Yes – a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Big thanks as always to my wonderful editors and readers. Those of you kind enough to leave reviews, and you know who you are, are always awesome. On with the AU!

Chapter 18: Hospital Blues

(AU replacement for IMTOD)

Sam heard the noises and lots of voices shouting. His eyes did not want to open, however. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something that he should be worried about. That something pressed forward hard, demanding his attention. Sam was perfectly content to ignore it and everything else, especially the heavy sounds of a helicopter. Helicopter sounds never meant anything good. If all of Dad's Viet Nam stories were to be believed, the sound of a helicopter always meant a battle. Usually the wounded were carried off by chopper.

Wounded.

The word echoed around for a while, making his head hurt. Sam wanted to ignore it, like everything else, but it would not go away. Wounded. Were there wounded? Was that the reason for the helicopter?

His eyes flashed open. "Dad!" Sam looked up into a stranger's face. "Dean!" he shouted.

The stranger put a restraining hand on Sam's chest. "Easy, kid," he said in a neutral voice. "We'll get you to the hospital real soon."

"But my dad and my brother!" Sam protested, trying to sit up. He discovered he was strapped to one of those gurneys, or whatever the hell they were called. Sam had always assumed that he would be able to break free of those wimpy-looking straps if he really wanted. He was wrong. The strangers hovering over him threatened to put him under if he didn't quit struggling. They also refused to tell him if Dad and Dean were even alive. His last lucid thought was about how he wanted to use these straps on the bastards holding him hostage. He shouted threats at them even as the needle plunged into his arm.

His mouth felt dry and fuzzy. Sam smacked his lips, wanting some water. His lips felt funny, like they were huge and not completely connected to the rest of his face. With an effort, Sam forced his eyes to open. Boring. Plain ceiling with those stupid fluorescent lights like they had in hospitals. He rolled his head to one side and was greeted with the sight of hospital monitors with lots of flashing lights and graphs and things. Cool.

He rolled his head to the other side. There was an empty chair pulled up next to the bed, like someone had been sitting there. Sam tried sitting up, after all nothing hurt, but he couldn't. A little investigative work, namely looking down at himself, showed that he was strapped to the bed. Now why would they do that?

Sam tried wetting his lips with his dry tongue. It didn't help much. "Hey!" he managed to croak, but it certainly was not loud enough to reach the doorway much less a nurses' station. There should be a call button or something. Sam tried looking for it, but his vision started to swim. Actually, it was kind of interesting. Colors from the monitors spread, bleeding into the walls and the sheets. Sam laughed to himself, twisting his head from side to side to watch the effect.

"Oh, we're awake." A voice came from his other side. Sam bobbed his head in agreement, the colors bobbing with his movements. That was so awesome! Dean had to try this. Really.

"I'm sure your father will be back soon," the voice continued. Interested now, Sam turned to see the source of this voice. An older man in a white doctor's coat walked up to his bed holding a chart. "He has insisted on checking on you and your brother personally." The doctor leaned over to whisper, "I don't think he trusts the nurses."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "He has his reasons." The light from the fluorescent panels in the ceiling caused streaks over the doctor's face, obscuring Sam's view. "Good reasons," he added.

The doctor seemed to be waiting for something, but Sam couldn't figure out what.

"Where is my brother?" Sam asked, pulling experimentally at his bonds. There was no give whatsoever. Figured. "I want to see him."

The doctor chuckled, which Sam found very irritating. The chuckle caused a ripple on his light smears. "I'm sorry, but you're not moving out of that bed for at least a week."

"You just said that my Dad is running between me and Dean, and he has a gunshot wound. I don't." Sam glared at the doctor, whose face was still blurry. Blurry people shouldn't be allowed to be unreasonable. "And why am I tied up?"

"Restrained," the doctor said in a voice much like a high school English teacher, "and you've been sedated. For your own good. That was a pretty nasty blow you took to the head. You've been raving about demons and monsters for hours. And I thought I had bad nightmares. You should consider therapy."

Sam stared, not really comprehending what the doctor was going on about. Stupid, frigging, unreasonable doctors. And why the hell was Dad running between him and Dean? "Wait a minute," he said slowly, attempting to put words together coherently. "Where's Dean? What's wrong with him?" The doctor did not answer right away. "What is it?" Sam demanded, pushing against the straps holding him down. "What's wrong!"

The doctor took a step back. "We might need some more sedatives here."

"Where's Dean!"

"Where's Dean!" Sam's voice echoed in the otherwise quiet hospital halls. John limped as quickly as he could to his younger son's room. The nurses had assured him Sam wouldn't be waking any time soon. Stupid nurses.

John grasped the doorframe as he slid into Sam's room. Sam was awake, that was pretty clear. His son strained against the straps holding him to the bed, neck muscles corded and taut, face turning red with exertion. A doctor stood over Sam, threatening more sedation.

"Sam!" John snapped, making his way to the bed. "Lie down!" he ordered in his best drill sergeant voice. Sam hated and resented it when John used it, but it always worked. Sam instantly lay back down, though he continued to glare at the doctor.

John waved the doctor out of the room. The man looked relieved, though he made another threat of sedatives if Sam did not remain calm and cooperative. When John got a good look at his son, he knew part of Sam's problem was overmedication. Sam's eyes were wide and bleary, like he couldn't focus. When Sam had trouble thinking, he became angry and tended to take it out on everyone he considered 'unreasonable'. John figured he would be next.

He sat on the edge of Sam's bed so he could rest a comforting hand on his son's arm. With a gentle squeeze, he asked, "How's the head?"

Sam squinted up at him. "Hurts," he said in a little boy voice. His unfocused eyes wavered across John's face. "Where's Dean?"

John took a deep breath. He had hoped Sam wouldn't ask, at least not right away. "ICU. He's still out."

Sam's brow creased. "ICU? Why? What's wrong with him?" One arm struggled under the restraints.

John shifted to put his hand in Sam's, give his son some illusion of control. "Easy, Sammy. Don't get all worked up. The doctors say he's got a good chance. There's some internal bleeding and a couple of bruised organs, but that's not what has them worried."

"Dad?" Sam looked up at John with the same eyes that he had when he was a kid, those eyes that looked to John to fix everything wrong with the world. John had fallen far short of those expectations, time and again. "What's wrong?" His voice was soft yet demanding.

"Uh..." John cleared his throat. "It's his head. He took a pretty nasty blow when that semi hit us."

"Semi?" Sam's confused eyes wandered over the room. "That would explain the hospital. How's the car?"

John just stared at Sam for a moment, not quite processing that. Sam never really cared about the Impala.

"Because Dean's going to be pissed if it's bad," Sam explained.

John could not help but smile at his youngest. "Dean's going to be pissed," he confirmed.

"Damn," Sam breathed out. "Where is it?"

"I called Bobby. He's going to haul it back to his place," John said.

Sam nodded, his brow creasing with thought. "Dean and Bobby don't get along too well," he said slowly. "Tell Bobby to behave himself after we get out of here."

"Sure, Sam," John promised, running his fingers through Sam's shaggy bangs. "You just go back to sleep now. I can stay here for a while, make sure they don't slip you more drugs."

Sam yawned as he nodded. "Better get back to Dean's room," he said sleepily. "If he wakes up by himself he thinks he's been abandoned." One hand attempted to point a finger at John. "Your fault. Go fix it." Sam's eyes slipped closed.

John ran his fingers through Sam's hair again. "Okay, son. I'll do that. But I'll always come when you start yelling."

The ends of Sam's mouth creased upwards in a slight grin before it was broken by a light snore. John waited a few minutes, to be sure Sam was asleep, before heading back to ICU. The sight that greeted him there never failed to make his blood run cold.

Dean had all kinds of wires and tubes running in and out of his body, a ventilator breathed for him, and the room was full of the constant pinging of monitors. His face was waxy pale, except for the deep purpling on one side. Unfortunately John remembered all too well how that happened. The sound of Dean's head hitting the wall still echoed in his mind, the sickening thump of his slack body falling to the floor. This was the reason he left in the first place, the reason he had abandoned Dean, to save the kid from additional pain and suffering. Great job on that, Winchester.

"Mister Adams," the breathless voice of Dean's doctor came from behind. John paused before retaking his chair. "I need to speak with you about Gerald."

"You mean Sam?" he asked, not turning around. "What about him? He's asleep."

"Yes, sir. At the moment. Do both of your sons go by their middle names?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah. Family tradition." John sank into the chair at Dean's bedside, grateful to take the weight off his right leg. It was starting to throb painfully. As long as it didn't start bleeding again, they couldn't make him leave his sons. "What about Sam?"

He noticed Dean's heart monitor speed up. Interesting.

"When he does wake, he isn't lucid and becomes violent. We need to keep him fully sedated for now, at least until his injuries are better."

Dean's heart monitor spiked.

"No," John replied calmly. Dean's monitor instantly evened out. He was listening. "As a matter of fact, you need to take Sam off those sedatives. Just give him the minimum he needs to control any pain he might be in and lay off the rest." John turned in his chair to regard the doctor. "A drugged Sam is an irrational Sam. If you want him under control, he needs to be lucid. Any time he starts to wake up, come get me. I'll make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

He redirected his attention to Dean. "I'll be right here." There was another blip on the heart monitor.

John waited until the doctor left before he spoke again. "Yeah, I'm here, Dean. I'm not leaving unless Sammy needs me, okay? I'm staying right here." Another answering blip on the heart monitor. John grinned at it. Dean was still inside there, someplace.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse rushed into Dean's area, "only one visitor is allowed in ICU at a time. One of you will have to leave."

John cocked his head to glare at her, seeing Sam do the same from the other side of Dean's bed.

"Make me," Sam growled. The nurse backed away, a shocked look on her face. John chuckled to himself as he redirected his attention to Dean's still form.

"What's so funny?" Sam demanded after the nurse left.

John smiled at his boy. "You. I never knew you could be scary like that, Sammy."

Sam shrugged, but a smile pulled at his lips. "I learned from the best," he replied.

"Smartass," John snapped. "You weren't that scary with Hanes."

Sam frowned over Dean. "I tried to be. I wasn't?"

John shook his head. "Maybe you need more practice." Sam did not respond. When the silence reached a critical level, John cleared his throat. "Good to see you two getting along."

Sam snorted. "Never thought we'd meet, did you?"

John lifted his head to meet Sam's gaze dead-on. "Honestly?" he asked. Sam's glare hardened. Of course Sam wanted an honest answer. "No. I didn't. Dean asked to meet you I don't know how many times. Even made me go to Stanford, check up on you. Make sure you were okay."

Sam's gaze softened, shifted back to Dean. "Really? He was looking out for me back then, too?" Sam shook his head at Dean. "You know, Dad, when you picked out a big brother for me, you did a damn good job."

"I know," John admitted softly, his thumb rubbing the back of Dean's hand in soft circles. He hoped Dean could feel this, would know they were here waiting for him to wake up.

"He's probably better at it than the original would have been," Sam said softly.

John stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut. Blindsided by two semis in the same week just wasn't fair. How could Sam know about that? Too god-damned smart for his own good, that was Sam's problem. Just too god-damned smart. He couldn't respond. His throat closed up and he was having trouble breathing. Then he felt a strong hand gripping his good shoulder.

"It's okay, Dad. I get it now. We don't have to talk about it, I just wanted you to know that I get it. And it's okay." Sam's voice was soft and soothing and the hand on his shoulder gripped so tight it would probably leave bruises.

"Gonna leave a mark," John managed to force out, eyes still closed.

The hand on his shoulder loosened but didn't let go. "Dad?"

John forced his eyes to open, to meet Sam's heavy gaze. "Hmm?"

Sam gave him a sad smile. "Think we should tell the doctors about the last time Dean took a nasty blow to the head? It took him three days to wake up from that. It hasn't even been three full days yet."

John cleared his throat with a nod. "Sure. Go ahead."

Sam gave him a reassuring nod before standing. John almost felt sorry for this hospital, having to deal with the three of them. Actually, these people were fortunate it was Dean who was still unconscious. John smiled down at the unconscious boy in front of him. Now that was a sight he'd like to see, Dean harassing the hospital staff and flirting with all the nurses, getting them the best care possible.

"Come on, son," he said softly, not wanting to be overheard by any of the ICU staff. "You gotta wake up soon, you have Sam stressing out about you. He won't even go to bed." John glanced over at the heart monitor. He smiled as he saw it racing, comforted by Dean's reaction.

Sam stalked to the nurses' station, objective in mind. Being raised with military training certainly helped in stressful situations. He demanded they contact Dean's doctor, immediately. With the way they rushed around, Sam suspected that he scared more than one of them. Good. If they were scared, they should jump when he wanted.

He waited impatiently as the doctor returned. "Yes?" he asked at the nurses' desk. They pointed Sam out. Sam actually did not have much confidence in Dean's doctor, he looked a little too young and reminded him too much of the asshole who made the terminal prognosis after the electrocution. He did not look happy to see Sam either.

"Mister Adams," the doctor said in a severe tone, "I believe you have been confined to bedrest. You promised if we removed the restraints that you would stay put."

Sam shrugged. "I lied. Look, I just wanted to tell you about my brother. When he was fifteen, a man beat him up bad enough to put him in a coma for three days. Would that have any bearing on his current condition?"

The doctor motioned to a nurse for Dean's chart. He scanned it quickly, flipping through several pages. "It might," he finally said. "We already had an MRI and CT scan done. I'll go review those." He glared at Sam. "You really should have come forward with this sooner."

Sam shrugged. "Dad's blocked it out totally and you were keeping me sedated or I would've said something earlier."

The doctor closed his eyes, shaking his head like he couldn't believe any of this was happening. "I'll let you know after I've reviewed the scans." He let out a heavy sigh. "I take it you'll be in there?" The doctor motioned to Dean's bed.

"Where else?" Sam demanded, walking away.

"He's going to review Dean's tests again," Sam announced as he took his seat opposite Dad. Dad didn't say anything, just nodded. Sam found it difficult to look at his brother in this state. Dean was so very, very still. Even when Dean was asleep he appeared ready to jump into action, not like this.

Sam did not offer any more conversation until a doctor he did not recognize came in. He looked older than the neurologist, with a receding hairline and soft wrinkles around the eyes. "Excuse me," he said in a friendly voice. "I'm the pulmonologist. I'm going to have to ask you two to step out to the waiting area. We're going to see if Dean is ready to breathe on his own. If he is, we'll remove the ventilator."

"Do we have to leave?" Dad asked.

The pulmonologist gave them a warm smile. "I'd prefer it, yes. This usually works much better if family members are not present. I promise, I'll come get you personally."

"I don't like it," Sam said in a low growl.

"Me either," Dad replied, a firm hand on his elbow. "But we're going to do it their way. It's best for Dean."

That got Sam's attention. He allowed Dad to guide him out to the ICU waiting area. Sam kept an eye on his watch, he had no intention of waiting more than half an hour.

"Sam, are you going to pace the whole time?" Dad asked as he stretched out his right leg.

Sam glanced down in sympathy before resuming his pacing. "Yep."

Twenty-eight and a half minutes later the pulmonologist came out into the waiting area. Sam nearly knocked the poor guy over in his rush to hear about Dean. The doctor held both hands up to ward Sam off.

"Easy, now," he said with a nervous chuckle. He sat in a chair opposite Dad. "Dean is breathing on his own now. We've removed the ventilator and put him on oxygen so he doesn't have to work so hard, but I'm encouraged. I've spoken to the internist who has assured me that the internal bleeding had stopped. Many of his organs were bruised pretty severely in the accident, but physically he is starting to recover."

"Dean's tough," Dad replied in a soft voice.

"Doctor Johnson, the chief neurologist, is waiting for you in the ICU. I believe he has reviewed Dean's tests again."

Sam held out a hand to help his father up. In silence, they returned to Dean's bedside where the young doctor, who looked far too young to be chief of anything, checked Dean's eyes. He glanced at their entrance. "Take a seat," he said, returning his attention to Dean.

Sam sat nervously, anxious over what the neurologist might have to say. The doctor checked Dean over pretty thoroughly.

"Dean?" he said, an eye pinned to the heart monitor of all things. "Your dad and brother are here. They seem pretty worried about you."

Dean's heart rate picked up. The doctor smiled as he turned to face them. "He may not be conscious, but he's responsive."

"Yeah, I noticed," Dad said. "What's that mean?"

Dad noticed? When did Dad notice? Sam was starting to see his father in a whole new light, just one more thing Dean was responsible for.

"Responsive is good. We just need to wait until Dean is ready to wake up." He looked back down at the man lying so still in bed, his chest rising gently with each unassisted breath. "Hear that, Dean? Everyone is just waiting on you."

He turned back to them, flipping open a file folder. "I've checked his scans. I can see the old trauma and the new damage is in nearly the same area. That is probably the reason it's taking Dean so long to wake up. Did he suffer any memory loss last time?" the doctor asked.

Shit! Sam looked to his father in a panic. He had no idea. Sam only knew what happened from his research, Dean refused to discuss that part of his past.

"Yeah, some," Dad replied in the authoritative voice people did not argue with. "It's the reason his memory is so bad. He can't remember names at all unless he's around you a lot, or you make a big impression on him."

The doctor nodded, running a hand over his head. "You'll probably find that to be the case again. I'd expect short term memory to be affected more than long term, but we won't really know until Dean wakes. I'll leave word at the nurses' station to call me if there is any change in his condition."

"Thanks, Doc," Dad said with an outstretched hand. He gave the doctor's hand a firm shake with his eyes still on Dean.

Sam waited until they were alone. "Dean has memory loss?" he asked. "He never told me that."

Dad nodded. "Lost about a year due to a head injury, but he never told me how it happened." Dad sighed. "I never really put the two together, that Hanes was responsible. Probably a good thing, or I would've thrown him off the second story, whether Dean liked it or not."

Sam turned to look at his father again. "And if I'd known about the memory loss, I would've insisted."

Sam chuckled as Dean's monitor raced again. "Gotta wake up before you can tell us to stuff it, Dean," he told his brother and was rewarded with another spike in heart activity.

"Atta-boy," Dad rumbled. "Keep it up."