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"Sammy... S-Sammy... c'mon, please, Sam..."

Sam wasn't moving. His limp, heavy body lolled in Dean's arms. Dean could feel his brother's blood seeping slowly into his chest. Apparently the shoulder wound was bleeding again... in a few moments that blood would stop pumping. Dean let out a trembling, hacking sob, his tears rushing from his eyes, salty and sharp. God, Sam was even still warm. Dean's whole body was shaking so badly that he could barely keep his grip on Sam, every breath seemed to hit his swollen throat and bounce back out before he could fill his lungs properly. A desperate scream wrenched from his throat, wracked with tears.

"SAM!"

A pale hand came down on Dean's shoulder. "Dean... we can't be found here. De-"

Dean whipped around, still clutching Sam with one arm, his eyes blazing. "Don't you touch him! I'll fucking kill you if you fucking touch him, you demon-spawned fang!"

Opium stared back at him steadily. "Dean, please. We'll take Sam with us, how 'bout that?"

"Get the fuck off me!" Dean snapped, his hand snapping down to the gun that lay on the ground beside his feet.

Opium eyed the gun warily and slowly raised his hands. Dean glared at him a moment longer and then threw down the gun and turned back to Sam. He shut his eyes tightly. Maybe if he prayed, harder than anyone had ever prayed before, maybe he could find some help, some tiny chink of hope that Sam was okay...

Please, God, please, I'll do anything you want, smite me all you like just please, please, please don't kill my brother... please let Sammy live, please... please, God, please, please...

"Dean..."

Dean ignored Opium. The vampire still hadn't moved, and unless he did so soon someone was going to get shot. Dean continued his silent mantra, but then Opium spoke again, his voice loud and insistent.

"Dean! Dean, shut up!"

Dean lifted his tear-streaked face, ready to scream at Opium to go to hell, but something about the vampire's expression stopped him. Opium had knelt down on Sam's other side and had his head cocked to one side, as if listening intently. His eyes were glowing slightly, his lips pressed firmly together as he struggled to resist the blood pouring out of Sam's body. He looked up at Dean.

"Dean, listen!"

Dean blinked at him. And in the silence that followed those two little words came the most beautiful, wonderful, amazing thing that Dean had ever heard in his life. A shallow, tiny, almost inaudiable rasp in, a shuddering whisper out... breathing. Sam was breathing.

Sam was alive.

Dean stared down at his brother, his eyes wide, hardly daring to hope. And yet it was true, Sam was breathing. Dean lifted a trembling hand and pushed Sam's hair back, then ran a hand down his face, gently rubbing Sam's blood-stained cheek with his hand. Sam's half-closed eyes fluttered and then closed in a long, lucid blink.

"Sammy!"

Dean's voice cracked on the word as relief pulsed through him, leaving him weak and shaking. He shut his eyes tightly, dropping his forehead to press it against Sam's.

Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou...

Whatever twist of fate this was, whatever bizarre chance that Lady Luck had thrown at them, whatever second chance he had been given, it didn't matter. Sam was alive.

"Dean!" Opium was rising to his feet, his eyes flickering urgently. "We have to get him to a hospital. Hey!"

Dean flinched as Opium barked out the word, slowly beginning to get a grip on himself again. Opium glared down at him, jaw tight.

"He's spitting blood, which means internal bleeding and he's just been thrown from a rooftop. He'll die if we don't get him help now."

Dean nodded, shaking himself inwardly for being so slow. They could celebrate later - Sam's life was still on the line. Dean rapidly slipped an arm under Sam's knees, curled his hand into the far shoulder of Sam's jacket and then rose to his feet. Sam's head lolled into his neck, blood leaking from his open mouth to stain the rim of Dean's T-shirt. The back of his head was exposed and Dean found himself staring down into hair matted with thick dark liquid. Fighting down a rush of nausea, Dean turned and strode towards the road. Opium streaked past him towards the car and Vicky followed him at a run, already shouting into her mobile. Dean barely noticed them. In his arms, Sam felt as helpless and heavy as death itself. Dean found himself shifting his hands awkwardly, almost scared to grip him too tightly, as if his bones were suddenly thin and hollow like a birds, as if he was too fragile to be carried in such a way. He clutched at Sam's jacket, terrified of tripping or dropping him...

...Dean heaved Sam out of the creaking wooden cot that stood in the corner of the motel room. Sam cooed and giggled, reaching out with tiny hands to grab at Dean's shirt and hair. Dean grinned and then gasped as his foot slipped on a stray toy, carelessly tossed to the floor. Sam was much heavier these days, and the sudden extra weight drove them almost drove them down to the floor. For a few seconds Dean teetered precariously, fighting with gravity, his eyes wide with fear. Then strong hands sudden came down from behind him and whisked Sam up out of reach, a sharp, furious voice breaking the tense silence.

"Sam! Christ, Dean, you almost dropped him!"

Dean whirled around to look up at his father. John was staring at Sam in terror, as if trying to see if Dean had cracked the baby's smooth, porcelin skin. Dean's bottom lip automatically began to tremble at the sound of being shouted at, but then John looked at him again.

"You never, ever let your baby brother fall, you hear me? He's too fragile, too young, Dean. You can't just drop him like that, you hear me? Do you understand?"

His voice had steadily been getting louder, but strangely Dean no longer felt tears threatening. Instead, he found himself staring at the tiny figure in his father's arms, bright eyes sparkling with life. He imaginned Sam falling from his hands and shattering as he hit the ground, smashing into a thousand glittering pieces like tiny diamonds... so precious.

"Dean!"

"Yes, sir," Dean whispered. "I'll take care of Sam."

He held out his hands. John hesitated but across the room his mobile began to ring. He scowled and then carefully handed Sam over before walking away. Dean wrapped his arms tentatively around his baby brother. Sam reached up and clasped Dean's top, his fat fist closing in the matireal. Dean looked back at him seriously.

"I won't let you fall Sam," he said. "Not ever."

"I promise..."

"You hold on, now, Sammy," Dean growled, his eyes filling with tears once more as the memory overwhelmed him. "You're not falling yet."

He reached the Impala. Opium had already climbed into the drivers seat. At any other time, Dean would have scalped any man who tried to take the wheel of his car without permission... but right now there were more important things at stake than his glossy baby. Vicky had opened the back door and was standing beside it, ready to help, but Dean ignored her. Instead, he ducked into the car with Sam still clutched in his arms and scooted awkwardly to the side. Sam lolled heavily in his arms, threatening to slip from his grasp, but somehow Dean managed to lay him across the seats, his mop-haired head resting on Dean's knees. Vicky shut the door and climbed into the passengar seat. Opium was already jerking the car out off the pavement, tearing straight into the road. Dean flinched as the car shook roughly wrapping both arms around his brother.

"Christ, Opium, take it easy," Dean hissed.

He moved one hand downwards down his brother's arm, trying to get a better grip on Sam without hurting him. His hand passed over a large, hard lump just below the elbow and Sam suddenly moaned weakly, a small shudder running over his body. Dean froze, and then moved his hand over the limb once more as gently as he could. A definate break. Maybe Sam had come down hard on one side before rolling onto his back. Sam suddenly sucked in a sharp breath and his back arched, agony cutting deep lines into his face.

"Sammy? Shh, Sammy, shh," Dean whispered, cupping Sam's cheek with one hand. "Its okay, you're gonna be just fine."

Sam's eyes slid open to reveal dull, glassy orbs overflowing with tears. His brother let out a weak sob and Dean's heart shattered in his chest. He reached for Sam's hand, leaning over as far as he could to try and get into Sam's line of sight.

"Hey, hey," he said softly. "I'm here, Sammy, I'm right here. We're gonna get you to a hospital. I'm gonna watch out for you, okay, bro? I've gotcha back."

Sam's glazed eyes stared straight through him. His whole body was rigid with pain, giving a short shake every so often as if trying to push the agony away. A tear slid out over his temple, running down into his hair. His breathing was shallow and loud, and it was taking up way too much effort. Dean could tell from the sharp, sudden gasps, the way each breath seemed to have to tear through another painful sob before reaching his lungs. And there was nothing Dean could do to help him. He kept talking, his voice soft and reasurring, but he doubted that Sam could even hear him. If he could, he wasn't letting on.

Opium kept his eyes fixed on the road. One hand was rubbing across his nose and mouth every few seconds, as if he was about to throw up, and he had the window all the way down. He was clearly having trouble with the bloodlust. Vicky knew better than to try and talk to him; it would only break his focus. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder every few moments to look at the Winchesters, or at her watch, or at the road. Sam's rasping, agonized gasps filled the car, every time tearing a fresh hole through Dean's chest. His comforting monologue was starting to falter - his voice was trembling and halting. Sam couldn't survive much more of this. Soon he was either going to pass out - maybe for good this time - or start to convulse from the pain. And Dean knew that as soon as that happened, his whole composure would smash...

"Here," Opium said suddenly, turning left. "We're here."

Dean glanced through the window to be met with sharp white and red lights, large signs, the clear colours of ambulances in rows. His mind was barely taking any of it in. He just needed to get Sammy help, right now. Opium braked sharply directly in front of the ER and Dean began to struggle towards the back door of the car, trying desperately not to move Sam. Sam's breathing still hitched and he jerked slightly, eyes sliding upwards into his head. Vicky scrambled out of the car and ran around to help, but Opium stayed motionless, gripping the wheel in a vice-like hold.

Vicky got the door open and Dean tried to manouvere himself out. He managed to get his legs on the ground and stand, still holding Sam under the shoulders. Slowly, carefully, he began to pull Sam backwards out of the car. Sam let out a short cry, his whole body tensing sharply, his eyes squeezing shut. Dean swore loudly.

"Get help!" he spat at Vicky, who started and then made for the ER. Dean turned his gaze on Opium. "Christ, fang, help me!"

Opium gave a tiny shake of his head. "Dean... I can't..."

"You can't?" Dean repeated. "What the fuck does that mean!? Like Sam hasn't done enough for you?"

"I can't!" Opium snapped, whipping his head around. Dean caught sight of the red bloodlust shimmering in his eyes, saw the fangs protruding over his lip. Opium glared at him. "Unless you want your brother drained," the vampire snarled, "I'm staying right here."

A sudden volley of voices from behind him pulled Dean's attention away, and he turned. Two paramedics and a nurse were rushing towards him, wheeling a stretcher between them. A sudden relief flooded over him and he turned to meet them, still holding Sam around the chest. One of the paramedics dashed ahead and helped to lift Sam awkwardly out of the car and onto the stretcher. Sam's body twisted in pain, his face screwed up, his body twitching sharply.

"Its okay, Sam!" Dean called to him as the two paramedics ran with the stretcher into the ER. He made to follow them, but the nurse held him back.

"Please, I need the details of his accident, his name, his age...?"

"Sam," Dean mumbled, trying to see past her. "Sam... Elk. He fell from... a window."

"A window?" she repeated, nodding. "How many storeys up?"

"Two, maybe three, I..." Dean shook his head helplessly. How far up was a church roof? "I... I'm sorry..."

"Its alright," she said, smiling sympathetically. "Mr...?"

"Dean. I'm his... brother."

That last word felt like a betrayal. Would a real brother have sent his sibling up onto a roof in the middle of a storm to break up a fight between two bloodthirsty vampires? God, no. Dean should have been there, he should have saved him...

"Mr. Elk, we'll do everything we can for your brother," the nurse assured him, moving with him into the ER. "Please take a seat and we'll-"

"You better tell me," Dean said, his voice low and shaking. "You damn well better tell me as soon as you know anything, even if its just that he's conscious or unconscious or... or..." he pressed both hands over his face, and then looked up sharply. "He had a wound at the back of his head. Broken arm, right arm, he woke up in the car but I don't think he could hear me. You need to make sure he has no internal bleeding and-"

"Its alright, Mr. Elk," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We'll take care of him. Please take a seat."

Dean watched her turn and walk away, still scribbling on her clipboard. He stumbled back against the wall, pulling in a deep, shuddering breath. Then, unable to keep himself composed any longer, he slid down the wall and sat on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, head burried in his arms. And for the second time within half an hour, Dean Winchester cried and prayed and cried and prayed until he could no longer breathe.

Okay, its one in the morning so I'm going to bed... hope you enjoyed the chapter!

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