Author's note: Once again, a great big thank you for everyone reading, favoriting, following, setting alerts and/or reviewing. It really means a lot. This chapter is writting slightly from more Sam's POV than the last two. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 3
Sam was well-aware of the fact that he wasn't improving. The pain wasn't subsiding, nor was the exhaustion. He was starting to lose hope. He was starting to feel hollowed out. It was two weeks ago now that Dean had been forced to climb into his bed and physically hold him together. It was two weeks ago that he had asked, no, begged Dean to do that for him. It wasn't embarrassment that Sam felt when he thought of that night, or at least not just embarrassment. He knew Dean loved him, he knew Dean would do anything for him and that that incident hadn't made his brother think any less of him. What's more, he really appreciated what his older brother had done for him. So no, he wasn't embarrassed. What Sam felt when he thought about that night was fear. He was afraid that this was going to be the status quo. That things would be like this forever. That he would be like this forever. That he was going to need Dean to not only play nurse but to be his security blanket, personal chef and maid as well. Sure, Dean would do that and more and do so without complaint, but Sam wasn't sure he could ask that of him if his condition became more permanent. In fact, he was starting to be pretty sure that he couldn't.

That night, laying in his bed about an hour after finishing the delicious dinner Dean had prepared (chicken caesar salad, an old favorite of Sam's; even the dressing had been homemade), Sam made a decision.
"Dean?" Sam called out through his open bedroom door.
"Yeah?" Dean answered, showing up only seconds later.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Sam asked.
"Sure, what is it?"
"I think you should sit"
Sam gestured towards the chair at his bedside.

Dean had gotten that chair from the living room and put it there ten days after Sam had gotten home from the hospital. That was when it had become clear to Dean that he would be spending a lot of time in Sam's room: eating, talking, keeping watch after he went to sleep. Sam had been touched by the gesture at the time: he'd thought it was a nice moment. Now he saw it for what it really was: Dean had realized that Sam was going to be in incapacitated for longer than he'd initially thought. He understood that sitting on the edge of his bed or on the floor wouldn't be practical in the long run. It had been a moment of disillusion, maybe even an admission of defeat.

"Okay... What's up Sam?" Dean was sitting in his chair now, a somewhat wary look on his face.
"Dean, I've been thinking... I feel like I'm not improving much. Or, not at all. And-"
"That's not true! You look better and you've been eating more and-" Dean cut in.
"Can you let me finish, please?"
"Yeah, sorry"
"Anyway, I'm not really getting any better. So I figured.. Maybe I should be admitted. To a long term care facility. They have a staff of doctors and nurses and they could-"
"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding right now. Because I've been busting my ass taking care of you-"
"That's exactly the point, Dean! You're running yourself ragged taking care of me! Three meals a day delivered to me in bed. Helping me go to the bathroom. Giving me my pills. You shouldn't have to do that. You're not my nurse, Dean."
"You're damn right I'm not your nurse. I'm your brother. And that means I take care of you. Do you really think I'd ship you off to some home?" Dean spat that last word out as if it were poisonous.
"You make it sound so awful, Dean. They have really nice places where they have gardens and a chef and even a pool and stuff, and yeah those places are expensive but I already talked to Charlie and she said that she could do some hacking and get me in and we could pick one that's nearby and you could come visit a lot but you wouldn't have to do all this stuff for me Dean! You could have time to yourself. You could have a life again." Sam knew he was rambling, but he had to get this out. Dean didn't respond. He just sat there, ran a hand over his face.

The Dean Winchester face-palm. Sam had seen it before, more times than he'd like in fact. It was gesture Dean made when he was truly upset, truly shaken. These days, he made it a lot, almost always in moments when he thought Sam wasn't watching him.
A few days ago (Sam wasn't sure when exactly, his days sort of blurred together now) Dean had run his hand over his face just like he was doing now, after he thought Sam had gone to sleep. It had been a bad day and they were both exhausted.
Through nearly-closed lids Sam had seen him do it and he had realized once again how much his condition was taking out of his brother. Sam was suffering, sure, but Dean was suffering right along with him. It was that night that, after Dean had finally gone to bed, Sam had first texted Charlie to ask her a few financial questions.

Dean still wasn't saying anything. Sam could no longer stomach the silence.
"Dean, I-" As if Sam's words were his cue to speak, Dean suddenly started talking.
"Sammy... I could get mad at you for talking to Charlie about this before coming to me. But none of that matters if you don't understand that I would never send you off somewhere instead of taking care of you myself. You talk about me having a life? Sam, my life wouldn't be worth a damn thing without you here. And if that sounds stupid or lame or whatever, I don't care. Because it's true. I've said it once and I'll say it again if I have to: there has never been anything I would put in front of you." Dean's voice was shaking, his eyes were wet. He took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, and continued.

"If it's any consolation to you, I still have time for other things. I talk to Garth about fallen angel stuff and I help him with research. I do my own research in the library. I check up on Kevin every once in a while. Sometimes I watched some crappy daytime TV or I read. Sometimes, when I'm on my grocery run, I go to Starbucks and have a cup of coffee and talk to the hot barista. And yeah, after that I come back here. And I take care of you. And yeah, it gets hard sometimes. But no matter how crappy it gets, I'll come back. And I'll take care of you. I don't care if it takes another month, another year or a friggin' century. Because I'm your big brother. And because that's what I do. "

Sam had no doubt that Dean meant what he was saying. That Dean would go to the end of the world and back for him if he had to. That Dean would willingly turn himself inside out if it would help him. That Dean wanted, needed to take care of him. He still felt guilty about the ten thousand things Dean did for him, but he knew (had already known before now, why had he even brought this whole thing up?) that Dean wouldn't have it any other way. He knew that, and he loved his brother for it.

Sam reached for Dean's hand. Dean took it into his own, using his other hand to wipe at his eyes.
"Thank you Dean, seriously."
"Don't mention it, Sammy. Just... Promise me, no more of this 'putting you into a home'-crap, okay?"

"Okay, promise."