Dean sat on the edge of the maroon cushioned chair, elbows resting on bouncing legs as his hands hung between his knees. He hated the way he felt when he was separated from Sam, when Sam was out of his sight. Anxious and panicky, vitals speeding up as time slowed down.

Dean glanced at the clock on the far wall, thinking the damn thing must have stopped because no way had only one minute passed since the last time he checked. He sighed loudly, knowing he should get a grip – Sam was probably fine – but was unable to do so because his little brother had been in surgery for over an hour.

"This should only take about 20 or 30 minutes," had been the surgeon's parting words, and if that was true, then what the fuck was taking so long?

Dean stood abruptly, turning toward the nurses' desk, deciding he would ask just that when Helen suddenly appeared beside him. He instinctively assumed a defensive stance, prepared to eliminate the threat, and then blinked in realization.

"Jesus, lady."

"I'm sorry," Helen replied, completely clueless that in any other circumstance she would be apologizing from the floor. "I didn't mean to startle you, but we have a situation."

Dean felt his heart stutter to a stop – a million possible "situations" flashing through his mind – before it resumed beating on one word, the only thing that mattered: Sam.

"Is Sam okay?"

Helen nodded. "He is now."

Dean's eyes narrowed, not liking the implication that Sam hadn't been okay prior to this conversation. "Now? What the hell does that mean? Where is he?"

"In recovery."

"I wanna see him."

"I know, but first we need to talk."

Dean shook his head. "Talk while you walk, lady." He moved past her, heading in the direction from which she had come just moments before. "Let's go."

Helen stared at him, knowing from their earlier encounter that he was the type who would cause a scene and then find Sam himself if she didn't oblige.

"Fine," she sighed as she furtively glanced at the nurses' desk. "Follow me."

Dean watched as Helen slid her keycard and then pushed through the "Restricted Area" door.

"Tell me about Sam," he said as he did as she had instructed, following behind and then matching her steps.

"His tonsils ruptured unilaterally."

"What?" Dean hissed.

"Don't worry. It's quite common and sounds worse than it is," Helen soothed. "He was being monitored and was never in any danger. The hemorrhaging was brought under control, the tonsils were removed, and everything was cauterized. He's fine."

Dean could hardly hear her over his own erratic heartbeat. Maybe it did sound worse than it actually was but still...shit.

"Sam's doctor would normally be telling you all of this, but he had to go into an emergency surgery right after he finished with your brother." Helen stopped outside a door at the end of the hall. "He'll be available to talk later, but I figured you and Sam would be long gone by then."

Dean stared at the door, knowing Sam was behind it, but something in the nurse's voice made him pause. "Why?"

"Because I ran your insurance information through the system."

Although her tone was neutral, Dean felt adrenaline buzz through his veins as he realized the implications of that statement.

She knew.

Fan…damn…tastic.

Experience had taught him that it was better to offer no excuse than a bad one, so Dean simply nodded and waited for her next move.

"It's hospital policy to verify insurance coverage, especially if a patient is undergoing surgery," Helen explained. "I must admit I was a little suspicious of you and your brother, so I ran the information myself before sending it to billing."

Dean exhaled slowly, uncertain what this woman wanted from him but determined to keep it together.

"So now what?"

Helen glanced at another nurse as she walked by, waiting for her to round the corner before turning back to Dean.

"I don't know your situation, but I know you deliberately gave me false information. You don't have the money to pay for all the medical costs incurred today. The hospital doesn't write off as many cases as it used to, thanks to decreased funding, and even if it did, administration doesn't favor those who attempt medical insurance fraud."

Dean's mouth was dry, his breathing harsh.

Shitshitshit.

As if reading his thoughts, Helen's expression softened. "I also know that you love your brother, and you're doing the best you can for him."

Dean blinked at the sudden sting of tears, momentarily overwhelmed by the situation and the truth of her words. If only she knew how right she was...on both accounts.

"So now what?" Dean repeated, resisting the urge to bust through the door to his left, scoop Sam from the bed, and run like hell. He needed a plan, and the first step in devising an exit strategy was to know her demands.

Helen sighed, staring at the boy in front of her. He may have told her earlier that he was an adult, that he was responsible for his brother – and she didn't doubt either assertion – but the load he carried was still too heavy for his age.

"Sam hasn't awoken from the anesthesia yet, but I've dressed him and removed all IV lines and monitoring equipment," she informed, ignoring his question and crossing to the cart against the wall before removing a brown paper bag from the bottom drawer and pushing it into Dean's hand.

"What's this?"

"Some samples of the pain meds and antibiotics prescribed, along with post-op instructions. It may be another hour or so before Sam wakes, and when he does, he might be nauseous, so keep that in mind. It's likely he'll have a low-grade fever, too, and will probably keep one for the next few days, so don't be alarmed." Helen paused, as if making sure Dean understood the information. "Also, dehydration and post-op bleeding are two of the primary concerns following tonsillectomies, and there's a possibility for ear pain as well. Everything should be fine, but just keep an eye on him."

I always do, Dean thought as he stared at her, his mind catching up with her actions and words.

Apparently he didn't need to devise a plan because Helen already had one, and it matched his perfectly: get Sam and get the hell out.

The paper bag crinkled in Dean's hand as he tightened his grip along the folded top edge. "What's the catch?"

Helen laughed quietly. "No catch. Just consider this an apology for the way I questioned you before."

Dean nodded as Helen glanced around.

"Jean and Shonda just went to get another patient from the OR, so I'm the only nurse on this hall right now. Sam's in there," she said, indicating the door with her chin. "And the exit – "

" – is there," Dean finished, looking over her shoulder.

"Is there," she echoed, holding his gaze when it shifted back to her.

"And the camera pointed at it?"

Helen shrugged. "Worthless."

Dean arched an eyebrow.

"It hasn't worked since a power outage about three weeks ago."

Dean stared at her, his hand tightening on the doorknob. "Thank you."

Helen patted Dean's arm as he brushed by her, entering Sam's room.

"Nurses put their patients above the hospital's bottom line." She shrugged. "I'm just doing my job, hon."

Dean stared at Sam for a moment then glanced over his shoulder as the door began to shut. "Me, too."

Helen smiled, feeling her heart simultaneously swell and crack from the sweet sadness of truth in those two words.

"I know," she whispered, allowing the door to close as she headed back down the hall.

Dean's right foot was on the gas pedal, his left planted against the floor mat as his cell phone balanced on his left knee, the number dialed, the speaker function turned on. His left hand was on the steering wheel, knuckles white and sore from their tight grip, as his right arm curled around Sam, his right hand splayed protectively across his little brother's chest.

As the phone rang, Dean glanced down at the head resting on his denim-clad thigh, hoping Sam wouldn't rouse until they were safe and settled at Jim Murphy's.

It had been close to 6:00 by the time he had successfully navigated his way out of the hospital; no one seeming to notice or care that Dean was carrying Sam like a baby in a blanket, most observers probably just assuming he was a sick child who was sleeping, judging by some of the maternal smiles he had received – and they hadn't been far off the mark.

Dean had gently loaded Sam into the front seat – putting to use years of practice of holding a sleeping little brother and unlocking a door – before sliding into the driver's side and peeling out onto the highway.

"Hello?"

Dean startled at the sound of the familiar voice filling the Impala, having forgotten he dialed the number just seconds before.

"Jim, it's me."

"Dean." Jim sounded relieved and then anxious. "How's Sam?"

Dean glanced down again, noting the slightly flushed face. He remembered Helen saying it was likely Sam would have a low-grade fever, and it seemed as though it had arrived.

Great.

"He's fine."

"You took a little too long to answer, Dean."

Dean smiled; Jim knew him too well. "He's a little warm."

"And?"

"That's it. He hasn't come around from the anesthesia yet, so he's truly fine right now. But I know what's coming..."

The nausea that Helen warned about? Oh yeah. That was guaranteed with Sam.

"Wait," Jim said, sounding confused and a bit annoyed. "They didn't keep him in recovery and post-op observation until he regained consciousness?"

"Nope." Dean allowed the Impala's rumble to fill the silence before adding, "Long story."

"I see."

Dean smiled again, taking comfort in knowing that Jim knew from his experience with the Winchesters what had happened – the reason for their hasty retreat from the hospital – and wouldn't badger him for further explanation later.

"So, you're on your way?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, should be there in about 30 minutes or so."

"Sounds good." The slamming of cabinet doors muffled Jim's voice. "I just returned from the store. I wasn't sure what Sam would feel like eating or drinking, so I got a little of everything."

"Did you get the apple juice?"

"Yes, I remembered, and I also have – "

"Doesn't matter," Dean interrupted. "As long you have apple juice, we're good to go."

Jim laughed just as Sam began to stir under Dean's hand.

"Jim, I hate to cut this short..." Dean glanced down. "...but Sam's starting to move around and – "

"Say no more," Jim assured. "I'll finish putting this stuff away, make sure you boys' room is ready, and see you when you get here. Drive safely."

"Will do. Thanks, Jim," Dean said, letting go of the steering wheel long enough to end the call and slip his phone into the pocket of his leather jacket. He needed to call John, but that would have to wait until later.

Dean had just grasped the wheel again when he heard a slurred, hoarse version of his name followed by a whimper. He grimaced – Sam sounded even worse than before – and gently rubbed his brother's chest.

"S'okay, Sammy," he soothed. "Go back to sleep."

"Don't wanna," Sam whined, his eyes still closed.

"Too bad. Back to sleep."

"Why?"

Dean chuckled. Sam was barely conscious, and he wanted to argue?

"Because."

"Hmm..."

"Sam?"

"M'kay..." Sam sighed, rubbing his face on Dean's thigh before settling, his fingers grasping the leg of his brother's jeans.

Dean smiled – damn, he loved this kid – and continued to rub Sam's chest in slow, even motions as his touch and the Impala's engine lulled his little brother back to sleep.

TBC ~ Thanks to everyone for the reviews and alerts!