I wanted to take a moment once again to thank people for still reading my story and for the really exxxcellent reviews. Seth

Chapter Eight

The faint sound of Dean's shuddering breath broke the silence, and although Sam knew he was crying, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He had opened his mouth several times to speak, but as the words formed on his lips, he snapped it back shut. There was nothing he could say to make this right. There was nothing he could do to make Dean forgive him.

Dean had barely spoken a word since he awoke from surgery, and when he did it was never directed toward Sam. Four days and he still won't talk to me. He won't even look at me. God, what the hell did I do? I couldn't let him die – I just couldn't.

Sam winced, a groan escaping him as sharp pain racked his chest and left leg, but he refused to press the button, releasing morphine into his system to quiet the growing ache. He knew it was only a small sacrifice on his part, knew it would amount to nothing in comparison to what Dean was going through, but at the moment it was the only thing he could think of to do.

Abruptly sucking in a rush of air, he squeezed his eyes closed and held his breath. He clutched for his chest, feeling as if someone had just rammed a searing dagger into his wound. Sweat dripped from his dampened bangs, and slipped into his eyes to mingle with his tears. Another cry burst from his lips, one he couldn't muffle, one he was certain Dean heard, and cursed at his own weakness.

"What are you doing, Sammy?" Dean uttered after several long moments had past, his voice strained and heavily laden with emotion. "Push the damn button."

"M'okay." The tremor in his voice might as well have been a bright beacon flashing the words I'm so definitely not okay, but there was nothing he could do to prevent the pain from showing through in his tone. After initial surgery to repair the damage to his right upper chest and collarbone, he underwent two additional surgeries; one to repair his leg and the other to repair a laceration to his lung that had been masked by the other injuries he had sustained. It really wouldn't have had to take a freaky psychic to realize he was in a lot of pain, but he had hoped Dean wouldn't notice.

"Either you do it or I'm gonna call someone in here to do it for you."

Sam tried not to focus on the last part of what his brother had said, but his gut still lurched nonetheless. To Sam it was as if Dean had resigned his post to watch over him, and although he had always assured his older brother he could protect and look out for himself, he needed Dean. Dean was more than just a protector to him, he was home. He was the only constant good thing in a world filled with one hellish nightmare after the next, and Sam would be damned if he gave up on himself.

But what do I say to him? Sam racked his mind to find a common ground, someplace where they could just be Sam and Dean again. A place where avalanches, Wendigos and injuries didn't exist, but for as hard as he tried he couldn't find any. Avalanches were real. Wendigos did exist. And injuries, well they were two perfect examples of how injuries could destroy a life.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he said before he could think to stop himself. The very last thing Dean needed to hear was that he was sorry. It didn't lessen the guilt or take away any of the pain for what Sam had done to him. It was a contrived word made up to make the speaker of it feel better, and didn't even scratch the surface in conveying how Sam felt inside.

"Sorry for what, Sammy?" Dean's voice was thickly laced with bitterness as he turned his head to look at Sam. "Cause they took my leg." It wasn't a question, and the firm shake of his head affirmed it. "I would've done the same thing. So help me God, if it meant you would live, I would've done the same thing in a heartbeat."

"No, you would've found another way," Sam muttered, stubbornly refusing to allow Dean to alleviate any of his guilt. "You saved me an' this is how I paid you back for it."

"I don't see you running any marathons in the near future, dude, so I must not have done that great of a job."

In a brief unguarded moment, Sam caught a glint of hatred in Dean's eyes, but whether it was directed toward Sam or himself, he couldn't be sure. Sam could see what his brother was trying to do in his glistening green orbs. He wanted to twist it around, make the blame his own, and if he could then it would make sense to him. If he couldn't make it his own fault, he could blame God or the medical staff for not being there for him when he needed it. But if it was Sam's fault, Dean would have to take him off the pedestal he had place him on, and if he ever did he would finally see how horribly flawed Sam truly was.

"Don't do that, Dean. Don't turn it around to try an' make it fit into this crazy need you have to put all the blame on y-yourself." His voice crack, trembling with scarcely controlled emotion as he jabbed a finger toward Dean. "I shot the gun. I started the avalanche – an' I'm the one who signed the papers allowing them to take your leg. So don't you dare let me off easy."

"Is that what you want, Sam? You want me to hate you?" Dean gave a slight nod of his head, face contorting with all the pain and anger he was feeling inside. "Well, I'm sorry, little brother, but I just don't have it me at the moment to make you feel better. You wanna blame yourself, go the fuck ahead, but I've gotta live with this, an' I'll damn well do it any freakin' way I want to."

Unbearable silence filled the room, and for as close as their beds were situated, they might as well have been in different hospitals all together. Sam actually breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened and a nurse entered the room, and although he wasn't certain, he believed he heard Dean do the same. If they didn't have to speak to each other, they both could pretend for a while longer that things hadn't changed between them.

SNSNSNSNSNSN

Dean kept his sights trained on the sterile bandages wrapped over his left knee as the nurse wheeled Sam out of the room to go for more chest x-rays. I shot the gun. I started the avalanche – an' I'm the one who signed the papers allowing them to take your leg. So don't you dare let me off easy. His mind replayed their conversation over and over again, but kept circling back to those simple truths, and anger swelled within him.

He heard a knock and the door open again, but didn't raise his head, not trusting himself to look at his brother at the moment.

"Dean." An unfamiliar voice called out to him, and he glanced up expecting to see a doctor or nurse, but instead found a man with dark wavy hair and blue eyes standing at the doorway. "Umm, my name's Hank, an' I just wanted to stop by an' see how you an' Sam were doing."

Dean studied the man carefully, and noted the orange rescue jacket emblazoned with a yellow cross he carried slung over his forearm. A deep scowl furrowed his brow and hitched at his lips as he looked the man in the eyes. "How's it look like I'm doing?" he lashed out at him, gesturing toward what was left of his leg. Deep down he knew it wasn't this man's fault for what happened to him, but he needed to direct his anger toward something, and he would be damned if he aimed it toward Sam.

"You look like you're alive," Hank commented, trudging the short distance to the chair beside Dean's bed, and took a seat. "I think if you were dead, you'd probably look a whole helluva lot worse."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his bed, feeling Hank's scrutinizing eyes on his leg and quickly covered it with a blanket. "You've done your job, so why the hell are you here?"

"Wow, a thanks for risking my life to save you would've been nice, but I guess that works just as well." He laughed, not fazed in the slightest by Dean's cutting manner.

"Yeah, well, thanks a fuckin' heap for rescuing me so I could live the rest of my life as a cripple," Dean snapped, at the end of his patience with the infuriatingly cheerful man. "Now can you get the hell out of my room?"

Hank instantly sobered, the smile leaving his face as he shook his head. "That's not true, Dean. The only thing that's crippling you is your preconceived notion of what you can't do anymore. An' it's a damn far stretch from reality."

"How would even begin to know the first thing about it." His hands balled into fists, and it took every bit of self-control he possessed not to try and lunge at him. "I can't do my job with one leg." He splayed out a hand, motioning toward his legs. "An' I definitely can't protect my brother like this."

"You're right, I don't know what kind of job it is that you an' your brother do." He bent and rolled up his pant leg, exposing a metal prosthesis for Dean to see. Dean gaped slack-jawed at the metal workings of the artificial limb, and at an unusual loss as to what to say, he lifted his sights to stare at Hank. "But if I can do my job without a leg, I'd have to say it's not entirely impossible." He unrolled his jeans, and smoothed them over his artificial limb. "Of course my other one broke when I went over the ledge trying to save your brother's life, but in all fairness Sam broke his leg on that fall, too." He stood, turned his back on Dean, and headed for the door, calling back over his shoulder. "So if you wanna sit there an' be some helpless cripple that's great. Have at it. But for me, I'd rather be as capable as I possibly can, an' if I fail at least I can say it's not for lack of trying."

"Wait," Dean called out to him, not knowing what he wanted to say, but knew he didn't want him to leave.

Hank stopped with his hand on the door handle, and pivoted to look at Dean. "Yeah, Dean?"

"I-I don't wanna be like this." He swallowed back the painful lump in his throat. His whole life he had fought against insurmountable odds. He had survived so many times where others would have packed it in and called it a day. He was a fighter. A survivor. The only difference this time was he had to fight harder to prove he could do it, because quiting wasn't an option for a Winchester. "Help me." It was the hardest two words he ever had to say to anyone, but also the most rewarding when he saw Hank give a firm nod.

Afternote: I tossed around the idea of having Sam make some sort of deal to save Dean's leg and even considered making the whole thing some sort of freak premontion that Sam had to appease all the Dean fangirls with pitchforks, but I just couldn't do it. It is my belief that people who have amputations are every bit as capable as other people, and it would be doing a great disservice to Dean's strength as a character if I didn't believe he could overcome this obstacle. Seth