A/N: Thank you Catsluver and skzb for taking time out of your day to help me out. You are awesome.

Thanks to those of you who reviewed as guests. I'm so glad you guys are still with me. :)

Chapter 12

Sam heard the sound of someone gasping in shock, maybe more than one person, but he couldn't comprehend what was going on because he was blinded by pain. Dark spots flashed before his eyes, and he could hear voices but couldn't make out what they were saying. Before he knew it, he had been lifted and felt himself being carried again. The rocking motion was pleasant and kind of made him feel like taking a nap.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he became aware again, but he found himself sitting in one of two large chairs that were similar to a sleeping chair. Bobby and Dean were both hovering over him, eyeing him warily, like they were ready to pounce if he tried anything.

He looked around, dazed. He worked his jaw—which hurt like a bitch—and saw that he was sitting in between two incubators, one labeled "S. Winchester" and one labeled "R. Winchester." The one with the S had a small pink bunny on top of it, and the one with the R had a small blue teddy bear.

Anger snapped Sam out of his stupor. He was in the NICU. "Get me the hell out of here. Now."

Dean's tone was matter-of-fact. "Nope. Sorry, Sammy. You're about to meet your son and daughter. They're in the middle of their baths, but they'll be ready soon."

Bobby continued to look at Sam with a watchful eye, but there was a hint of guilt in his gaze. Sam realized what had happened, that Bobby had socked him in the jaw.

In that moment, Sam hated both of them—Dean, the brother he would have gladly died for, and Bobby, the man who was like a father to him—with a loathing that consumed him and made him burn with rage.

They had taken cruel advantage of his disability and humiliated him, and now they were forcing him to do something that threatened to rip him apart. His breathing was harsh with overpowering emotion, and he skewered them both with a look of hatred. "I'll never forgive you for this. Either of you."

Dean's jaw was hard. "We'll see."

Sam throbbed with rage. "I fucking hate you. Do you hear me?" He glared at Bobby. "You, too."

"Watch your mouth, Sam." Dean's voice was calm, but there was repressed anger just under the surface. "The babies in here can sense negative energy. It stresses them out."

Dean's statement took Sam off guard for a second because it was so out of character, so...emo. And then Sam saw with sudden clarity a way out of this, a way to avoid having to see the twins. "You fucking bastards," he said loudly, almost shouting. "I hope you both go to hell!"

Dean clamped a hand over Sam's mouth and growled with menace. "Nice try, but it won't work."

Sam bit Dean's hand. It was more difficult than it would seem, but Sam managed to get his teeth on the skin of Dean's palm and chomped down on it savagely, tasting the metallic flavor of blood.

Dean jerked his hand away. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam leered cynically. "Watch that negative energy, Dean. Don't want to disturb the babies."

Dean grabbed him from behind in a choke hold, a millimeter away from crushing Sam's windpipe. Sam could barely breathe.

At the same time, a startled nurse approached holding what looked like a tiny doll swaddled in a white hospital baby blanket with a blue-and-pink stripe bordering it. There was a tiny blue knit cap on the doll's head, and there were wires and tubes sticking out from the blanket that were hooked up to a portable oxygen tank and some sort of monitor on wheels. "Oh!" exclaimed the nurse. She was a pudgy, motherly looking lady. "What's going on here?"

Dean released a small amount of pressure from Sam's throat. "Ginnie, this is my brother Sam that I've been telling you about. Sam, this is Ginnie." Dean spoke like he was introducing them at a cocktail party.

"Fuck you," Sam threw out, not caring if he offended Ginnie or anyone else.

Dean viciously tightened his hold around Sam's neck, this time cutting off all of Sam's air. Sam knew in the logical part of his mind that Dean would never kill him, but his animal instincts were kicking into gear. His heart hammered and he pulled with all of his might on Dean's arm, trying to get it to loosen, fighting panic. His lungs started to burn.

Dean held him with ruthless strength, and his voice vibrated in Sam's ear. "You gonna play nice, Sammy?"

Sam was seconds away from passing out and no longer cared about anything but getting air back into his lungs. He nodded as much as he could, considering his neck was in a vise.

Dean let go, and Sam heaved in gulps of air, rubbing his Adam's apple with his hand.

"Sorry about that, Ginnie," Dean said. "Sam's a little reluctant."

Ginnie quirked her mouth. "So I see. Has he sanitized?"

"Uh-uh." Dean was already reaching for a bottle of hand sanitizer sitting on a nearby counter. He squirted some into Sam's hand, and Sam stared dumbly at the gel-like substance.

"Rub it in," Dean commanded, his voice full of warning.

Still panting from Dean's rough treatment of him, Sam shot Dean a murderous look but complied, rubbing his hands together until the sanitizer evaporated.

To Sam's surprise, Ginnie didn't seem all that afraid of him, all things considered. She eyed him with a calculating look. "Are you ready to hold your son, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam clenched his teeth. He could feel both Dean's and Bobby's eyes boring into him, but he refused to look at them. He delayed for as long as he could before finally grinding out, "Yes."

Ginnie didn't waste any time. In the next instant, Sam found himself holding the ruddy-complected doll. The bundle appeared even smaller nestled in the crook of his elbow, and he easily held it in one arm. The doll's eyes were closed and it looked sweetly serene, like...an angel. The only thing that spoiled the illusion was the mini nasal cannula for oxygen that was in its nose.

The doll was surprisingly warm and light as a feather. Despite himself, Sam was fascinated by the tiny, perfectly-formed fingers of the doll's hand that was peeking out from the blanket near its face. He was startled when the fingers moved, flexing and closing in a sporadic, sleepy manner. The fingers even had microscopic-sized fingernails.

Sam was frozen, unable to move, afraid to disturb such an embodiment of peace. His anger began to slowly ebb and was replaced by a terrible exhaustion unlike any he'd ever known. He had no idea how many minutes ticked by as he stared at the baby boy, but the spell was broken when the little sleeping face suddenly screwed up into a moue of discontent and let out a series of miniature grunts. Then, a second later, a not-so-small explosion came from the baby's nether region.

"Uh-oh," said Ginnie good-naturedly.

"Awesome," quipped Dean. He was standing and holding a similar bundle to the one Sam was holding, only the knit cap was pink instead of blue. He held the little bundle like a pro, and it was weird to see him doing something so domestic. Then again, he started practicing when he was four.

Sam hadn't even realized the other baby had been brought to them. Dean was smiling at the tiny baby girl, and the expression on Dean's face was one of pure and unconditional love. It was so foreign to see such a look on his brother's face that Sam blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

Bobby's attention seemed to be going back and forth, his expression softening when he looked at Dean and becoming cautious when he looked at Sam. The hatred Sam had felt toward him moments ago had dissipated, and Sam felt numb again.

"Here," said Ginnie, reaching for the baby in Sam's arms.

Sam watched woodenly as she took the boy from him.

"I'll change his diaper while you hold his sister."

Sam watched the nurse like a zombie, incapable of speech, as she took the baby to one of the incubators, opened the lid, and began to unswaddle the baby to change its diaper. It let out a cry of protest that sounded surprisingly strong.

Dean gave Sam a wary look as if assessing whether it was safe to hand over his precious cargo. The fight had gone out of Sam, and he rested his head against the high, padded back of the chair and closed his eyes, not caring whether Dean trusted him or not. His jaw was hurting and the exhaustion he'd felt earlier wasn't letting up. He hadn't felt this tired since before TJ went into the coma.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean bending down slightly, carefully offering him the other swaddled baby. Sam reluctantly took it, holding it the same way he held the other one. It had a tiny nasal cannula in its nose, too, but it was bright-eyed and wide awake, unlike the first one. Two large, dark eyes stared back at him—eyes that were too large for its small face.

TJ's eyes.

He was at first shocked, and then he felt like he was being strangled again—this time, with shame. What had he done? He'd abandoned his own children, TJ's children, the babies that TJ was willing to risk her life for. How could he have been so cold? How could he have betrayed TJ even more than he already had by ignoring them? God, he'd been such a dick—to Fern, to Dean, to everyone. He had lost his mind.

Things had gotten so twisted. He blamed the babies along with himself for TJ's condition, thought of the twins as less than human, tainted with his blood, as something evil. Now, seeing them, holding them—he knew they were innocent. He could feel it at the very core of his being. They were nothing other than precious little gifts, little miracles from Heaven.

The baby—his daughter—was still staring at him. He knew she probably couldn't see him that well, if at all. Babies, even full-term ones, couldn't see faces until three months after they were born, but it seemed like she was looking at him, like he was just as alien to her as she was to him. She was fascinated with him.

She was surprisingly noisy. She made funny little high-pitched grunts that reminded him of puppies and kittens and other newborn animals. Both of her hands had wiggled free a bit from the swaddle, and he put his pinky up to one of them. She wrapped her tiny fingers around it, stronger than he would have thought, and he knew in that moment that he was the one that would be wrapped around her finger for the rest of his days.

He nuzzled his face close to her and kissed the knit cap on the top of her head. She smelled so good, so sweet and fresh and clean, but there was something more, something primal that made him feel fiercely protective of her and made his heart swell.

He thought of TJ, how much she had loved these little beings even before she'd met them and how much she would have loved them now, how unfair it was that she would probably never get the chance. The realization hit Sam with a force that took his breath away. His throat clogged and burned with all the emotions that he'd been immune to for the past two and a half months—horror, despair, desolation, guilt. It was as he'd feared. His soul was ripping apart.

He began to sob—silent heaves that racked his body and left him defenseless against the barrage of pain assaulting him. He was blinded, could no longer see the baby in his arms. He felt someone take her from him, and it made him feel cold. He wanted her back, but he couldn't speak to protest. He could barely get air past his narrowed throat.

He felt someone squeeze his shoulder and then he heard Bobby say quietly, "I'll go get his chair."

Ginnie cleared her throat. "They're all settled. I'll, uh...well, I'll be back to check on them later."

If Dean replied, Sam didn't hear it. Time was fluid and he wasn't sure how long he sat there until, finally, he felt a hand squeeze the back of his neck. It was strong and comforting at the same time.

"Sammy?"

Sam gulped in a breath of air, trying to get control of himself. Dean was sitting in the chair next to him on the edge of it, reaching across, hand still on Sam's neck. Sam quickly looked away and wiped the moisture from his face with his hand, embarrassed.

Dean was quiet.

Sam couldn't look at him. He sniffed and then wiped snot on his shirt sleeve. After another minute, he felt uncomfortable, like he should speak. "I, uh..." His voice came out ragged, and he fought against another torrent of pain, forcing himself to look Dean in the eye. "I'm sorry."

Dean squeezed Sam's neck. "I know, man. Me, too."

He got the feeling Dean was apologizing for the whole situation, for TJ, for everything.

"You almost choked me to death," Sam accused without heat.

Dean arched a brow and let go of Sam's neck. "Now, that, you deserved."

Sam looked down at his hands and nodded. "Yeah, I did." He gave Dean a sidelong glance. "But if you and Bobby ever take me out of my chair like that again, I will kill you."

Dean snorted. "Get in line."

Sam almost smiled. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time in months, despite the grief that had been unleashed inside him.

"So, check this out." Dean pulled out his cell phone and brought up pictures of the twins. In one of the pictures, a wedding ring was on one of the babies' spindly little arms, all the way up to its shoulder, and the ring was still loose. The baby was all wrinkled and its skin was translucent, the veins showing through. The baby was hooked up to an unbelievable amount of tubes and wires, its face almost completely obscured by the breathing tube taped to its mouth. "This is your daughter the day after she was born," said Dean. "She weighed one pound, three ounces and was about eleven and a half inches long."

He flipped to the next picture. It could have been the same baby, except there was a man's hand next to the baby to give a reference point for comparison. The baby was barely bigger than the hand. "That's your son, and that's my hand next to him," Dean said, a note of amazed disbelief in his tone. "He weighed one pound, six ounces, and was eleven and three-fourths inches long."

"They were so—God, Dean. They were so thin, so fragile."

"Yeah. They look a lot different now, more like babies instead of spider monkey embryos. They're getting some baby fat now, starting to fill out." He beamed. "They're getting butt cracks."

Sam frowned and gave him a look that said, What the hell?

"They had serious raisin butts for a while, but now they're getting some padding."

Sam swallowed. "I've missed so much."

Dean was suddenly intense. "You've got the rest of their lives to make it up to them, starting now."

Sam gave a nod and hung his head. A minute passed, and then he spoke. "So, thanks, you know, for taking care of them."

Dean's face lit up. "Dude, I was born to be an uncle. They love their awesome Uncle Dean. Of course, they like Heather, Fern, and Vern, too. We've all been doing this thing the nurses call kangaroo care, where the babies are naked except for their diapers, and we put them up next to our bare chests so they can have skin-on-skin contact. It's unbelievable how the babies respond to it. They love it. It makes them less stressed and eases their breathing, for one thing. The ladies, Fern and Heather, put them on top of their breasts—covered with a blanket, of course." Dean shrugged his brows and looked toward the baby boy's incubator. "The little man really digs that."

Sam smiled. "Just like his uncle."

"And, dude," Dean went on, really warming up to the subject, "those babies are completely confounding the whole staff here. They're eleven weeks, which is the same as thirty-four weeks gestation. The nurses still think of them as fetuses. Anyway, they've both got lungs on them that put Pavarotti to shame. The docs think part of it's due to the fact that TJ was on the corticosteroid. It helped their lungs develop faster.

"The babies are still on oxygen for right now, but the neonatologist and the pediatrician both think they won't even have to go home on it. I mean, that's almost unheard of for micropreemies. Some of them have to be on oxygen for, like, a year after they're born."

Sam was relieved to hear that but then frowned, remembering that Dean had mentioned something about eye surgery. "What's wrong with—wait. What did you name them?"

"Guess."

"Dean, just tell me."

Dean looked proud of himself. "Robert Vernon—after Bobby and Vern, obviously—and..." he paused and grinned, "...Samantha Joy."

Sam rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Everyone calls them Robby and Sami Joy for short."

Sam leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

"So, what do you think? Fern and Heather kind of helped me."

"I think TJ would—" Sam stopped suddenly, feeling a sharp pang of sadness. "I think she would have killed you for the 'Joy' part."

Dean chuckled, unrepentant.

"And I'm gonna kill you for the 'Samantha' part."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll get over it. Look at the bright side. There's a new Sammy in town. The nickname has finally been passed on."

"Right," Sam said dryly. He wasn't sure he wanted his daughter stuck with it either. "So what about the eye surgery for...Robby." The name was foreign on Sam's tongue and, even though it was less formal than Robert, still seemed too much for the tiny baby he'd held in his arms.

Dean grew serious. "He has ROP—retinopothy of prematurity. It means he has an abnormal growth of blood vessels around his retinas. The vessels are growing too fast and pulling on the retinas."

Sam swallowed. "Does it mean—does it mean he could be blind?"

Dean gave a short nod. "If they don't do the surgery, yes. If it's left untreated, his retinas will detach."

Sam closed his eyes, contemplating that. It left him feeling weak.

"It'll be okay," said Dean. "They're gonna use a laser to scar the outer part of the retinas to make the growth of the vessels slow down. He may lose some peripheral vision, but he'll still be able to see pretty normally. He might have to wear glasses, but that's no big deal."

"When's the surgery?"

"Tomorrow."

Sam's gaze went to the tiny baby boy sleeping on his back in the incubator, hooked up to the oxygen and all the monitors, and then looked back to Dean with resolve. "I'll be here."

XXXXXXXX

Bobby brought Sam's wheelchair back, and he and Sam went back to TJ's room. Dean left to go home and change out of his work clothes and take Rocket for a run in the dog park.

When they reached TJ's room, Fern wasn't there. Sam wheeled up near TJ's bed, and Bobby pulled up a nearby chair and sat next him. Sam still couldn't bring himself to really look at TJ. In fact, he couldn't remember even touching her since the whole coma nightmare began. He imagined her hand feeling cold and lifeless, and he couldn't stand the thought of it.

He and Bobby sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes. There was tension between them left over from everything that had happened.

Sam cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I shouldn't have said that I hated you."

"You weren't yourself."

"I guess you knocked some sense into me."

Bobby snorted.

Sam was leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees, hands loosely clasped. He looked Bobby in the eye and said earnestly, "I'm glad Dean named my son after you."

Bobby's mouth tightened with emotion, and he nodded.

Another awkward moment passed, and then Sam changed the subject. "So, uh, how long you staying?"

Bobby shrugged. "Couple of days. I was on my way back from a hunt in Oregon when Dean called."

Sam smiled with irony. "So it was an intervention."

"Dean was pretty worried. So was everyone else."

Sam focused on his hands. "Yeah. You guys afraid I was going dark side?"

"No, idjit," Bobby said with irritation. "We were afraid you were gonna end up at the funny farm, though. And Dean didn't want a brother who looked like Barry Gibb."

Sam snorted a laugh and ran his hand over the thick stubble on his jaw. He pretty much had a full-on beard. "TJ would hate this."

Bobby's gaze traveled to TJ. "She would like it. You could be covered in skunk oil and she would like it."

Sam didn't reply and tried to keep a surge of grief at bay.

"Don't give up on her, Sam. She ain't dead."

Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Then why does it feel like she is, Bobby? Why does it—" He stopped speaking, suddenly overcome. He looked up at the ceiling, fighting the stinging in his eyes, trying not to embarrass himself. His voice was thick and coarse when he spoke. "Why does it hurt so damn bad if she's not gone?"

Bobby leaned forward and reached out, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder, right as Ferna Sue walked into the room. Bobby took his hand off Sam's shoulder and stood so Fern could have his chair.

She waved her hand in dismissal at Bobby. "Don't give up your chair, Bobby. I'll find another one."

Bobby shook his head. "No. Please. I'm about to go get something to eat, anyway."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

She glanced at Sam and then back to Bobby. "I ran into Dean on his way out."

Bobby nodded almost imperceptibly and then turned to Sam, clapping him on the back. "I'll be back later."

Sam met his eyes. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby left, and Fern sat in the chair next to Sam, fidgeting with a wadded up tissue in her hand. Tension radiated from her, and Sam hated that he'd damaged his relationship with her and that she was so nervous around him. Their relationship had been so easygoing and full of mutual respect for one another before.

He sat back in his chair and exhaled slowly. It seemed he had a thousand apologies to make. "Fern—"

She flinched.

It made him feel sick that she was afraid of him or afraid of what might come out of his mouth, and, on instinct, he reached over and gently took her hand, looking her in the eye. "Fern, I'm so sorry. I said so many horrible things. I..." He ducked his head, ashamed. "I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. It's hard to explain. It was like I just shut down my emotions. Everything was so skewed and upside down." He shook his head and glanced at TJ. "It was easier than..." His throat tightened, hot moisture spilling down his face, and he couldn't go on.

Fern searched his features and then her face crumpled. She leaned toward him, taking him into an embrace. He could feel her body jerking with silent sobs and he held her for a long time. Finally, she withdrew and stood up half way, grabbing some tissues off the nearby bedside table and handing one to him.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute, neither of them knowing what to say, when she inclined her head toward TJ and spoke again. "She's gettin' stronger."

Sam looked at TJ's still form—the pillows under her in strategic places to prevent pressure sores, the trach sticking out of her neck, all the tubes and wires—and then looked away. She didn't seem any different to him.

"Touch her, Sam. Talk to her. She loves the sound of your voice. She told me once she thinks it's real sexy."

He rolled his eyes and gave an uneasy laugh, feeling heat creep up his neck. "You know, sometimes I wish you and TJ didn't tell each other everything."

Fern laughed and then eyed TJ's hand pointedly. Her tone soft, she said, "Touch her, Sam."

He peered at TJ's hand lying by her side but couldn't make himself move.

"Sam..."

He swallowed thickly. "I—I can't."

Fern stood, took his hand, and gave it a tug, causing his chair to roll a little closer to TJ's bed. Then, without ceremony, she placed his hand on top of TJ's.

His body responded instantly, like an electric current had just charged through him. He was stunned by the warmth coming from TJ's hand, the softness of her skin. She felt surprisingly alive. How could he have denied himself this? A noise like a small sob tore from him.

He squeezed her hand, doubting that he'd ever be able to let go again, and looked hopefully at her face. He didn't know what he was expecting—a miracle, maybe? That his touch would awaken her like in the movies, that it was him that she'd needed all along. Now that he was there—really there, in mind as well as body—she could wake up.

It didn't happen, of course. She had no response at all, not even a blip on the heart monitor. Fern went around to the other side of the bed and began to smooth TJ's hair away from her face in a motherly gesture. "Sam's back, sugar."

Sam looked away, his eyes blurring with moisture yet again.

Fern continued to talk to TJ for a while and then kissed her goodbye. Then she walked around the bed and put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come with me, hon."

He glanced at TJ, suddenly not comfortable with leaving her alone, even though he'd basically ignored her for the past two and a half months.

Fern gave a tired smile. "Come on. I promise I won't take you away from her for long."

Sam reluctantly let go of TJ's hand and followed Fern out of the room. They took an elevator two floors down, and when he saw where they were going, he stopped. Fern was taking him to the chapel.

Fern noticed he'd stopped and jerked her head, indicating for him to keep going into the little sanctuary.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

She frowned. "Why not, hon?"

He swallowed. "It's just not my thing."

"You afraid you're gonna get struck by lightnin'?

Sam looked at her sharply. Had TJ told Fern about the demon blood? He shook his head. "No. Nothing like that."

"Then why?" Her expression was neutral, unreadable.

He gritted his teeth, flipping through plausible excuses in his brain. He decided something close to the truth would suffice. "I...I don't think God and I are on the best of terms."

"Oh, sugar. I know it might not seem like it, but these are the times that He's with us the most. Just come with me, just this once."

He stalled for a moment but finally exhaled and pushed himself toward the door of the small, empty chapel. Once inside, Fern sat in a pew a few rows back from the altar, and Sam transferred from his chair to the pew and sat next to her.

She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, but Sam was still uneasy—and a little angry. This was a waste of time. God had obviously forgotten him a long time ago.

Fern bowed her head and closed her eyes. She was quiet, and Sam wondered if she was praying to herself. He decided he would just humor her and wait her out.

"Bow your head, hon."

Sam raised his brows in surprise.

"I've got eyes on all sides of my head. Now, bow your head."

Sam was chastened and did as she asked.

Once she was satisfied his head was bowed, she began to pray. "Dear Heavenly Father, thank you for all the blessings you've given us this day, especially for my son-in-law comin' to his senses, even though he had to have a little help."

Sam felt sheepish and kept his eyes closed and his head bowed, although he thought he sensed Fern peering at him surreptitiously.

"Thank you, as always, for blessing us with Robby and Sami Joy, and, if it be your will, please continue to watch over them and keep them healthy. Please be with the eye surgeon tomorrow and give him a steady hand as he operates on Robby's eyes. Please help Vern to figure out how to turn the dang stove on and use the microwave so he don't starve to death or put us in the poorhouse eatin' at Donna's Diner every day."

Sam smiled.

"And last but not least, please continue to help TJ to heal and bring her back to us. All these things we pray in Jesus' precious name. Amen."

Sam peeked out of the corner of his eye. Fern's head was still bowed, eyes still closed. She elbowed him in the ribs and he frowned, not sure what he was supposed to do.

"Say 'amen,' hon," she whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"Oh. Uh, amen."

She raised her head and looked him over. "Now, see? The earth didn't crack open and swallow you. Maybe you're on better terms with God than you thought."

He mulled that over.

"Besides, I'm thinkin' you might want God on your side if anything ever does come of that demon blood in you."

He stared at her, stunned.

She laughed and patted his hand. "Like you said, TJ tells me everything. And I tell Vern everything."

XXXXXXXX

Sam was lying next to TJ, reading to her. The nurses had positioned her so that he could lie on the bed with her and not interfere with any of the stuff she was hooked up to. He was on his side, head propped up with one hand and the other hand holding the book. He was reading a book to her that Fern thought TJ would like called The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Sam had to admit he sort of liked the book, which was shaping up to be a romance, but he'd never say it out loud.

He glanced at his watch. Fern would be there soon to take over her "shift" with TJ. He folded the corner of the page he was on, then shut the book and set it on the nearby bedside table. "Sorry, Teej. That's all for today." He held up his hand as if she'd protested. "I know. I know. I'll be back tomorrow to read you more, and don't try to talk Fern into reading it without me." He lowered his voice and confessed in a whisper, "I don't wanna miss any parts."

She didn't answer, of course.

He shifted a little and laid his head on her pillow, very close to her, breathing in the scent of her hair. She smelled more like the hospital than anything else, but there was still some of her scent there, something he couldn't describe but that drew him, that teased and stirred his love for her.

He gently kissed the soft skin of her cheek and caressed her cheekbone with his thumb, then cradled her face in his hand. "I love you," he whispered into her ear.

Again, no response. He stared at the tube protruding from her neck and listened to the faint swoosh of the vent. If it weren't for that, he could almost convince himself that there was nothing really wrong with her, that she was just asleep. A wave of anguish washed over him and his chest tightened. His voice was raspy when he spoke. "You gotta start breathing on your own again, TJ. Quit being lazy."

He could imagine her scrunching up her freckles and giving him a wry look.

He fought the ache in his heart and idly fingered the ID bracelet on her wrist. "The twins are gonna be ready to go home soon. They're fourteen weeks old now—thirty-seven weeks gestation." He sighed. "Not sure how we're gonna handle taking care of them. At least they're healthy. Their nurses keep gushing about it, how they're doing way better than any micros they've ever seen. They're being weaned off the oxygen, although they're still trying to learn how to feed and still have to have the feeding tubes. It's a big deal, you know, learning how to coordinate breathing while sucking and swallowing from a bottle." He took her lax hand and kissed it. "They really are little miracles. You did good."

He waited, pretending that she might contribute to this one-sided conversation. When she didn't, he continued. "Your mom's got to go back to Kentucky eventually. She said Vern's probably starving to death on cereal and ham and cheese sandwiches, or else he's gonna have a heart attack eating chicken-fried steak every night at Donna's."

He exhaled a long breath. "We have to decide where you're gonna stay long-term. You won't believe how expensive places that do subacute care for coma patients are. There's one up in Delano that will work with us financially, but it's four and a half hours away. I'm not sure how we could make that work, but don't worry. I'm not gonna stick you up there all alone."

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He'd been over and over this in his head and never came up with a good solution. The hospital unit she was in now was adequate but expensive, and he wanted TJ in a facility that specialized in patients like her. "I guess I'll keep doing the freelance paralegal thing. It pays okay, and I can work from home most of the time."

He didn't mention how it didn't pay near enough to cover all the medical bills they were racking up, even with the help of their crappy insurance. He was up to his eyeballs in debt and would probably be paying it off for years. "I'm getting a lot of work, but I can still stay home with the babies, or at least that's the plan. Fern's skeptical. She says I won't have any time for work with two newborns. Dean, Heather, Gretchen and even Ralph have offered to help. I guess Ralph's not such a bad guy. He proposed to Gretchen last week, so now they're engaged."

He smirked and squeezed TJ's hand. "I think Dean's starting to feel the pressure. He's been dating Heather longer than any of the rest of us have been together, but he still hasn't taken the plunge. She's not helping her case any by bugging him about hunting, though. I don't think he's ever gonna agree to that. I don't think he's even taken a job in months. He's been using us and the babies as an excuse to turn down hunts." He felt a twinge of remorse and cleared his throat. "I guess it's good that he did, since I, uh, kind of took a vacation from reality for a while. I'm sorry for that, Teej." He'd apologized to her before for the complete dick he'd been, but it never seemed enough. "Thank God for Dean. He really took good care of Robby and Sami Joy after they were first born."

He lay there for a moment in the silence, the artificial noise of the machines and monitors the only things keeping him company. There wasn't even any human noise from the vicinity of TJ's roommate. The poor woman—another comatose patient—didn't have hardly any visitors. He couldn't stand the thought of that happening to TJ if they placed her in the facility in Delano. He'd even thought of moving there, but he didn't think he could take care of the twins all by himself and work and watch over TJ. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he probably needed the support Dean and their friends had offered him.

He heard a sound at the door and saw Ferna Sue walk in, her hair perfectly coiffed in its blond helmet bob. He gave TJ's hand one last kiss and levered himself into a sitting position, then quickly transferred himself to his chair.

Ferna Sue hugged him in her usual greeting, enveloping him in a cloud of perfume. "Hey, hon. How's she doin'?"

"Good. They turned her about an hour and a half ago, so make sure they do it again in about thirty minutes." The nurses had to turn TJ over every two hours so that she wouldn't develop bedsores.

"All right, sugar. You goin' home?"

"I'm gonna check on the twins first. I've probably missed their feeding, but I just want to say goodbye to them."

She nodded.

"I'll see you at the apartment later," said Sam.

"I left you some of that vegetarian meatloaf in the fridge. Now, there's an oxymoron, if I ever heard one."

He smiled. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

Ferna Sue was a great roommate. She was always cooking something so that they would all have at least one decent meal a day. Dean didn't even complain that most of the stuff she fixed was healthy—the kind of stuff that Sam and TJ liked—because Fern threw a pie into the mix at least once a week.

Fern cupped Sam's cheek, a flash of emotion in her green eyes. "Yes, I did have to do that, hon. More than you know." She let her hand drop to her side and smiled. "I think I'm gonna have to break down and fix Dean something that'll stick to his ribs, though. He hasn't complained, but I think he's gettin' tired of the vegetarian stuff."

"Just keep making him pies. He'll never say a word."

She chuckled. "Yeah. I think he might rival Vernon in the pie department."

They were quiet for a moment, and then he said, "So, uh, I guess I'll be going."

She put a hand on his shoulder, her expression pensive. "Can I talk to you for a sec, Sam?"

"Sure."

She sat down in the chair that was near TJ's bed and faced him at eye level. "I know you've been lookin' into places for TJ, you know, for after the babies are released."

His stomach knotted a bit at the reminder. "Yeah."

"Well, I've got a proposition for you."

"What?"

"There's a facility in Moss Fork. TJ's Aunt Tru works there as a nurse. There's a waiting list to get into it, but I've been talking to her about it. She thinks she can get TJ a bed there."

He was intrigued and a little cautious. "What kind of facility."

She took a deep breath. "A nursing home."

He wanted to say No fucking way, but this was, after all, his mother-in-law he was talking to.

Before he could speak, she held up one of her small hands. "Before you object, let me tell you about it."

He gave a short nod.

"First of all, TJ's Aunt Tru is the head nurse there, and she practically runs the place. There's no way they're not gonna take excellent care of TJ. Everyone there knows there will be hell to pay if they don't. Second of all, it's not what you think nursing homes are like. It don't have that funky smell like a lot of 'em have, and there's younger people there, too, people recovering from severe injuries from car accidents and the like. It's the best nursing home in the county and one of the best in the state."

He still wasn't convinced, but he didn't want to hurt Fern's feelings by automatically shooting it down.

She put her hand on top of his. "Think about it, Sam. That's all I'm sayin'. Vern and I would be there to help you with the twins. I've got enough sick leave and personal days built up so that I won't have to go back to teaching until next fall. I would be able to help you with the twins and TJ so you could get some work done."

"Dean can help me—and Heather and Gretchen."

"Oh, hon. I know they'll do their best, but they're still gonna have to work. How are you gonna juggle the twins, sitting with TJ, and work when none of them are around to help?"

"I can work on my laptop while I'm sitting with TJ."

She eyed him dubiously. "You gonna bring the twins with you to do that? And have you found a place here in San Diego you can afford?"

He scrubbed both his hands over his face and drew in a deep breath. "No."

"The cost of the facility in Moss Fork would probably be about half of anything you'd pay here in California. She could have a private room. The place is about five miles from the farm. You and the twins could live with us there. You wouldn't have any living expenses, and you'd have me and Vern and half the county as free babysitters."

He shook his head. "I don't know. If it's a nursing home—I mean, is it just a place where they would feed her and take care of her basic needs but nothing else? If so, she's getting that where she is now. I want her in a place that will do everything possible to try and help her wake up, Fern. I want her in a place that knows what they're doing when it comes to her physical therapy, too."

She nodded. "Absolutely. I'm with you there. I asked Tru about it. She said they have an excellent physical therapist who divides his time between there and the county hospital who could work with TJ. There's a great occupational therapist, too, if..." she faltered, "...if TJ needs that when she wakes up. Tru said all the doctors there are excellent." She paused, and her voice was soft when she spoke again. "Just because it's a small country town doesn't mean we don't have modern medicine, Sam."

He frowned slightly. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that."

She waved her hand. "I know, and you didn't. I just felt the need to say it." She gave him a faint, apologetic smile and continued her petition. "I think you know stimulation from friends and family is one of the things they say helps coma patients. I know she wouldn't have Dean, Gretchen, and Heather, but she's got cousins, aunts, uncles and a few high school friends that still live in Moss Fork. Then there's all the people from our church who we're close to. She would never lack for company, I promise you."

He had to admit, Fern had a compelling argument. "How would we get her there?"

"I already checked into it. We can fly her by air ambulance."

"Fern, that'll cost a fortune."

"Mm-hm. About $28,000."

"Last I checked, I don't have $28,000 lying around."

She chuckled and gave his hand another squeeze. "Well, sugar, that's the beauty of being from a small town. Our church started a fund-raising drive once it became clear that TJ wasn't..." There was a flicker of pain in her eyes and she put three fingers over her lips, chin quivering, but quickly composed herself. "Well, you know," she said, "once it became clear we were all in this for the long haul. They've raised about $30,000 so far from folks in Tucker County."

Sam was astonished. "I can't—are you serious? I mean, that's—that's really generous, but I can't accept that."

She shrugged. "Well, it's not like we can give it back. We're talkin' a dollar here, a dollar there—money people stuck in jars at Kroger's and Kmart, places like that. There's probably some bake sales, car washes, and some of those, you know, fun walks or whatever you call 'em thrown into the mix." She got a sad, wistful smile on her face. "TJ's friend Jeremy contributed a large chunk, too, bless his heart. He's president of the local bank, now, but I think the money came out of his own personal funds. His family and ours are neighbors and have always been close."

Sam's wariness must have shown because she gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. "Don't think of it as charity, hon. Someday we'll return the favor. Trust me. Tucker County might look like a bunch of hillbillies to the rest of the world, but at least we take care of our own."

He looked at TJ lying so still and knew he was out of objections. It would be hard to leave Dean, and he'd probably have to find new clients for his work, but he had to think about TJ and the twins and what was best for them. "What do you think, Teej?" he asked quietly, wishing with all his heart she would answer back.

She didn't.

He reached up and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. "Looks like you're going home."

TBC