Heart Weary

By Spense

Chapter Four

The beeping was driving Sam crazy. He threw his arm over his face, trying to block it out. Why did they need a clock radio anyway? It had been making him nuts for a couple of nights now. He'd hear it beeping, wake up and throw a pillow at it. Why Jess set it for such odd times was beyond him. Sometimes 1 in the morning, another time it was 5. Last night it was 3:19am exactly. Jess would just smile, unplug it, and coax him back to bed. Then he'd be too distracted to worry about it.

But this night, she wasn't turning it off. It was driving him insane. He was so tired, and just wanted to sleep.

"Jess," Sam muttered, hoping she'd get up to turn it off this time. He was surprised he hadn't broken the stupid thing yet.

The beeping continued, becoming more annoying. Sam tossed his head, trying to wake up enough to turn it off, but somehow, his sleep was so deep he was having trouble waking. "Jess, turn it off."

A hand grabbed his and squeezed so tight he thought his fingers would break. "Jess, what . . .?" He tried again to wake up. This was like a nightmare.

The sound of voices intruded. They weren't Jessica's. Sam tried to swim towards consciousness. He didn't feel like he was in danger. He just was so tired he couldn't wake up.

A hand on the side of his face focused him. The beeping faded into the background as a voice took its place. A familiar voice, and a familiar touch.

"Come on, Sammy. Time to wake up. You've slept long enough."

Dean? But Dean was furious at him. He'd left because Sam was evil and had lied to him. This nightmare was getting worse. He really wished Jess would wake him up.

"Sam. Wake up. We need to talk. Okay? I'm offering a chick-flick moment here. One time offer. All you have to do is open your eyes."

Easier said than done. What was going on? Why was it so hard? And why did Dean's voice sound so shaky? And frankly, why was Dean there anyway? That alone convinced him it was a dream. But, what the hey. Concentrating, he wrenched open his eyes.

"Hey there," Dean's shaky voice was accompanied by an even more tentative smile in a pale face. "'Bout time."

Sam looked at his brother blankly. Then took in a smiling Bobby standing right beside his brother. And behind that, a dark haired man with a cool smile on his face. He looked like an accountant. Castiel?

"Sam? Can you say something?" Dean's smile was beginning to fade. His cool fingers gently took hold of Sam's chin and turned his brother's face to meet his own beseeching eyes.

Sam's eyes took in the machines, and the pastel walls beyond Dean. Hospital. The click and whir of an IV pump, the beeping of a heart monitor. How had he gotten here? His gaze wandered over the now worried faces of Dean and Bobby again, and the cool face of the angel. Dean directed his attention back to him once more.

"Sammy?"

Dean was clearly worried. Sam needed to say something just to get that look off his brother's face. Still not sure if any of this was real, he found it really didn't matter. He'd do anything, even in a dream, just to get that look of Dean's face.

After a false start, he was finally able to grind out "Why y'here? I thought that Castiel over there had rescued you from hell."

Caistiel finally grinned, as Dean looked confused. "Huh?" He looked around, puzzled, then looked back at his brother. The worry had lifted some, and now he looked slightly exasperated. "Okay, Sammy, guess you still aren't completely in there yet. How about getting some more sleep?"

Sam thought that was a great idea, and his eyes slid shut on their own. The beeping of the heart monitor reminded him of something. "Dean?" His voice sounded weak even to himself.

"Yeah?"

"Tell Jess to let you shoot the clock radio. I think it's possessed."

He heard an amused snort as he fell asleep.

A whisper interrupted him again just seconds later. This time it was Jess. "Its okay, Sam. It really is time to wake up."

Sam frowned. He just wanted to sleep. First dream-Dean, now Jess. He opened his eyes again. He may as well deal with both of them, then he could go back to sleep. Funny, it was easier this time. And this time he knew he was really awake, not dreaming.

The sight that met his eyes was unexpected. The hospital was the same, but Dean had moved. Real Dean. Real hospital. So when had Dean had time to move? Sam had just closed his eyes for a second, but now his brother was sitting alongside his bed, feet propped up on the mattress, attention trained on the TV. Bobby was gone, so was the angel.

Sam took a moment to study his brother. Dean didn't look mad. He looked tired. Really, really tired. Might as well get the explosion over with. He really should have taken Dean off the emergency contact card. Dean probably hadn't been happy to get a call from the hospital.

Sam looked at the TV program Dean was so intent on. Grinning, he managed to croak, "Dude. Oprah AND Dr. Phil? Come on."

Dean's face was a study as he swiveled so fast at his brother's voice that Sam was surprised his head didn't fall off.

"Sam!" Dean scrambled to his feet in order to get closer to Sam.

Sam watched bemused, to tired to move or really say much more. He just raised an eyebrow cautiously, still waiting for the explosion.

Dean surprised him. The grin on his face was huge, reminding Sam of his brother as a pre-teen. He didn't think he'd seem him that animated and open since that time. He blinked. Okaaayyy.

"Are you with me this time?"

"Ah, yeah," Sam said carefully. He wasn't any more or less coherent than he had been a few minutes ago, except that he was pretty clear on what had been a dream, and what had not been.

Dean relaxed and grabbed the chair, smiling. "Sure about that? You wanted me to shoot a clock radio. Claimed it was possessed."

"It was driving me crazy," Sam said, echoing the smile, all the while wondering how long Dean would stay. Dean surprised him yet again by snorting, clearly amused.

"Look, man," Sam said tiredly after a moment, "I'm sorry I didn't get you off my emergency card. If I'd been thinking, I'd have made sure the hospital wouldn't have contacted you." He didn't want to interrupt the moment of accord between his brother and himself, but Dean wouldn't thank him for it later.

Dean's expression went from relaxed to tight, and his mood changed to ballistic in a space of time that made even Sam's jaw drop in awe. He just wished it wasn't directed at him.

"What the hell . . .?" Dean exploded, backing down a little at Sam's wince. "If I hadn't been there, you'd have died!" He sat back down in his chair, drained. "But that was the point, wasn't it? You wanted to die."

Sam looked away, not wanting Dean to see the truth.

"Uh-uh," Dean said determinedly, gently grasping Sam's chin and turning it back towards him. "We're talking about this now."

Sam tried to lighten the moment. "You? Talk?"

"Yeah. So why, Sam? Why throw everything away?"

"You have to ask?" Sam said incredulously.

Dean just looked at him pointedly, waiting. Sam had never been able to resist that pressure.

"I couldn't do it a third time, okay?" He said shortly, trying to turn away again, at least as far as he could being flat on his back in a hospital bed, and once again had his face gently turned back.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked. He waited a moment for an answer, then prompted, "Sam!"

"You gone. Okay?" Sam replied shortly, as his vision blurred a little.

"What? Third time?" Dean looked perplexed as his mind worked. "What do you mean, third time?" At Sam's obvious reluctance, Dean pushed. He hated to do it when the guy was down, but Sam had just tried to commit suicide by demon, and Dean shuddered at how close he'd actually come. "Dude," he warned.

Sam caved. For the first time to told Dean about Wednesday with the Trickster. When Dean had died and not waken up. He told him about it in all its cold brutality. About the monster he had become. About how he'd actually driven a knife into Bobby.

Dean sat back in shock, face pale. After a second, he asked, "And the second time? When I was down under?"

"No. And I'm not talking about that," Sam said with a touch of defiance. "It was a little better, but not much. I coped differently."

"Meaning you didn't cope at all," Dean guessed.

Pointedly, Sam didn't answer.

Dean was beginning to get the picture. "And . . ." He prompted. They had to get to the bottom of this now.

"And I'm tired, Dean. I don't want to do it again. Surely you can get that, of all people," Sam said coldly.

Dean flinched, remembering the time in Cold Oak where he'd held his dead brother.

They remained silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, until Sam finally broke the silence. "So what's wrong with me?" He felt lousy. Massive headache, and exhaustion far beyond the normal.

"Aneurism," Dean said quietly. "You ruptured an aneurism. Not a bad one as they go, I guess, and since we got to you so fast it turned out okay. Surgery took care of it, but you've been in a coma for three weeks. They kept telling me that you'd come around, but . . ." Dean trailed off, looking away and swallowing convulsively. He breathed deep, then looked back at Sam and continued. "You finally began showing signs of coming out of it about a week ago. It took this long for you to really come around."

Sam's surprise at both the news, and his brother's reaction was overtaken by a yawn. "That why I'm so tired?" He said groggily, fatigue hitting him like a hammer as though just the thought of it was enough.

"Yep," Dean smiled. "Go back to sleep, Princess. We'll be calling you Sleeping Beauty now."

"Jerk," Sam Muttered as his eyes closed of their own accord.

"Bitch," Dean agreed. "Sleep, Sammy. I'm not leaving, promise."

Sam couldn't believe the relief that that single statement sent through him as he slid back down to a deep sleep.

NOTE: One more Chapter to go!