A/N: You guys still with me? I had a great vacation, but I'm still struggling with jetlag. I'm glad to be back.

On a different note, thanks so much to my fabulous betas, skzb and Catsluver. You totally rock! Any mistakes or inaccuracies, medical or otherwise, are not their fault. Inaccuracies are either due to literary license or plain old BS on my part. :-) I hope you guys will forgive me. I did try to make things as realistic as possible.

Thanks to those of you who reviewed as guests. Hopefully, I was able to respond to those of you who signed in. If I missed someone, it wasn't intentional. All reviews are very much appreciated!

Anyway, since it's been so long since my last post, here's a little summary: TJ made Sam promise that he would choose the twins over her if it came to that. On New Years' Day, she had a severe seizure that left her in a mild coma.

Chapter 11

Sam gripped the wheels of his chair, feeling the tread of the narrow tires digging into his palms, and watched as Dr. Williams examined TJ.

It was later in the evening. Fern and Vern—who slept nights at the apartment in Sam and TJ's room since Sam was never there—were sitting on the sofa. Heather and Dean sat near them in chairs that someone had brought in. They were all murmuring, keeping their voices low, waiting to see what Dr. Williams would say.

Finally, she turned to Sam, and the murmuring in the other room stopped.

"Looks like the babies pulled through okay, although they're a little tachycardic now. Their heart rates were too slow immediately following the seizure, but now they're too fast. That's to be expected. It's their way of compensating after the stress they were under."

Sam stiffened, feeling a jolt of anger. The stress they were under? "What about TJ?" he ground out.

Dr. Williams blew her unruly blond bangs out of her face. "It's not good, Sam. Now that the seizures have begun, it's more likely she will keep having them, despite the magnesium sulfate we're giving her to prevent them. With each seizure, her chances of stroke or death increase. It's a vicious cycle. Each seizure sets the stage for the next one."

Sam's gaze traveled to TJ. She was so pale and still, so vulnerable. She was covered with the sheet and hospital blanket, arms resting by her sides, belly looking like she was hiding a basketball under the covers. The respiratory therapist had put a regular oxygen mask over TJ's nose and mouth, and Sam hated how it obscured her face.

"She was fine," he said flatly. "She wasn't upset or anything. We were all just talking. Her blood pressure wasn't any worse than usual."

"I'm sorry, Sam. Her pressure has always been very high. I'm surprised she hasn't had a seizure sooner."

He was quiet, unable to take his eyes off TJ, remembering the promise he made to her.

Dr. Williams' expression was grave. "My recommendation is to deliver the babies as quickly as possible."

Sam could feel the eyes of those in the other room boring into his back, and it was suddenly so quiet it felt like everyone was holding their breath. "And if we wait another week?"

"The babies have a better chance of survival, less chance of complications. TJ's condition, however...I don't know, Sam. There's a slim chance she might be able to go another week without having a seizure and we might be able to keep her stable with medication, but she doesn't have the best history of responding to the medications we've given her so far. If it were me, I wouldn't chance it."

"What are the twins' chances of survival if we deliver them now?"

Dr. Williams hesitated. "Less than seven percent."

It was all stuff he already knew. Hearing it now didn't make it any easier.

"If we're going to deliver, we should do it now, while she's stable. Her condition could change in a day, as you've seen for yourself. Plus, a cesarean section will put even more stress on her body. Delaying it could make things more dangerous, especially if she takes a turn for the worse."

A long moment passed before Sam spoke. "I—I need to be alone with her."

He saw Dr. Williams glance at the others behind him. "Sure," she said. "I'll be waiting in the hall for your decision." She made a move to leave but then turned to him again, placing a hand on his shoulder. "If it's any consolation, if the babies survive the delivery, they're in one of the best hospitals in the nation equipped to handle them. The NICU here is second to none."

He nodded. She was talking about the neonatal intensive care unit, and he knew she was right. He'd met the neonatologist and pediatrician that Dr. Williams recommended and knew they were on call in case TJ had to deliver. He'd researched their credentials as well as the hospital's and knew the babies would be in good hands. Despite all of that, the chances of the twins surviving were not good.

He heard the others behind him shuffling as if to leave, but he didn't turn around, couldn't look at them. He felt a rough hand squeeze the nape of his neck and knew it was Dean, but neither of them said anything. When they were all gone, Sam pushed himself closer to TJ's bed and took her hand. It was cold, and he rubbed it between both of his to warm it. "TJ?"

She didn't respond and he didn't really expect her to.

He stared at her for a long time, running through all the possible scenarios in his head. If he gave Dr. Williams the go-ahead, if Dr. Williams delivered the babies now and they didn't survive, would TJ ever forgive him for breaking his promise to her? Would she eventually understand someday that the thought of life without her was more than he could stand, that he'd selfishly chosen her over the twins for his own survival? Or would she end up hating him and be lost to him anyway?

And what if he kept his promise? What if he told Dr. Williams to wait and TJ had another seizure or a debilitating stroke? What if she was brain damaged, ended up with a disability like him? He knew what it was like. He knew it was possible to move on, to be happy, but he also knew how difficult it could be to live with. What if her disability wasn't something where she could live a relatively normal life? What if it was so incapacitating that she couldn't be independent and couldn't enjoy raising the babies she had fought so hard for? What if she couldn't talk? What if she wasn't TJ anymore? The thought of her intelligent, sharp mind being damaged beyond repair was gut-wrenching.

It was impossible to choose. There was no satisfactory alternative. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't.

He realized that he was squeezing TJ's hand too hard, so he loosened his grip and kissed her palm tenderly. Then he turned her hand over and pressed the back of it against his lips, inhaling the scent of her skin. He didn't want to let go of her. He was afraid to.

She suddenly flinched, and he looked up at her face. Her eyes were open.

"TJ?" His heartbeat picked up speed.

She blinked and then rolled and darted her eyes around, moaning softly.

"TJ, it's Sam. Can you hear me?"

Her eyes kept up their frenzied movement and her legs moved about restlessly. She squeezed his hand, but it didn't seem deliberate. It was more of a reflex, a random opening and closing of her hand.

He realized this was what Dr. Snow had been talking about when he'd said she might be agitated or semiconscious while in the coma, and his heart sank. She wasn't really waking up. "It's okay, TJ," he soothed anyway. "You're okay."

She breathed harshly, causing puffs of condensation inside the oxygen mask, and became more agitated.

"Hey, hey. Easy. I'm here."

She turned her head toward his voice. Her big brown eyes rested on him, glassy and unfocused, and he didn't think she was really seeing him. Then her eyes closed and she was quiet again, her other hand resting protectively on her stomach.

A guttural sound of anguish escaped him. His throat narrowed, cutting off his air, and hot moisture flowed down his face. He swallowed hard and forced his ragged voice to work. "I love you, TJ. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

There was no absolution from her, no forgiveness, nothing to help make his decision any easier—not that she would have given him those things if she'd been conscious.

He stared at her silent form and stayed with her until he could get control of his emotions. Then he gently lowered her hand to the mattress, wiped the moisture from his face with his sleeve, and wheeled himself out into the hallway.

Everyone was still there waiting and talking quietly. When they saw him, they were solemn, expressions grim and sympathetic.

Sam looked at Dr. Williams and finally forced out the words that threatened to rip him apart, hating himself for what this would do to TJ and hating himself for his betrayal.

"Deliver them."

XXXXXXXX

"I'm sorry, Sam," said Dr. Williams. The look on her face was pure sorrow and distress, all professional detachment gone.

They were sitting in the Labor and Delivery waiting room, Dr. Williams on one side of Sam and Dean on the other.

Sam's heart stopped and he felt like the blood in his head was rapidly draining away, along with the feeling in his hands. Dean stiffened. Heather, Fern, and Vern were sitting in the bank of chairs across from Sam, and Fern went deathly pale. Heather and Vern looked stunned.

"There were complications," said Dr. Williams. "I don't—I'm not sure exactly what happened. Everything seemed fine. We delivered the babies and were closing her up when her blood pressure went through the roof." She frowned, looking bewildered and anguished. "TJ suffered a massive intracerebral hemorrhage—a stroke."

The numbness in Sam's hands traveled up his arms, making them heavy. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Did she...is she..."

Dr. Williams' eyes widened and she raised her hands, palms outward, as she realized her mistake. "No, no. She's still alive. I'm sorry. I should have said that first."

A small sob came from Fern, and Heather rubbed her back in a comforting gesture while Vern sat frozen like a statue.

"Jesus," said Dean, wiping his hand over his mouth.

Dr. Williams looked abashed. "I'm so sorry," she repeated. "I didn't mean to imply—I should have—I'm sorry."

They were all silent for a minute, and then, finally, Sam spoke. "How—how bad is it?"

Dr. Williams shook her head. "I won't lie to you. We lost her twice on the table. She's critical, but we got her stabilized. She's been taken up for an MRI. We'll know more about the extent of the damage once we get the results."

The damage.

The numbness in Sam's arms continued to spread through his entire body. It obliterated his pain, took away his ability to feel any emotion, and was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

"What about the twins?" asked Dean.

Dr. Williams appeared to have pulled herself together more. "They're alive. Dr. Ornice, the neonatologist, and Dr. Kimball, the developmental pediatrician, will both be in to talk with you once they have a chance." She put her hand over Sam's and squeezed. "It's a girl and a boy."

Again, no one said anything.

A daughter and a son. It should have been joyous news, but it meant nothing as far as Sam was concerned. Who knew if they would even be alive in the next minute?

Heather spoke up. "Where will TJ be taken after the MRI?"

"The ICU," answered Dr. Williams. "I've called in a neurologist for TJ, a Dr. Zachary. He's excellent, one of the best in his field."

Sam stared ahead of him, feeling nothing, feeling no obligation to respond. He wasn't human anymore. He was like a block of cement, an inanimate object.

"I'm sorry I can't tell you more right now," said Dr. Williams. "As soon as I know something, I'll pass it on to you. Once we get TJ settled in the ICU, you can see her." She looked at Sam like she expected some sort of acknowledgment.

"Okay," he said woodenly.

"You'll be able to see the babies soon, too."

He couldn't care less. He had no intention of ever laying eyes on them.

XXXXXXXX

Sam sat off by himself in a regular chair in the ICU waiting area along with Dean, Heather, Ralph and Gretchen. Fern and Vern were in with TJ. The hospital restricted TJ's visitors to two people an hour, mainly because there wasn't room for more in her cubicle-like room.

She was in a coma—a deep, scary, life-threatening coma. The results of the MRI had been disturbing; the trauma to her brain from the stroke was extensive. Her temporal lobe sustained most of the damage, and the neurologist was not optimistic. If TJ ever woke up—and that was a big if—there would most likely be severe brain damage affecting hearing, speech, memory, vision, and motor function. She would never be the same.

Sam should have been devastated by this, but it was like he was just an indifferent observer to his own surreal life. He knew he was being punished by TJ or God or Fate (maybe all three) for his betrayal—or maybe it was the old standby, the Winchester curse. He'd broken his promise to TJ in order to avoid a stroke, and she'd had one anyway just to spite him. Now he had lost her and most likely the twins, too. She'd been right. God did have an ironic sense of humor.

Sam's days consisted of either sitting by her bedside (staring but not touching) or in the ICU waiting room for hours on end. He didn't care if he got a pressure sore or a bladder infection or his muscles got stiff and spastic from sitting too long. He didn't care if his legs hurt. He didn't care about anything. He didn't care if he died.

The fact that he didn't care, however, didn't mean he was so far gone that he had totally let himself go. He got tired of hearing Dean bitch at him like a broken record, so he still went through the motions of everything he was supposed to do for his SCI. He even walked around with his braces some, but he wasn't sure what the point was. He ate when they told him to and went home to sleep when they told him to. Or, at least, he pretended to sleep. Maybe he did actually sleep some. He didn't really know. He seemed to be functioning, anyway, and didn't feel tired.

He had gone home last night, "slept," and grabbed his laptop on his way out the door this morning, bringing it with him to the hospital. He realized he should have done it a lot sooner. He was researching a case for Parker online and didn't have to be bothered with small talk from the people around him. He looked occupied, busy, like he had a purpose, so they left him alone.

The others spoke in a quiet tone, although there were only a few other people in the waiting area. TJ's family and friends were by far the majority.

Ralph's presence didn't even bother Sam. He hardly gave the guy a second thought. In fact, Sam might have even been remorseful for keeping Ralph and TJ from going on that first date so long ago if he could feel any emotions. After all, if he hadn't interfered, maybe TJ would be married to Ralph right now instead of him. One thing was for sure, she wouldn't be lying in an ICU on life support.

Oh, well. Hindsight's twenty/twenty.

A young woman with short black hair wearing a white blouse and gray slacks entered the waiting area. "Is there a Sam Winchester in here?"

He ignored her and kept his nose buried in his computer, hoping that if he didn't acknowledge her, she might go away. That was childish, though, and one of the others pointed him out to her, blowing his cover.

"Mr. Winchester?"

He tightened his mouth, annoyed, and looked up at her. "Yes?"

"I'm Kelli Dameron from the Office of Vital Records and Statistics."

He just looked at her.

She gave him an uneasy smile. "I know you've been contacted about this before, but we really need the forms you were given to fill out on your twins. By law, the forms have to be turned in and filed within ten days of the babies' birth. This is the tenth day—they were New Year's Day babies, you know." She laughed nervously. "So, the forms are due today."

"Why?" asked Sam.

She looked uncertain. "Excuse me?"

"Why do I have to fill out the forms? The twins are gonna die any minute."

Her face paled.

Dean, who was sitting nearby, glared at him. "Sam..." he growled in warning.

"Well, um, they—they need names," the woman stammered.

"Why, if they're gonna die? You mean, like, for a tombstone or something?"

The woman looked around helplessly, clearly at a loss for words. Everyone's expression was either one of shock or sorrow or a mixture of both.

Dean's features were tight. "I'll make sure he fills them out," he said to the girl.

"Sure. We close at five." She didn't wait for any acknowledgment and left in a hurry.

Dean moved to the seat next to Sam. Sam ignored him and went back to his laptop, but Dean pushed the screen down, slamming it shut.

Sam probably should have been irritated, but he felt nothing.

"Look," Dean began, "I get it. You're grieving and upset—"

"No, I'm not."

"—and things are all upside down right now, but you haven't even been to look at them, Sam."

He shrugged. "Why should I?"

"Because they're your flesh and blood. Because they need you. Because TJ would want you to be there for them."

"Yeah," Sam agreed affably. "You're probably right about that." Still, he had no intention of ever having anything to do with the twins.

Dean looked at him like he'd said something offensive. "You are like a fuckin' robot, Sam. Aren't you at least curious about them?"

Heather, Gretchen, and Ralph were listening, all waiting for Sam's answer.

Sam thought about it for a moment, then pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth curving downward. "Nope."

Dean looked him in the eye and spoke deliberately. "They're innocent babies, Sam, and they're amazing. They're fighters. They've already beat the odds by surviving this long."

"Oh?" said Sam, raising his brows. He tried to appear impressed because Dean seemed to need that from him. He patted Dean on the knee. "Good for them."

Dean rubbed his fingers over his mouth, chin quivering almost imperceptibly. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and a little broken. "You have to name them, Sammy."

Sam saw movement in his peripheral vision and looked up to see that Fern and Vern were now in the waiting area. They were eyeing him warily, Fern's hand resting on her mouth to cover her quivering chin.

Sam wondered why she was upset and frowned. "Did something change with TJ? Is she worse?"

Fern walked over to him and hugged him, then sat in the chair on the other side of him. "No, hon. She's the same." She was looking at him with sorrow.

He hated it when she looked at him that way. He must have said or done something inappropriate again. Maybe he should be acting sadder or something. He made his tone more solemn. "It's my turn. I'll go sit with her."

His wheelchair was sitting in front of him, kind of catty-corner to him, and he grabbed the frame of it.

Dean grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Not until you fill out the paperwork. Not until you give those babies names."

Sam stared at him a moment and then thought of a solution to the problem. He turned his chair around and dug in his backpack until he found the papers that he'd stuffed in it a few days ago when the other lady from the statistics office had given them to him. He handed them unceremoniously to Dean. "Here. You fill them out."

Dean scowled in disbelief. "What?"

Sam put his laptop in the backpack and turned his chair around so it faced him at an angle, then swiftly transferred into it, not bothering to lock the brakes on it. He hardly ever locked them anymore unless he was doing a more difficult transfer.

"You name them, Dean," he said, pushing down with his palms on the cushion to adjust himself on the seat. Then he lifted his knees with his hands to maneuver his feet onto the footplate. He noted absently that his legs felt like they were on fire, like they were being stabbed with flaming pins and needles. Funny how he hadn't even noticed the familiar pain until now. Being indifferent to everything definitely had its advantages.

"Sammy, I can't name them," Dean protested, still scowling. "Didn't you and TJ talk about names? What would she want to name them?"

Sam shook his head. "We never really came up with anything. You name them, Dean. I'm sure she won't care. It's not like she's gonna care about much of anything anymore, right?"

Fern gasped and then a tear rolled down her cheek. Vern looked away abruptly, muttering something that sounded like, "God Almighty."

Jeez. They were all so dramatic these days. "So, is anyone coming with me to see TJ? Two are allowed."

No one said anything. They all just stared at him looking shocked, like he'd lost his marbles. They were wrong, though. He felt surprisingly fine. But then he got it. They were in pairs—Gretchen and Ralph, Vern and Fern, Heather and Dean. He couldn't blame them for not wanting to come with him, for not wanting to break up the couples.

What was he thinking? He was a solo act now. His family was, for all intents and purposes, gone. He spun his chair around and left, not giving it another thought.

XXXXXXXX

Things went by in a sort of monotonous blur. Sam did his duty, putting in his hours by TJ's bedside, watching the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest and hearing the hiss and click of the ventilator. It was hooked to a hole the doctor had made in the lower front part of her neck—a tracheostomy—because she needed help breathing indefinitely and there were too many complications that could occur if they kept a tube in her mouth.

There was no essence of her left. Her soul was gone. It was just her body that was left—her pale, thin body pathetically clinging to life without its brain. That's what Sam told himself because deep down, somewhere inside of him where whatever was left of his soul might still reside, he couldn't stand the thought of her being trapped in there, of the real TJ unable to escape her own body, possibly stuck in there forever. He'd asked about taking her off the life support, but the neurologist said there was still brain activity.

Wasn't that just awesome? She wasn't alive enough to live but not dead enough to die.

Her body had rebounded from the pregnancy, if not her brain. Her blood pressure returned to normal a few weeks after the delivery, and she regained her kidney function and was taken off of dialysis.

Her doctors removed the nasogastric feeding tube and surgically inserted one into her stomach instead, saying it would be better for the long-term. She was moved to another part of the hospital after four weeks in the ICU because she was stable and required ongoing, chronic care.

The babies kept holding on. At three weeks old, they underwent heart surgery to close up some kind of hole in their hearts that apparently a lot of extremely early "micropreemies" had. Sam thought that would be it for sure, that they would finally die and Dean would stop nagging him to go see them, but they didn't—damn them. Jesus, the way Dean went on about them, the way he'd been so upset and distraught about the surgery, it was like he was their father instead of Sam.

Sam didn't know what Dean named them. Whenever Dean had tried to tell him, it was the one time that Sam's affable indifference was replaced by an explosion of rage. After that, everyone had given him a wide berth and never mentioned the babies around him, which was fine with him.

Naming them would make it personal, might make Sam care, might make him see them as little humans instead of thinking of them as expendable. He couldn't let that happen. He needed to keep his emotions under lock and key. Besides, it was probably safer for the twins if he didn't give a damn about them. Look what happened every time Sam loved someone—or when they loved him. Look at what had happened to his mother. He'd never even known her, and she'd still died because of him.

He knew everyone thought he'd gone off the deep end, and maybe they were right. But if this was what being crazy was like, he much preferred it to the anguish, sorrow, and despair that everyone around him appeared to be feeling. Who needed that?

He wheeled himself down the hallway toward TJ's room, hoping that no one would be there. He didn't visit TJ as much lately because he was immersed in his work, and when he did visit, he brought his laptop to keep from getting bored. For some reason, everyone acted like there was something wrong with that, and he didn't want to see the disapproving looks that were inevitable if Dean, Heather, or any of TJ's friends were there—or the permanent expression of sadness that seemed to be etched on Ferna Sue's face these days.

It would most likely be Fern there, since she didn't have a life to go back to like everyone else. He wondered if Ferna Sue would ever go back home. It was the middle of March and she'd been in San Diego since before Christmas. Did the woman have an endless supply of sick leave from the school district where she taught? At least he didn't have Vern to contend with. Vern had been forced to go back to their farm in Kentucky.

As Sam approached the room, he heard Fern's voice and the lower rumble of a man's voice. Maybe she was talking to someone visiting the other coma patient in the room. No more VIP rooms for TJ. Not even Heather's parents were willing to fork out the dough for that indefinitely.

When he got closer, he realized he recognized the man's voice. He pushed the already open door to the room open wider so he could roll through.

His eyes immediately went to TJ, and he hated himself for that split second of instinct, for that residual part of him that still had ghost memories of his love for her, that part of him that needed her like he needed air. He shoved it away, determined to overcome it, and calmed as the numbness he lived with day after day once again took over.

TJ was uncovered, except for the loose hospital gown she wore. She wasn't allowed to wear pajamas anymore because there were too many tubes and catheters sticking out of her and the nurses needed easier access to everything.

Fern was doing range-of-motion exercises on TJ's bare leg, lifting it and bending it at the knee and then lowering it, over and over, like the physical therapist had shown them to do. Sam thought it was a waste of time, but he had the sense not to say it out loud. He'd learned his lesson the first time.

Bobby was standing with his back to Sam. "Hey, Bobby," said Sam with a smile.

Bobby turned to face him. "Sam?" He scrutinized Sam for a moment, then walked over and have him a hearty, gruff hug, slapping him on the back. "How you holding up, kid?"

"Me?" Sam shrugged. "I'm fine. The whole freelance paralegal thing is working out great. Been doing a lot of work, building up a clientele. I can do most of the work from home."

"That wasn't what I meant."

Sam wondered what he did mean, but decided it wasn't important. People talked in riddles these days. "What are you doing here, Bobby? Not that it's not good to see you."

Fern was watching their exchange, looking at Sam with wariness. She stopped working TJ's leg and set it gently down on the mattress.

"I wanted to come see how you were doing," said Bobby, "and come visit TJ."

Sam snorted. "Well, if you came to see TJ, I think you drove a long way for nothing. She's pretty much already checked out. Her body just didn't get the memo."

Fern put a hand over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes.

Christ, it was getting annoying when she did that. And judging by the look on Bobby's face, Sam figured he must have said something inappropriate again.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "When's the last time you slept, Sam? Or shaved, for that matter?"

Sam felt his jaw. Huh. There was a pretty thick beard there. Weird. He wasn't sure how that had happened. "I sleep every night, Bobby."

Bobby didn't look very convinced. It was the truth, though. Sam slept. Didn't he? He must sleep some, else he'd be dead. Sleep was important for good health. Maybe he should start keeping track.

Bobby shared a look with Fern that looked like an apology and then turned his attention back to Sam. "Sam, I think I need some fresh air. Would you mind taking a walk with me?"

"Sure." Sam glanced at TJ and huffed a scornful laugh. "It's not like she's going anywhere, right?"

A tear rolled down Fern's cheek and she wiped it away. Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was she crying about now? Women. They were always so melodramatic.

"There's a little atrium area not far from here," said Sam when he and Bobby were in the hallway.

Bobby gave a short nod. "Lead the way."

As they walked, Sam asked, "So, when did you get here, Bobby? I can't believe nobody told me you were coming."

"Maybe they did. Maybe you just didn't hear them."

Sam thought that was a strange thing to say, but he didn't comment.

"I got here last night."

Sam frowned. "Where are you staying?"

"A motel not far from the hospital."

"Oh. Sorry you can't stay with us. We've got a full house—mother-in-law," Sam added. "She's been sleeping in Dean's room. Dean sleeps on the pullout sofa or at Heather's."

"Fern's a good woman."

"Hey, I'm not complaining. She's really not there that much, just at night. She spends most of the day with TJ. I guess she's gonna rot away in that hospital room right along with TJ."

They were almost in front of the double doors to the glassed in atrium. Bobby stopped walking abruptly. "You don't seem too broken up about it," he said.

Sam worked his tires back and forth. "Broken up about what? That TJ's basically a living corpse? I'm not, but I guess maybe I'm more self-actualized than everyone else. I mean, that's just life, right? Shit happens."

Bobby just stared at him.

"The whole coma thing's getting tedious, I have to admit. It gets old, coming up here every day. We'd all be better off if TJ went ahead and kicked the bucket, you know? All she's doing now is running up a huge, astronomical hospital bill and wasting everyone's time."

It looked like Bobby had moisture building in his eyes as he continued to look at Sam for a long moment. Sam almost groaned. Not Bobby, too.

Bobby's attention shifted and Sam followed his gaze to see Dean walking toward them, a hard, grim expression on his features. He was still dressed in his Firestone uniform and must have come straight to the hospital after he'd gotten off work.

"Here comes Mr. Congeniality," said Sam. He could tell by Dean's demeanor that he was in for another lecture.

"Bobby?" said Dean in a gruff greeting.

Bobby nodded.

Dean aimed his hard expression at Sam. "I just came from TJ's room. I just talked to Fern."

Sam was unsure why that was significant and waited for Dean to continue. "And?"

Dean looked like he wanted to say something but shook his head in exasperation instead. He yanked open the door to the atrium and went inside. It was virtually empty except for a couple sitting on a bench. He said something to the couple and they got up and left, giving Sam a curious look as they walked out the doors.

Dean signaled to Bobby and Sam to come in. Sam pulled on one of the doors with his hand, then pushed it open with a shove and wheeled through before it could shut.

The atrium was a small outside area with various flowers and plants and a large palm tree that grew up in the middle of it. The area was a little humid and kind of had a tropical feel.

Bobby and Dean both sat down on the bench the couple had vacated and were eye level with Sam. Sam didn't like the looks on their faces and started to feel uneasy, like a kid who'd been sent to the principal's office.

Bobby spoke first, his expression grave and earnest. "Sam, I'm sorry about TJ."

Sam felt nothing at Bobby's words but knew that Bobby and Dean expected him to say something meaningful, so he said what was required. "Yeah. Pretty tragic, right?"

Dean ran a hand over his face in a frustrated motion, his jaw hard.

"Ferna Sue says there's still hope," said Bobby, "that TJ's not brain dead."

Sam felt a prickle of some buried emotion knocking on the door to his conscience, some emotion he didn't want to feel. "Ferna Sue is delusional, Bobby. If TJ ever wakes up—if—she'll never be the same. The damage from the stroke was extensive. She'd be better off dead."

"You don't know that, Sam. She's a fighter," argued Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. He felt like he was in a bad Lifetime movie.

Bobby kept his cool. "There's lots that the doctors still don't know about the brain, Sam. Ferna Sue said no one really knows what the damage will be until TJ wakes up."

Sam looked at Dean. "What is this, an intervention? Is that why Bobby's here? Did you tell him I'm crazy or something?"

"Well, you don't seem like yourself, son," Bobby said diplomatically.

Dean didn't say anything, just stared.

Sam resisted the urge to clench his jaw. He would not lose control. He felt nothing and he would keep it that way. "Well, let me put your mind at ease, Bobby. You drove all that way for nothing. I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than I've ever been. I'm trying to move on with my life. TJ is gone, and there's nothing any of us can do about it. It's everyone else that seems to be stuck somewhere between life and death, just like TJ. They are the ones that need to see a shrink to deal with their grief, not me." He glared at Dean. "Just fucking get over it."

Dean scowled and turned red. "You haven't even been to see your own kids, Sam. Not even once!"

The emotion that Sam was trying to keep locked away kept pressing at its bonds, threatening to snap. "I told you not to talk about them in front of me."

"Yeah," said Dean, tone laced with sarcasm. "Nothing nuts about that—pretending your own son and daughter don't exist."

Sam gripped his wheels, getting ready to swivel his chair around and leave. "I don't have to listen to this."

Dean grabbed the frame of Sam's chair, stopping him, eyes burning into him. "You do have to listen to this. Your eleven-week-old son is having surgery on his eyes tomorrow because his retinas aren't developing right. The surgeon is gonna try to save your son's sight. Do you hear me? His sight."

Sam began to shake. His armor was starting to crack, and he ruthlessly pushed back the tide of despair and anguish that threatened to consume him. "Let...go," he said through clenched teeth.

Dean's features softened a fraction. "Your boy needs you, Sammy. You need to go see him. They both need you. TJ would want you to be there for them."

"I said...let...go."

Dean shook his head. "No. If you won't go willingly, I'll take you there myself."

Sam snorted. "Right." He gave his wheels a vicious pull and jerked the frame of his chair from Dean's hand, then turned and headed for the doors.

"I mean it, Sammy." Dean's voice was coarse and menacing.

Sam ignored him. As he reached for the handle on the door, he felt someone take hold of the push handles of his chair. He looked over his shoulder to see Dean. "What the fuck are you doing, Dean?"

In the next instant, Bobby was there holding the door open.

"I'm taking you to see your kids," Dean retorted.

Sam exhaled harshly through his nose, mouth tight, and fought to stay calm. Dean had obviously lost his marbles. "Let's be rational about this. You can't force me to go to the NICU."

"Watch me," Dean growled, and he started pushing Sam's chair.

Sam gripped his wheels with all the strength he had, making it impossible for Dean to make the chair budge. The tread of the tires chafed Sam's palms painfully, but he didn't care.

"A little help here, Bobby!" barked Dean.

Bobby's expression was grim, and Sam realized he was completely on Dean's side. Sam would get no help from him.

"Pick up his legs," said Dean.

"Don't even think about it, Bobby," warned Sam.

Bobby bent down and picked up Sam's legs, still holding the door open with his hip.

Dean grabbed Sam under his armpits in a vise-like grip, and then Dean and Bobby moved in tandem, picking Sam up out of his chair.

Sam was flooded with a sudden and savage rage. He pulled at Dean's arms, but Dean just tightened his hold, his arms like steel bands across Sam's ribs, making it hard for Sam to draw in a deep breath.

"Don't you fucking do this!" Sam yelled. "Don't you do it!"

Dean and Bobby ignored him, and it fueled Sam's fury even more until it was a hot, tangible thing. They started walking, and Sam fought with everything he had, heaving and scratching at Dean's arms and wishing with all his might he could kick. He cursed his useless legs and cursed Dean and Bobby for taking advantage of his paralysis, for making him feel weak and helpless.

"I'll never forgive you for this, you fucking bastards!" he spat. They were in the main corridor now, and people were stopping to watch as Bobby and Dean carried Sam past.

He could hear Dean using that sheepish charm that had gotten them both out of many scrapes. "Sorry folks. Just a psych patient that escaped from his ward. Sorry for the disturbance."

"Don't listen to him!" Sam pleaded. "Help me! Somebody help me!" He managed to get a hold of Dean's ear and pulled on it with all his might.

Dean faltered, almost dropping him. "Ow! Dammit, Sam, let go!"

"Fuck you!" Sam pulled harder, getting a perverse satisfaction out of Dean's pained grunt.

"Son of a bitch. Bobby!" implored Dean.

Bobby set Sam's legs on the floor while Dean set Sam's upper body down enough so he'd have his hands free to extricate his ear.

"Let go, Sammy." Dean sounded cautious, like he was talking to a wounded animal. He put his hands on Sam's arm, but Sam pulled on his ear and Dean let go.

Sam was panting, almost choking on bitter anger. "Get me back in my chair, or I'll rip your fucking ear off."

"Jesus, Bobby. He's clamped down on it like a friggin' limpet."

Bobby focused on Sam and spoke patiently, like he was talking to an eight-year-old. "Let go of your brother's ear, son."

Sam looked around. They had drawn a crowd of nurses, patients, and doctors, and he saw Dr. Williams among the people staring down at them. She still came and checked on TJ every once in a while, even though TJ didn't need an OB anymore. Sam used his best wounded-puppy look on her. "Dr. Williams, please, call security. Help me. Please."

She folded her arms and glanced at Dean. "You taking him to the NICU?"

"Yeah," Dean answered.

She gave a curt nod. "Carry on—literally."

Sam leaned his head back in frustration, bumping it against Dean's chest, which only served to piss him off more.

Dean looked down at him, expression determined. "You're not gonna win this, Sammy."

"Go to hell."

Bobby's voice was lethally calm. "Let go of him, Sam, or I'll make you let go."

"I'll tear his ear off before you even get the chance," Sam threatened.

Bobby seemed unperturbed. "You think?"

Sam yanked brutally on Dean's ear again, causing Dean to cry out in pain. "I don't think. I know," Sam stated darkly.

In the next instant, Sam felt a sharp, stunning blow to his jaw that made him see stars—and he let go of Dean's ear.

TBC