A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews.

THROUGH FIRE

Chapter 3

As his mind started to work on half-speed, he fumbled for his phone as fast as he could, dialling 911.

A voice answered, but Dean could barely register what she was saying.

"It's my m-my brother. He's not b-breathing," Dean panted, as if he had been running for hours.

"Are you able to perform CPR? Have you ever done it before?" The female voice on the other line asked.

CPR. Why the hell hadn't he thought of that?

"Yeah, I have."

"Do you need assistance by phone?"

"No," Dean breathed, realizing he was wasting time his brother didn't have.

"An ambulance will be there shortly..." Her voice was fading away when Dean focused his attention on Sam.

After muttering the address, Dean threw away his phone.

He placed Sam in a position that enabled him to tilt his head back, to listen for any sound of breathing, any sign of life in there. Dean soon found that there was the tiniest pulse, so weak it sounded as if it would stop any minute now.

The only thing he could do was start breathing his air into Sam's mouth.

God.

"C'mon, Sammy," he whispered, as he blew more air into Sam's mouth.

His mind was captured in a hazy cloud of fear and panic, where time seemed to have stopped. He no longer had any sense of how much time had passed after he had made that phone call.

It didn't matter.

Everything that mattered now was that he got to see Sam breathing again, to hear that warmth that always existed when his brother was breathing.

This was never supposed to be happening. It couldn't.

The only thing Dean could do was continue doing the same thing, over and over, in the hope that it would wake Sam up. Dean's brain didn't seem to be working properly, every movement he was doing was automatic, something that had been etched into his mind.

Nothing was happening.

Sam's chest wasn't rising. It was just as still as it had been when he'd suddenly stopped breathing.

Rechecking the pulse didn't help. Nothing seemed to help Sam anymore. Still, Dean couldn't stop. If he stopped, it would be like giving up on his baby brother.

Dean would never give up on Sam.

Never stopping to breathe air into Sam, Dean was trying to hear that pulse getting stronger, that pulse he seemed to have taken for granted. He knew he would never do it again, if only Sam would wake up.

Quite suddenly Sam was coughing, the sound of his voice terribly hoarse but there was definitly a stronger pulse now.

Sam blinked. "W-what?" he stuttered, his eyes trying to regain focus.

"You almost gave me a heart attack, kid."

"S-sorry."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. "Not your fault, Sammy."

"I...I w-wanna..." Sam's breath was shallow and heavy.

"What do you want?" Dean asked gently.

"C-can't I...I c-can't..." Now those breaths weren't puffs anymore but something constricting in Sam's throat.

"Sam?" Dean tried. "Just hold on a little longer, okay?"

But Sam's breaths weren't shallow or anything anymore. They were disappearing slowly as Sam's eyes were acting strange.

"Sammy!"

But there was nothing there. Sam was unconscious and he wasn't breathing.

This isn't happening.

Dean wanted to scream, but he couldn't. Sam needed him, maybe in a way he had never needed him before and Dean could not ignore that.

The door opened as three paramedics were moving forward, their eyes on his little brother lying on the floor.

As they started to take over, they worked quickly, lifting Sam onto a stretcher and carrying him.

It was like someone had taken over his job, because he couldn't do it anymore.

All Dean could do was follow them, as he pushed away all the selfish emotions he was feeling at that moment. Sam needed medical help, and he needed it now.

How serious it was Dean didn't know, didn't want to know, but he realized on what level when someone told him that he could meet them at the hospital.

No fucking way.

"I'm going with you," Dean said, trying hard not to act in a way he was used to.

Without waiting for an answer, Dean climbed into the ambulance where Sam was lying, hooked onto what looked like those cardiac monitors.

What he saw made his stomach fill with ice.

There it was, the weakest of pulses, almost nothing at all.

When the ambulance door shut closed, Dean could only watch as they started to work on his unconscious brother, trying to get a stronger pulse.

"No gag reflex," one of them said.

The only female had taken a breathing tube and intubated Sam, while someone else took one of those Ambu bags to give Sam the air he couldn't produce on his own.

"To protect his airway," she said when Dean stared at her.

Rob, the guy next to Dean was constantly checking the monitor for any change.

There wasn't any.

Sammy, please.

"What's his name?" the female voice cut into his thoughts.

"Sammy," Dean said hoarsely. "Sam."

As Rob continued to squeeze the bag for more air, Dean's hand had closed around Sam's in an attempt to get closer to his brother. If Sam could feel Dean's pulse, then maybe his pulse would become more alive.

"You can't give up, Sam," he whispered, one hand brushing away the brown strands from Sam's eyes.

He felt out of place where he sat, trying to reach Sam while he had no control over what was happening. Dean himself, felt as if his heart was stuck, as if he wouldn't be able to breathe normally if Sam couldn't.

"Normal sinus," the woman said, sounding relieved.

At the monitor Dean noticed how the pulse seemed to change, steadily changing to what looked like normal.

It felt like the ice in his stomach was melting, no longer freezing him. Sam was breathing, and if he was breathing that would mean the worst was over.

"Has this ever happened before?" Rob asked him, as he was taking Sam's blood pressure.

"No," Dean said, his eyes on Sam's face that still looked too pale. "Is he going to wake up?"

"Well," the paramedic replied. "We don't know yet. His vitals look stable."

Dude, I'm not stupid.

"His whole body shook. What does that mean?"

"He seized?" It was the woman. "Was it sudden and unexpected?"

"Yeah. It's never happened before."

"What happened before he seized?"

Dean had to think for a moment as everything was kind of fuzzy. "He just got outta bed."

Then it hit him. Something had happened the other night, while they were hunting.

When Sam had become reckless trying to protect the thing he thought was Jessica, he had fallen. Dean hadn't been aware of how hard or what had been there. It was too dark. Sam hadn't told him how serious it was, and Dean had ignored it because Sam had wanted him too.

He should have protected him.

"The other night he fell. It was too dark to see anything." Dean hoped they would tell him that it wasn't because of the fall, that it was something different.

But somehow he knew.

"Was he unconscious at that point?"

If Dean was honest he didn't remember. He just remembered Sam crashing down, but he never saw if his head hit something. But what if he had been unconscious and hit something solid?

It felt like a punch to the stomach when Dean realized that he could have prevented this. He could have kept Sam from falling.

But he didn't.

"I can't remember," Dean replied, his eyes still glued onto Sam.

Dean had been too angry with Sam to notice how much damage had been done, and now here he was not being able to breathe on his own.

There was a voice inside his head that whispered what he knew was the truth.

It had been his fault. Had he paid more attention, Sam wouldn't have fallen.

The paramedic was speaking. "How was he acting when he came to?"

Pissed.

"Normal. Couldn't see anything different," Dean said, his throat dry. "Why?"

Rob picked up the radio, no doubt calling the hospital. "Medical Control? Yeah, got a head trauma coming in. Have someone there to meet us."

Head trauma.

It was echoing in his head, realizing that this was more serious than he'd been prepared for.

"Once he's evaluated, you'll know," the woman gave him a little smile.

Dean couldn't smile. It hurt his muscles when he tried, and even if he tried he wasn't quite sure how to produce one yet.

The ambulance was rushing into the parking lot of the emergency entrance where doctors were waiting. As they stopped, they rolled Sam out where two doctors met them, helping Sam into the ER.

Dean couldn't keep his eyes off his brother, the mere thought that something would happen to him when he wasn't looking was still haunting him.

"What have we got?" The doctor to Dean's left asked, as they were going through the double doors to the ER.

It was with a sense of dread that he walked by Sam's side, into the ER where white coats were swishing past him like ghosts.

"Sam Conners. 22 years old. Head trauma causing grand mal seizure," the female paramedic told him. "No symptoms until today."

"How was he injured?"

"He fell," Dean replied, watching carefully for some kind of reaction.

"You are?" The doctor turned to Dean.

"Brother," Dean said a bit defensively. "Dean."

"Alright, Dean," the doctor said. "I'm Dr. Bill Williams. We're going to order a CT-scan to assess the extent of damage that has been done."

Dr. Williams then rubbed Sam's chest with his knuckles as if he was waiting for something to happen, but there was no reaction from Sam.

The other doctor who stood close to Dean was currently lifting Sam's eyelids checking the pupils. "He's got a GCS of 12."

Dean had no idea what it meant but if the looks the two doctors exchanged was anything to go on, it meant that it wasn't good.

Dr. Williams then proceeded to attach a tiny plastic tube to Sam arm, into which he pushed something that made a liquid go into Sam's body.

"What's that?" Dean demanded.

"Dilantin," he answered. "Anti-seizure medicine," he added when Dean still looked at the liquid flowing into Sam's body.

Dean sighed.

He suddenly found the need to know everything that was happening to Sam, whatever it was.

It was simply his job to know it.

As the paramedics left, the two doctors were taking Sam to the third floor for the CT-scan.

When Dean looked at Sam, he was suddenly hit by how terribly pale he looked. There was something fragile about his appearance that Dean had never seen since Sam was little.

He could tell that the doctors were extremely good at what they were doing. He knew he should feel more at ease now knowing that Sam would get medical care.

Yet, as they stepped out of the elevator to roll Sam to the ward, he felt hesitant. Dean was about to hand over Sam's life to someone else, someone whose life wasn't as intertwined to Sam's as Dean's had always been.

Dr. Williams signed a paper, handed it over to the nurse who was sitting behind the glass, before turning to look at Dean.

"As soon as we get the results, we'll know what to do next."

"How long will it take?" Dean wondered.

"Shouldn't take long."

Dean wanted more answers.

How long exactly would it take for Sam to wake up, and just how serious was it?

They were questions no one could answer right now, and Dean just had to get used to the fact that he had to wait for someone to tell him what was happening to Sam.

Dr. Williams was the doctor who would stay with Sam, while the other doctor was probably heading down to the ER entrance to meet more emergency cases.

It was unreal. Hours ago he'd fought with Sam, worried about his safety and was angry over the evident recklessness in Sam's actions.

He hadn't been able to see the signs, when they had been right there in front of him, the sudden drowsiness, the way Sam's pupils had looked the moment he had woken up.

And he hadn't seen it.

Dean hadn't even bothered to figure out what was behind those actions, only assuming they had to do with the misery that had surrounded him after Jessica had died.

Staring at the words Computed Tomography Scan on the sign outside the room, Dean wondered how long it would take for their return.

The thought had barely left his mind when Dr. Williams started to roll Sam inside the room, preparing to lift him to the CT-table.

But Dean had always carried Sam, ever since they were kids, and he didn't care about the fact that he wasn't a doctor. If anyone was going to lift Sam, it would be Dean.

When Sam was on the blue mattress on the table, the doctor arranged Sam's IV, and checked that the breathing tube was secure.

Dean took one moment to look at Sam before he went outside, wanting to tell him something but he settled for giving his hand a little squeeze.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait outside," Dr. Williams said to Dean. "This will be quick," he added, when Dean wasn't moving.

Reluctantly, Dean walked out of the room, hearing how the doctor called instructions about starting the machine.

"Everything's clear," he said, apparently giving a sign to the nurse.

Before closing the door, Dean could see how the table of the CT machine started to move with a loud noisy sound, sending Sam further into the machine.

It had barely gone ten minutes before Sam was rolled out of the room, and Dean tightened his fingers around the metal bars on his bed.

While Dr. Williams went into the room where the results came, Dean could feel his chest knot with anxiety about what was showing on the scan.

Ten minutes later the doctor came out, scan in his hand, but there was something in his eyes Dean couldn't quite read.

"We found something in your brother's brain," Dr. Williams said. "It's a subdural hematoma, which requires emergency surgery, otherwise there's a high chance of brain damage."

"What does that mean?" Dean needed to know.

The doctor paused before speaking again. "It means that a blood vessel ruptured between the brain and the dura." When Dean looked at him questioningly, he added, "The layer that protects the brain."

"So how come the symptoms didn't show right after the fall?"

"When the blood leaks out and forms a clot, it can press against the brain tissue, causing the symptoms to show from a few hours to a few weeks after the injury," Dr. Williams explained.

Dean looked at Sam. It was hard to think that he might not be the same if he didn't have surgery. "But he'll be okay after the surgery?"

The doctor scribbled something down on his clipboard. "If the surgery is successful, there's a good chance that he will be alright when he wakes up."

"And if it isn't?" Dean demanded.

"Then there might be complications, but the most important thing right now is to get your brother to surgery."

The surgery was scheduled to take place as soon as an operating room was available. Dean was told it wouldn't be a long wait.

A nurse had been preparing Sam before the neurosurgeon who would perform the surgery came in.

He wanted to check on Sam before he was taken to surgery. Dean watched the neurosurgeon carefully as he scribbled down notes after he felt Sam's head with his fingers.

"Do you have any questions about the surgery?" He turned to Dean.

"What exactly are you going to do?"

Dean had too many questions rolling around in his head. It wasn't something he was used to. Usually, Sam was the one that needed all the answers to get a better understanding of something.

"Well." the surgeon put away his clipboard. "We are going to perform a burr hole operation, which means we are going to drill a hole in the head to drain the clot."

"How long will it take?"

"If there are no complications then one to two hours. It's fairly quick."

Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to keep the fear out of his voice when he asked the question about the possible outcome.

"What will happen if there are complications?"

"There is always a risk of brain damage, which would mean he might not be able to do certain things he would normally do."

Dean closed his eyes. He didn't have to ask any further questions about what it would mean.

"But," the doctor continued, "Even if there are no complications to speak of, everyone who suffers a brain injury might have to relearn skills that are essential for your usual every day activities."

Their everyday life wasn't like everyone else's. Would that mean Sam had to give up hunting?

"Of course we won't know anything until after the surgery, but sometimes it's difficult for close relatives to watch their loved ones adjust afterwards."

"Adjust how exactly?" Dean asked, his voice getting rough.

"The most usual would be headaches, drowsiness, dizziness and seizures." The doctor picked up his clipboard again, but Dean barely noticed. "It's not unusual to feel confusion and have problems with coordination as well."

Dean didn't know what to think. He didn't even know what to hope for because maybe it would be too much. For the moment though, all he cared about was seeing Sam get better.

The neurosurgeon then gave Dean a confident smile, and Dean muttered a thank you before he left.

Dean had never felt so powerless in his life. The only thing he could do was put his faith in the doctors and hope they would make Sam better.

But as Sam lay there in his bed, a cover tucked tightly around him, Dean couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if they hadn't started hunting so soon.

"I should have protected you, Sammy," Dean whispered, his eyes fastened on those features that were forever etched into his mind.

Dean silently swore to himself that he would never fail his brother again, no matter what it would take.

When one doctor and two nurses came to roll Sam away to his surgery, Dean's chest tightened slightly.

He knew he would only get to follow Sam to a certain point, since many years ago Sam had once needed surgery for a broken arm.

The surgery was on the fourth floor. On the way there the nurse named Kelly, gave Sam some kind of medicine to make his body relax.

What was frustrating was that Dean couldn't tell how Sam felt, what he was thinking about, and he didn't even know where he was.

He'd gotten used to having Sam roll his eyes at his clever remarks, or see through his actions like no one else did, but now he couldn't reach him.

"This is as far as you can go," Kelly told Dean.

When Dean looked uncertain, she smiled at him. "We'll take good care of him."

You better.

He couldn't manage a smile. He only bent down and pressed his lips against Sam's dark hair. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he whispered.

Dean watched as they rolled Sam away from him, into the operating room where they would perform the surgery on his brain.

oooOOOooo

It would take hours before Sam would be back in the recovery in the ICU.

For the past hour, Dean had walked around the corridors trying to find something to read, but his impatience wouldn't allow him to focus.

Instead, he walked outside the hospital, watching how the ambulances arrived with more patients. It was when he was staring at a girl being rolled out to the ER area, when he realized that this was the moment he should be calling their dad.

In all the haste of needing to help Sam, finding out what was wrong with him, it had slipped his mind that there was someone who needed to know what was happening with the youngest Winchester.

After hearing the familiar voice message he'd heard about a hundred times already, Dean was ready to scream in frustration.

"Dad? It's me. I'm with Sam," Dean said, swallowing the lump in his throat when he thought about where Sam was at the moment. "He got hurt, and...Dad, he's in surgery right now. I don't even..." Dean paused, trying to stop that burning sensation in his eyes. "You just need to get here," Dean gritted out. "I need you to be here...please...for Sam."

He shut the phone, wiping away the tears that kept falling.

It was as if someone had pushed him all those years back, when Dean had found himself in the hospital, with a 9-year-old little brother wanting to know why his daddy wasn't there.

oooOOOooo

"He'll be here Sam. I promise."

"You said he would be here an hour ago!" Sam looked close to tears.

Dean silently wondered if it was because the painkillers were wearing off, or because of their father's absence.

"You know what it's like when he's out there. It'll just take a while," Dean said, zapping through the channels of the little TV in Sam's room.

"I don't want to have a surgery," Sam whispered.

"I know you don't, but if you don't have it, you're gonna have a broken arm, and you don't want that, Sammy." Dean looked at the clock, realizing they only had one hour to go.

"Why can't they just put it in those cast things?"

"Because they need to readjust the bones, Sam." Dean answered. "Remind me to kill that Matt guy when we get back.."

"It wasn't his fault."

"Oh so he didn't step on your arm?" Dean glanced at Sam.

"I shoulda stayed out of his way."

"It wasn't your fault he's a stupid..."

"Dean..." Sam said seriously.

"Yeah?"

"Will you be there with me?" Solemn brown eyes full of innocence stared at him, with an emotion so powerful, Dean was sure it'd make a hole in his heart.

"I'll walk as far as they'll let me."

Sam continued to stare at him, but now there was a shyness there.

"What is it, kiddo?"

"Am I gonna die?"

The question took him completely by surprise. "No! Why would you think that?"

"I read...I read that you could die during a surgery."

"Sammy, you're not gonna die. And where did you read that?"

"In a journal."

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed. "Okay, well it's not true, alright? Did you know that there will be one person there who will always look at your heart on a screen, so that nothing will happen?"

"But how can she look at my heart?"

Dean only knew how because he'd read about it earlier. "They put these things on your skin, and those will tell a monitor how fast your heart beats."

"Are you going to be here when I get back?" Sam asked carefully.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

oooOOOooo

The ICU was located on the fifth floor. Dean had to ask a nurse, only to find out Sam hadn't arrived there yet.

It would have been okay if Dean hadn't had that heavy feeling that something wasn't right. But he pushed it away, because he didn't have time to be negative right now.

Instead he would check his phone constantly, but there was nothing there, no new messages.

When it had gone another half an hour, Dean went up to the desk where a pretty nurse was sitting.

"Do you know when Sam Win..Conners will arrive in the ICU?" He silently cursed, for almost blowing his cover.

"He's not due for another twenty minutes, hon."

"Do you know which room?"

She typed something into her computer before looking at the screen. "C 213."

"Alright, thanks."

Dean suspected he would go crazy if he sat and waited in the area of the ICU, which was why he headed to the cafeteria for coffee. He suspected he would need to stay awake for a long time anyway.

oooOOOooo

The moment Dean got back, he looked for Sam's room, finding that a doctor was standing in the doorway.

He turned around when he noticed Dean. "Hello, just wanted to let you know about the surgery."

"How did it go?" Dean's heart was starting to slam almost painfully in his chest.

"It went well. The clot was a little bigger then we'd thought which is why it took a while," the doctor told him. "Now, I've put him on a Mannitol IV, which should help control brain swelling."

Dean just wanted Sam to wake up. "When do you expect he'll wake?"

"We're really hopeful that he'll wake up within the night or next day, but it's up to him now."

"Thanks," Dean said, feeling grateful that the surgery had been successful.

"You should talk to him. It usually helps." He turned to walk, but then he turned around. "I'll be back in two hours to check on him."

A nurse called Mariah was going to monitor Sam, and take his vitals every hour. She had a pretty face, with dark braided hair.

Dean only noticed how she was arranging the liquid dripping from a bag and into Sam's arm.

"How's he doing?"

"Oh he's doing okay," she said, when she noticed him. "His vitals are looking fine."

"That's good," Dean said, but not really seeing her. He was looking at the monitor that showed Sam's heart.

"As long as his vitals are fine, he should wake up in the next 24 hours." She gave him a gentle smile. "I'll be back in a while."

Dean let his hand secure the blanket around Sam. "You don't know what you're missing, Sammy. That nurse of yours is hot."

He looked at Sam, almost waiting for him to wake up and roll his eyes at him, but he didn't. There was no response at all.

"You have to wake up, Sam. Wherever you are, you need to get outta there." Dean sighed. "It won't look good if Dad comes and sees you like this. He will have my ass." Dean's hand felt for Sam's, his skin still almost ghostly pale.

There was no sound in the darkened room, nothing except the humming of the monitors connected to machines, next to Sam's bed.

If there was only a matter of time before Sam would wake, then Dean would wait. Sleep wasn't important to him anyway, not when the person lying next to him could wake up.

Every now and then, Dean would glance at those machines. The shock of finding Sam on the floor, not breathing, was something he couldn't easily forget.

It was close to impossible to forget that stark terror he'd experienced earlier that day.

The phone lying in his pocket had been turned off, due to low battery and the fact that they would interfere with the machines.

Every minute he'd been waiting for Sam, he'd tried his father's number. He'd tried it so many times that the sound of his voice only brought up new emotions of resentment.

"You've reached John Winchester, I'm..."

Dean hadn't even bothered to leave a message, because at this point John Winchester must have gotten the point that Dean was getting desperate to hear from him.

As he saw Sam laying before him, he wondered what was going on in his head.

Dean knew that if Sam didn't wake up soon, something might have gone wrong. Either Sam couldn't wake up or there had been some sort of complication.

While Dean knew that the surgery had been performed by a professional surgeon, he wasn't blind to the fact that the brain was sensitive and not always easy to understand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean started to wonder if their dad had really got his messages. If he had, surely nothing could be more important than being with your son who had been dangerously close to dying.

Dean had never blamed his father for his decisions, because he knew what was behind them.

Protection.

Dean knew what it was like. After all, he had spent his life trying to take care of his little brother and while some of his actions weren't always the best, if Sam was hurt he'd do whatever he could to get to him, to help him.

"Watch out for Sammy."

It had meant something else to him than what his dad had meant.

It wasn't just about protecting him from whatever it was that might hurt him. Well it was that too, but it was also his job to be the one that took care of him.

His father had taught him all about protection and being prepared. Dean knew that sometimes there wasn't time for doubt or hesitance. Sometimes you just had to act first.

John never had to tell him what to do, because he knew anyway.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now Dean, go!"

From that moment, Dean was given the responsibility to save Sam from the fire that had taken their mom. He knew that Sam was his to protect.

It was his one responsibility.

Hunting had been a part of his life from early on, and he'd understood the importance of it. He knew what was expected of him, even though Sam didn't take much interest in it.

But there was nothing that would make him choose hunting over Sam.

Nothing.

So if that was what his dad was doing, it was unforgivable in his eyes.

Staring at Sam, he wished those large brown eyes would open.

"Sammy," he said. "Haven't you done enough of sleeping, huh?"

Sam didn't respond.

"Trust me, you want to wake up soon," Dean said, his thumb unconsciously circling the back of Sam's hand.

The next time he stared into Sam's face, he met two brown spheres of eyes staring at him, before closing again.

"Sam?" Dean whispered.

Was this real? Was there actually a possibility that Sam was waking up?

His safest best was probably to call for a nurse. Reaching over Sam, he grabbed the button, pushing it hard.

But when he turned to Sam, his eyes was wide open, staring at Dean as if he'd never seen him before. He made a gagging sound in his throat as if he couldn't breath. Sam reached for the tube, trying to pull out the thing that was helping him breath.

"Sam!" Dean exclaimed. "Take it easy. Just breathe through it."

Mariah came rushing into the room, followed by a doctor Dean had never seen before.

"Sam, can you relax for me?" Mariah said, soothingly. "We're going to take out the tube, alright? But you have to calm down."

When Dean looked at Sam, he was giving him those puppy dog eyes, as if he was begging him to make it better.

"I'm going to need you leave the room," the doctor said, looking at Dean as he moved closer to Sam.

Frustration wasn't even the beginning of it, as Dean saw the nurse taking Sam's blood pressure.

He considered staying anyway, but the look on the doctor's face made him push those selfish impulses away. Dean had no choice but to retreat even though he never closed the door. He left it open, allowing him to watch what the doctor was doing.

Mariah had proceeded to listen to the beating of Sam's heart, her face a mask of concentration.

"Okay, Sam, I'm going to lower the oxygen now, and if it gets too painful you let me know," he heard the doctor say.

Dean could see how Sam was trying to fight the tube, but at the same time, trying to relax. Something inside of Dean ached when he saw how hard Sam was trying.

"Now, I want you to take a deep breath."

Sam tried to take a deep breath, while Mariah listened to something Dean guessed was his lungs.

"Can you cough for me, Sam?"

The moment Sam coughed, the doctor pulled out the tube in one swift movement, replacing it with an oxygen mask.

Dean couldn't hear the rest of what the doctor was saying, as his voice had turned lower. The only thing he could see was how Sam was desperately trying to answer his questions, but reaching for his throat as if there was something there that was painful.

A few minutes later, Dean was let back into the room, which was just as well because he wouldn't have been able to stand there watching for a second longer.

As Dean came closer to Sam's bed, he could see those eyes reaching for his, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

Relief spread through his body when he realized Sam's oxygen mask was gone, and he was now able to breathe on his own.

The doctor turned to Sam. "Do you know who this is?"

Sam looked from the doctor to Dean, as if someone was trying to trick him. When they both seemed serious he cleared his throat. "T-That's D-Dean."

After scribbling down some notes, the doctor then smiled at Sam.

"Is he going to be okay?" was the first thing that came out of Dean's mouth.

"Everything points in that direction. We have been monitoring his vitals, and they have definitely improved."

Dean noticed the name on his coat, black letters forming the name Dr. Graham. "Thank you, doc," Dean said gratefully.

"I could see no signs of brain damage or other complications, but we'll still have to monitor him closely for any changes," Dr. Graham informed Dean. "I'll be back to check on him in a little while."

Dr. Graham then turned to give instructions to the nurse, who administered something in Sam's IV before leaving with the doctor.

Pulling up a chair, Dean sat next to Sam. "I see you finally decided to wake up," Dean smirked, but his green eyes were sharp and serious.

Sam's eyes never left Dean. "I d-don't r-remember w-what ha...happened," Sam whispered, his voice jarring from having the tube in his throat.

It sounded like a knife had cut into his throat, leaving it as dry as the desert.

"It's normal, Sam."

When Sam started to cough, Dean reached for the cup of water putting a straw into it, and slipping it between Sam's lips.

Sam didn't even try to hold it himself, only taking small sips of water, before leaning back.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled.

Dean never failed to notice that weakness in Sam's eyes, in his every movement as he tried to shift position.

He traced Sam's gaze, as it was staring at the different monitors beeping away. Brown eyes were following the waves of his heart, while his hand was grabbing hold of his blanket, twisting it tightly.

"Sammy?"

Sam's eyes didn't swing to meet Dean's. They were still glued to that monitor.

"Hey," Dean said, releasing Sam's fist from the blanket. "Look at me."

Slowly, as if he was suddenly moving in slow motion, Sam turned to look at his brother.

"D-Dean," Sam whispered, brown eyes fixed on him unblinkingly.

What he was looking for, Dean couldn't see.

"Yeah, that's my name," he tried to joke. "You feeling okay?"

"I-I'm f-fine," he answered, his gaze steady on his brother.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" Dean asked attentively. "Want me to get the nurse?"

If it would become necessary, Dean moved the button closer to Sam, giving him more access.

Sam only shook his head. "I d-don't w-want a n-nurse, D-Dean."

"Alright, you tell me if it hurts though." Dean shifted in his chair slightly.

Sam wrinkled his nose.

"You hearin' me Sam?"

"I...I h-hear you."

Dean observed Sam quietly. "You know if you hadn't woken up, I'd pulled you outta wherever you were myself."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You w-wouldn't have."

"Oh, you bet your ass I would have," Dean smirked.

Fingering his bandage around his head, Sam tried to pull it up slightly.

"Sammy, don't." He gently pried away his fingers, stopping him from pulling off the white bandage. "It has to heal."

"It itches, Dean," Sam whined.

It was the first real sign Dean could see of Sam shining through, and it made his heart feel a little lighter than it had for the past hours.

"Yeah, well, it'll get worse if you take it off now."

Staring down at the blankets, Sam didn't say anything. He just sat there in the dark room oblivious to the machines he was connected to.

"D-Dean..." he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm s-s-sorry."

"What for?" Dean stared at him quizzically.

Sam breathed out heavily. "It's my f-fault I...I g-got hurt."

"What makes you say that?"

"If it hadn't b-been f-for m-me, Jess w-would still be a-alive, I...I w-wouldn't b-be..."

"Okay, stop it right there," Dean cut him off. "Sam, listen to me when I say this. Her death wasn't your fault. It was horrible, yeah, but you couldn't have stopped it. No one could have."

"M-Maybe."

Forcing himself not to get frustrated with Sam, Dean wondered what it would take for Sam to start believing that sometimes bad things just happened.

Sam's eyes were glassy when he looked at Dean with a powerful expression in them. "I r-ruined the j-job."

"What job?"

Now those eyes stared at him in disbelief. "The hunt."

The hunt.

As far as Dean was concerned, it had been his job to stop the hunt, to do anything to keep Sam from getting hurt. But instead, he'd done the opposite.

"It's not my job, Sam."

Sam threw away the button Dean had put in his lap, his fists tightening while he looked at Dean in anger.

"It's n-not your j-job to f-fix everything that g-goes wrong in m-my life, D-Dean." Brown eyes glared at him. "You c-can't take care of m-me a-all the t-time."

When Sam eyed Dean, it was as if he could see right through him.

"I'll always take care of you, Sammy," he said, the affection now translucent in his voice. "That's my job."

oooOOOooo

Dean didn't sleep.

How could he when he'd just gotten his baby brother back, alive and without any damage to the brain. The fear of Sam suddenly not breathing anymore was still filling every part of his mind.

It was like he was hanging onto every breath that Sam breathed.

But he could still feel the relief washing over him when he realized that Sam would be alright, just as long as he would take it easy.

After Sam had complained about his headache, Dean had called for the nurse who gave him something through the IV.

Sam had fallen asleep in barely five minutes.

As he sat there watching his brother, he realized how vulnerable Sam looked when he was sleeping. He'd always looked younger when he slept, but now when the pain wasn't far away, it was more evident.

There was nothing Dean wouldn't do for his brother.

But during the hours he had spent at the hospital, he had realized how sometimes there was nothing he could do other than make sure Sam would get the best care.

He had been told that Sam was going to need the room to be dark, as after brain surgery, you were sensitive to light.

In the darkness, the machines continued to beep, green light very softly illuminating Sam's bed.

Early morning Sam started to open his eyes, turning to his side to notice how Dean was slowly sipping on some coffee.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice still hoarse.

"Wow, seven o'clock. This has to be some kind of record for you hasn't it?" Dean smirked.

"Oh, s-shut u-up."

Dean laughed lightly.

"W-When did you w-wake u-up?" Sam looked at the couch behind him that could be made into a bed.

It was still a couch.

"Well, what can I say, Sammy. Sleep is boring."

"M-Maybe y-you should go b-back to the m-motel a-and s-sleep," Sam suggested.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

"What? I'll b-be a-alright h-here, D-Dean."

"Yeah, sure."

Sam snickered, turning away from Dean. "Y-You c-could a-at least s-sleep when there i-is a b-bed there m-made for s-sleeping."

"We'll see."

Dean got up out of the chair he'd been sitting in all night, stretching out all those knots that were slowly starting to kill his neck.

"Dean..."

He turned around to look into Sam's face. There was a paleness there. Sam's breathing was coming out in short gasps, as if there was an invisible knife going through him.

Sam was staring at him with a burning terror. "I d-don't f-f-feel s-so..."

"Sam!"

Sam's body started thrashing wildly in his bed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His hands were trying to grab hold of something, but the effort of it seemed too painful.

Dean tried to hold onto him but he found it nearly impossible, and it was clear to him that Sam was having a seizure of the worst kind.

As he stared at all the machines Sam was connected to, Dean tried to figure out which monitor was the one that showed how Sam's heart was beating.

Finding the heart monitor, Dean noticed how Sam's heart was beating irregularly. The lines were beginning to get flat, and the beeps were getting slower. There were numbers on the screen, but they were only a blurred cloud when Dean looked at the lines of Sam's heart.

Dread went through him like an icy knife, as he stared at his brother, his breathing coming out even more raggedly.

"Hold on, Sammy," he whispered to Sam, as he pushed the call button, enabling him to get help. "I need a doctor in here!" He shouted out into the hall. "NOW!"

Desperation was starting to cling onto his heart, as he waited, silently wishing those doctors would hurry up already.

In seconds Mariah came rushing into the room with another nurse, moving closer to Sam's bed, rolling a crash cart into the room.

Dean faintly remembered that there were heart monitors at the nurse's station too, meaning it wouldn't have mattered if Dean had pushed that button. Someone would still come and check on Sam.

But the one thing that was in his head was that he had to help Sam, and he would do anything to get him that help.

"He's having a seizure!" Dean yelled in panic. "You've got to do something."

It had never been this bad before. It was almost as if Sam was in danger from falling off the bed. Dean was trying to reach out to him, brushing away those curly strands that stuck to his clammy forehead, but Sam wasn't responding to anything he did.

"C'mon, little brother. You can't give up."

Mariah pushed him lightly out of the way, checking Sam's status on the monitors. "You have to leave," she said, while taking out a stethoscope.

"He's my brother," Dean growled.

"There is nothing you can do for him now. We'll take it from here," the other nurse told him curtly.

"Poor respiratory effort," Mariah said. "Call the code, and page his doctor. Stat."

There was a sound from the intercom and the other nurse was speaking. "Code blue in room C 213," she said, her voice loud. "Code blue in room C 213."

"His lips are turning blue. We need to get a doctor in here, now."

Dean didn't know how long it took, but suddenly Dr. Graham was standing in the doorway, his eyes evaluating the situation. "Get me Phenobarbitol, now," he ordered.

Sam was still seizing in his bed, but Dean couldn't do anything if he wanted to. Everyone was filling up the space around Sam's bed.

What he then heard filled his stomach with ice.

"He's not breathing. His jaw is locked."

"Damn it," Dr. Williams muttered.

He injected the drug into Sam's arm. "No change. He's still seizing," Dr. Williams commented. "I need to inject him with Succinylcholine before we do anything else."

Dean had been pushed out of the room, and now he could only see what was happening through the tiny crack of the door. It was almost closed, but Dean could hear their voices.

He could guess what was happening, because the bed suddenly became still.

Sam had stopped seizing.

Carefully, Dean opened the door a few inches more to get a better view.

There was a cold chill going through him as he saw Dr. Williams in the process of intubating Sam.

Lifting Sam's chin, he inserted the airway device in his throat, before he secured the breathing tube.

Dean could see how the Ambu bag was connected to an oxygen source, enabling Sam to get the air he desperately needed.

A sadness swept over him when he thought about how Sam had cracked that smile, how he'd snickered at Dean's actions, like they were back to when it had always been Sam and Dean.

As Dr. Williams had inserted that metal instrument, all Dean could think about was how much it had to hurt Sam to have that metal thing in his throat.

Only an hour ago, Sam had been talking to him, expressing all those emotions that were stuck in his mind that kept whirling around in there.

Now he couldn't breathe on his own.

It was unreal to think how alive Sam had looked in that one moment, and now he looked so ghostly pale, as if something could grab him from the other side.

Before the door closed right in front of him, Dean caught some of the words Sam's doctor was saying.

"Neostigmine…"

The only thing Dean could do was try to see something through the blinds to his right.

If Mariah's voice had been one notch lower, he wouldn't have heard it. "His heart's stopped."

oooOOOooo

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