Dean sighed, the sound exceptionally loud in the eerie quiet of the library, and leaned forward in his chair, pushing back the stack of books and resting his elbows on the table. He covered his face with both hands, rubbing his eyes with his fingers before moving them laterally to massage his temples.

He was tired.

He was hungry.

And he was pissed.

He had been stuck in this shitty library doing research all day – hell, ever since he got to Ida Grove – while his dad was in Who-The-Fuck-Knows, USA.

Dean had arrived in Ida Grove on Wednesday, but by that evening, John had gotten a lead on another hunt a few towns over. Cleary frustrated and restless with the tedious nature of the current hunt, John had left, instructing Dean to continue to research in his absence, so they could get to work when he returned.

"I'll be in touch," John had promised early Thursday morning, before climbing into his truck and disappearing into the darkness.

Dean shook his head. After all his talk about backing each other up, John had just left...and Dean hadn't heard a word from his dad since.

Typical John Winchester.

Dean sighed again.

When he had turned eighteen a few months ago, when John had given him the keys to the Impala, Dean thought that finally his dad would view him as an adult, as a partner whose input was not only desired but valued.

He was wrong.

His father still expected no-questions-asked obedience – stay here and research...period – and after the past few days, Dean was beginning to understand why Sam seemed to bristle at such an expectation: it was a pain in the ass.

Speaking of pains in the ass...

Dean smiled as his thoughts turned to his brother.

He was worried, as only big brothers could be, and still felt guilty about having to leave Sam – especially since his departure from Jim's was for nothing since John had bailed...again.

Dean had tried to call every night to check on his brother, but each night since Wednesday had yielded the same results: static on the line, followed by an ear-piercing beep and some woman's voice telling him the call could not be completed at this time...or apparently any other time.

Swearing had filled the air as Dean had ranted to the empty motel room after each failed attempt to connect with Jim...or more importantly, with Sam. He had assumed that the adage was true – that no news was good news – and knew that Jim would call if something was wrong with Sam, but still...

Dean shook his head and stared at the books in front of him. If he had known "researcher" would be his sole function – and solo function – in this hunt, he would have stayed at Jim's to keep an eye on his little brother and researched from there, relaying any pertinent information to John over the phone.

Dean snorted.

Right. That would work well because Dad always answers my calls and returns my messages.

With that thought, Dean pulled his phone from the pocket of his leather jacket, not surprised that there were no missed calls from John. He knew that sometimes the signal sucked and didn't allow communication – as evidenced when he tried to call and check on Sam every night since Wednesday – but more often, his dad just used that as an excuse to be out of touch when he didn't want to talk.

Dean continued to stare at his phone, as if he could will it to ring, and was startled when it did just that. He blinked, focusing his eyes on the caller display.

"Pastor Jim?" he answered, ignoring the librarian's glare as she pointed to the "no cellular phones" sign.

"You need to come back here."

Jim wasted no time in pleasantries, and his voice was tight with tension, bringing Dean to his feet. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Sam's in Intensive Care."

"He's what?"

"Shhhh!" the librarian hissed, and Dean promptly flipped her off.

"In Intensive Care," Jim repeated slowly, as though he couldn't comprehend it either.

"What the hell?" Dean stood in stunned stillness as the librarian rounded the corner of her desk and headed in his direction. "What happened?"

There was silence.

"Jim!" Dean called loudly, wondering if the signal had been lost...and if the librarian knew what kind of shit would hit the fan if she tried to take the phone away from him. "What happened to Sam?"

Jim sighed. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Dean repeated incredulously.

"Excuse me, sir."

Dean glared at the librarian as she stood at the head of the table.

"No cellular phones allowed," she declared, hands on her hips. "It's the rules."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, feigning interest as he lowered the phone. "Well, in that case...fuck you and your rules."

The librarian gasped dramatically and spun around, stomping back toward her desk.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Dean responded, watching the librarian dial her own phone and then talk animatedly while glancing in his direction. "What's wrong with Sam?"

"Everything's wrong."

Dean could hear the shock in the Pastor's voice. "What the hell does that mean?"

"His heart rate is too fast. His blood pressure and oxygen levels are too low. Everything's just wrong."

"Shit..." Dean hissed, both at the information Jim had just relayed and at the two security guards that suddenly appeared around the corner.

"Dr. Collins says – "

"Dr. Collins?" Dean interrupted, yanking his leather jacket from the back of his chair.

"Sam's attending," Jim briefly explained. "He says that's why he collapsed."

"Collapsed?" Dean hesitated at the word and then disappeared between two bookshelves, lowering his voice. "When? Where?"

He ducked into the hall, glancing over his shoulder at the two security guards turning themselves in circles, as the librarian couldn't seem to make up her mind about which direction Dean had gone.

"Jim?"

"About an hour ago at the house."

Dean sighed, trying to keep it together as he continued down the hall. "How is he now?"

Jim paused. "He's stable right now, but he's still covered in bruises. On his stomach, his chest, his shoulders..."

"Bruises?" Dean yelled, digging in the right pocket of his jeans for the Impala's keys. "From what?"

More silence.

"Jim!" Dean burst through the library doors. "From what? What happened?"

"He fell."

Those two words made Dean instantly stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a dozen scenarios flashing through his mind but all ending with the same conclusion: Sam fell...and I wasn't there to catch him.

"Sonuvabitch!"

"Dean – "

"You were supposed to take care of him, Jim! Where the hell were you?" Dean lashed out.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I – "

"I told you not to leave him alone!"

"I know. I'm – "

"Then why did you leave him alone? Where were you?"

Jim sighed. "Bobby had stopped by the house, and I was outside with him when it happened."

"Where did he fall?"

"On the stairs. He was going back up last night after dinner and – "

"Last night?" Dean repeated. "Why didn't you call me then?"

"Because..."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Because?"

"Because I didn't know last night."

Dean pressed his fist to his forehead, eyes shut, slowly walking in a tight circle as he willed himself to calm down. He could hear the regret and guilt in Jim's voice, and he couldn't blame the Pastor.

Sam could be a stubborn little shit, and as intrinsically good as Sam was, he was also becoming one hell of a liar. Withholding the entire truth with the right intentions for the wrong reasons tended to be Sam's forte these days – not to mention him being able to work the combo of those bangs and those eyes like nobody's business – so, Dean wasn't surprised that his little brother had managed to keep Jim clueless.

Seeing through Sam's bullshit and calling him on it was Dean's job.

Being there to catch Sam when he fell was Dean's job.

Taking care of Sam was Dean's job.

And John Winchester had taken him away from his job.

"I never should have left him."

"Dean – "

"I should've told Dad to shove this hunt up his ass!"

"Dean – "

"I never should have left him, Jim! Shit happens...especially to Sam...especially when I'm not around."

"Dean!"

Dean sighed harshly at the Pastor's raised voice and started walking towards the Impala. "So the bruises...they just indicate he got banged up or what?"

"We don't know yet. His spleen is enlarged, possibly ruptured, and they're suspecting internal bleeding along with – "

"Internal bleeding?" Dean interrupted.

Fuck.

"Nothing's conclusive yet," Jim placated.

"Why is his spleen enlarged?"

"We don't know. They've run a few blood panels, done an ultrasound, but they're going to wait at least until morning before they run all the other tests. He's barely stable, and they said doing anything else right now would be too much for him." There was another pause and then the Pastor's voice continued, laced with desperation. "Dean..."

Dean found himself standing beside the Impala and felt his jaw tighten against the emotion that suddenly surged through him. This was not happening. Not to Sam. Nothing could happen to Sam. He could handle anything but that.

"Which hospital?"

"United."

"I'm on my way." Dean opened the driver's side door and slid behind the wheel. "Wait...do they know about – "

"It hasn't been mentioned," Jim assured, knowing Dean was concerned about the insurance situation encountered during Sam's surgery. "Besides, Sam's admitted under 'Sam Murphy' this time, and he's on my insurance. Everything's taken care of on that front."

"Jim, we can't – "

"Shut up, Dean."

Dean did as he was told, simultaneously surprised and amused by the Pastor's blunt response and uncharacteristic terseness...and also immensely grateful for what he had done. They didn't have many friends, but the ones they did have were more like family.

"Quality trumps quantity," John had once remarked, and Dean agreed.

"Does Dad know?" Dean asked as he cranked the Impala.

"He didn't answer his phone, so I called you."

Dean snorted. Story of my life...

"Yeah, well…" Dean's voice trailed off as he pulled into the street. "I have no idea where he is, but I'll call him, too."

"Wait," Jim said, his tone confused, then annoyed. "What do you mean you have no idea where he is? Aren't you two hunting together?"

"Not since Thursday morning. He got a lead in another town and headed out."

"Where was he going?"

"Hell if I know..."

"He didn't say?"

"No. Just got the lead and left, heading north."

"Have you heard from him?"

"What do you think?" Dean asked sarcastically.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Dean wondered, not for the first time, if Jim ever silently swore. If anyone could make him do it, it would be the Winchesters.

"I'll call Bobby," Jim stated, as though the decision was already made. "Get him to track down your father."

Now it was Dean's turn to be silent. The plan of putting Bobby on John's trail confirmed what he already knew despite Jim's previous efforts to placate: this was Sam-might-not-make-it serious.

Fuck.

He needed to hear his little brother's voice.

"Is Sam awake?"

"No. He hasn't been awake since we left the house."

Dean swallowed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Well, if he wakes up before I get there, tell him – "

"I'll tell him you're on the way," Jim interrupted. "He kept asking for you earlier, so that should make him happy."

The Pastor chuckled softly, sadly, and Dean felt tears sting his eyes.

The rumble of the Impala filled the silence before Dean cleared his throat. "I'll, um..." He cleared his throat again. "I'll see you soon," he said hoarsely, ending the call and pushing harder on the gas pedal.

TBC