's room, he was not going to spend another minute out hear. Not now; not with Sam lying in a hospital bed with fifty tubes sticking out of him.

Dean couldn't have walked any faster back to Sam's room, his heart pounding in time with his footsteps, in amongst the scramble and rush Dean almost toppling over a stretcher that was being carted away. Dean wasn't sure why he needed to see Sam so badly but he knew something was wrong, 'Sam is in bloody hospital and I leave him alone, great brother aren't.' Dean sped to Sam's side, gently placing his hand over Sam's, absentmindedly rubbing Sam's palm with his thumb.

"Hey, Sam, you awake" Dean leaned forward, gazing at Sam closely, gently tucking away a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

"Sammy, come on. Wake up, the nurse is coming round soon." Panic overtook Dean as Sam remained as motionless and unresponsive, his breathing forced by the machine that was keeping him more or less, well, alive.

"Sammy, Sam. C'mon Sammy. Wake up. Open your eyes. The nurse is coming now" Dean gripped Sam's arm, trying to shake him awake. "Sammy, it's me, Dean. Dude, you gotta' wake up. Sam, please" Dean's voice was nothing more than a jumble of pleads and panicked stutters. Sam had to wake up. He always did.

*.*.*.*

Sam could feel a presence teasing the corners of his mind, alerting his unconscious mind. The muffled words reverberated through his skull, saying the same thing over and over. 'Wake up Sammy.' The voice grew more urgent, louder, Sam could feel his conscience being pushed and pulled, stretched and teased like an elastic band before being forced wide open.

'Sammy it's me Dean.'

Sam's eyes started to flutter open, the grogginess washing away slowly as Dean's voice coaxed him awake. "It's ok Sammy, it's just me, they said they're gonna take out that tube. Sounds good hey?" Sam gave Dean a small nod, he wished he could close up on himself and disappear, wilt away like an unattended flower in the heat on a summer's day.

Dean opened his mouth to apologise for everything they went through but shut his mouth when Sam's gaze flickered to the door as a doctor walked in, followed closely behind by a nurse. They both carried wearily expressions that were masked by large smiles; the nurse clutched a clipboard and a bowl against her chest, her gaze going back and forth from Sam and Dean.

The nurse's face was cold and calculating, even though the fake smile she put on was filled with a false sense of warmth and glamour, Sam knew, Sam knew what she really was. Sam could see the demonic manic, he could see the blackness in her eyes, her true face that was hidden beneath her girlish features and soft brown hair. The doctor however gave off an aura of warmth and kindness; his smile radiated a sense of reassurance, even though his smile was forced, unable to form properly from weariness and weight he carried. Sam knew he could trust him… unlike the demon next to him. His black hair was tussled slightly, sweeping upwards; his piercing blue eyes were fixed on the two brothers, going back and forth from Dean, to Sam… to Dean.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything." The doctor's voice was deep, slightly guttural, even his voice sounded force like every other action, forced and uptight. Sam's eyes locked onto the doctor's sunken ones, reading the man silently, calculation, judging.

"I apologise for the rude interruption but I'm going to be Sam's doctor for the duration of his stay. I am Doctor Novak; this is… my assistant Meg."

Breaking Sam from his thoughts Doctor Novak continued to speak, his voice lightening slightly but still carrying the same tired tone. "I'm just here to remove the ventilator tube and I'll be out of your way. This procedure will feel uncomfortable and Mag has a bowl for…just in case"

Sam just nodded slightly, as they both made their way to Sam's side, the nurse, Meg, completely ignored Dean's existence as she pushed him aside to stand next to the doctor. She gripped the remote to the bed tightly in her hand as if she was ready to hit Sam over the head with it as she lifted the bed so Sam was propped upwards. Fear flashed across Sam's eyes as Meg took a step back, not bothering to cover her smirk as Doctor Novak started to sort out the equipment.

Meg thrust the bowl in Sam's hands, hovering over Doctor Novak's shoulder, scrutinizing his every move. Doctor Novak started fiddling with the tube, Sam tried looked at what the doctor was doing but with no avail, only going cross-eyed and receiving a small chuckle from Dean. Huffing slightly Sam turned his gaze away and stared blankly at the door, that's when he felt something tug in the inside of his throat.

*.*.*.*

Time seemed to slow down for Dean as he watched the long tube slowly being removed from Sam. Dean could feel his stomach and throat seize up as Sam grabbed the bowl and emptied the contents of his stomach into it. A mixture of fluids, bile and blood splattered into the bowl, painting it with red. Sam remained unmoving, leaning over towards the bowl, letting blood run from his mouth with each violent cough.

Dean couldn't take any longer, sitting there watching his brother cough up half of his lungs whilst the doctor stood there watching, watching a kid suffer without as much as a blink.

Gripping Doctor Novak's shoulders, Dean pulled him closer, basically screaming in his face. "He's coughing up fucking blood! Why are you just standing there? Do something!" Dean could feel himself teasing the boarders of hysteria, ignoring the fact that his fingers were digging into the soft flesh of the young doctor's shoulders.

Placing a gentle hand over Dean's, Doctor Novak gave Dean's hand a reassuring squeeze, completely oblivious to the sharp pain that was "Your brother will be fine, that is just the excess of what remains in his stomach. It is perfectly normal. Now if you could let go of my arm that would be great"

Hesitantly Dean released his grip, shoving his hand in his pocket before moving back to Sam's side, running his free hand through Sam's hair murmuring soft reassuring words. As Sam started to relax with Dean's touches, Meg set to work adjusting a new set of tubes that neatly went up Sam's nostrils, supplying him with clean air. After pushing Dean aside and giving Sam a few tests Meg gave the doctor an 'okay' and walked out of the room.

"Make sure you call me if you need anything or feeling ill at all, make sure you get some rest. I will be back later to check your progress." Turning his head to Dean Doctor Novak also added in the same deep rumbling tone of his voice, "He's a fighter, don't worry Dean. He'll been fine. He's lucky to have you."

Giving the doctor a quick nod, Dean turned back to Sam, his fingers interlaced with his brothers. "Hey Sammy. I hope you're feeling better than you look cause you look like road kill."

Pausing for a moment, Dean grinned down at Sam before adding "Bitch"

The corners of Sam's lips twitched slightly as a small smile formed on his fragile features.

"Jerk"

Sorry this took so long to update. My computer crashed and I lost half of the fic and it took a ot of motivation to re-write. This is un-beta'd so reviews would be awesome. Be expecting a small chapter coming out soon or later this morning