Chapter Six

It was very early when Dean woke his brothers. Sam had fallen into an uneasy sleep somewhere around midnight, after tossing and turning for ages. Adam had fallen asleep using Sam's arm as a pillow and Dean's jacket as a blanket. Dean hadn't slept at all, watching over his brothers and hoping and praying that the antidote worked and Sam would be fine.

Sam woke easily, but Adam was a completely different story, completely rebuffing all of their attempts to wake him up. He ignored Dean's threats about his porn privileges and turned a deaf ear to Sam's patient coaxing, simply closing his eyes and refusing to budge. Finally, irritated to the point of considering murder, Dean took Sam's glass of water and emptied it over Adam.

That had the desired effect – the boy jerked awake, spluttering indignantly. "You ass!" he exclaimed.

Dean merely raised an eyebrow, while Sam laughed. "Easy way doesn't work for you, does it, Small Fry?"

Adam glared and huffed. Then he said, "So we gonna do this or not?"

"We are, let me call Cas," Dean said, pulling out his phone. In the meanwhile Sam inquired quietly about Adam's sleep, and about Lucifer.

"Just one nightmare and one hallucination that lasted barely a minute," Adam told him. "Don't worry, I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, stop mother-henning me," Adam groused.

Sam grinned. "Funny, that's not what you were saying last night."

"Ugh, I hate you," declared Adam, turning red when he remembered his older brothers sitting with him as he slept.

Their conversation was cut short when Cas appeared in a flurry of wings. "Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam. Hello, Adam," he greeted.

"Hey, Cas," replied Sam, and Adam waved lazily.

"All right, let's get down to it," Dean said decisively. He opened the window of the ward wide so that when the sun rose its rays would fall directly into the room and onto the small table where they were going to be mixing the potion.

The three non-blind men worked in silence, while Sam sat and prepared himself for what he knew was coming. If vomiting blood had been hard then detoxing from demon blood was going to be absolutely horrifying, and combined with the effects of the trials, Sam was sure he was soon going to reevaluate his definition of "Ow, this hurts." The only thing that provided him some comfort was that his brothers and Cas were going to be with him.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean said, his voice emotionless, "We're done. All that's left is to leave it in the sun for ten minutes."

"And then?" asked Sam apprehensively.

"And then you drink it," Adam told him. Castiel remained silent.

"Cas?" said Sam. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine, Sam," Castiel answered. "I am just wondering if this is the last time I'm going to see you alive."

Castiel's words gave way to the most uncomfortable silence Adam had ever experienced. He wasn't sure if Cas was sincere, or just being an asshole, but he had a feeling it was the former, considering Castiel was the most socially awkward creature he'd ever come across.

Sam coughed uncomfortably, and Dean growled deep-down in his throat. "I swear, Cas, you say it one more time–"

Castiel frowned at Dean. "I am serious," he informed him. "This is very dangerous for Sam."

"He'll be all right," decided Dean, still glaring daggers. When no one said anything further, Dean turned his back on them and began fiddling with something on the table.

"I hope I did not offend you," Castiel said to Sam when Adam had joined Dean. "I just wish it did not have to be this way."

"I know, Cas, it's okay," Sam assured him.

"I just want you to know," Cas said, sounding hesitant, "that if you are unable to make it, then I'm sorry. And thank you."

"Cas, I'll be fine," Sam said, feeling touched. "Don't worry about it."

Castiel sighed, and then took Sam's hand. "And just in case, Sam – I will never forget our friendship."

Sam smiled sadly. "Me neither, Cas."

"Are we done with the gayness back there?" said Dean loudly and obnoxiously, disguising his own apprehension. "'Cause it's time for him to drink this crap."

Castiel nodded and stepped away from Sam. "Good luck, Sam," he said softly.

"Yeah, you'll be fine," Adam said. Sam smiled at both of them.

Pouring the antidote into a small plastic cup, Dean handed it to Sam, placing his fingers over Sam's to make sure it wouldn't spill. He sat next to Sam and watched as Sam got his hands steady, and then said, "Well... here goes." He downed it in one go and then retched. "This tastes like shit. Are you sure you mixed it right, because–" Before he could continue, he dropped the glass, closed his eyes and fell sideways on Dean.

"What the – SAM!" Dean began shaking his brother, a sick feeling in his stomach. "Sammy!"

"Relax, Dean," barked Cas, stopping Dean from shaking Sam any further. "This is normal. His body has shut down so it can recuperate."

"Are you sure?" Dean almost yelled.

"Yes," said Cas with an emphatic nod.

"I think we should get him out of here," suggested Adam. "The nurses and doctors are going to get suspicious. Let's take him somewhere else."

"All right," agreed Dean. He peeled the blankets off his brother and then wrapped him in his arms, lifting him off the bed. "Let's go."

"I shall leave now," Castiel announced. "I have work to do. Take care of Sam. Call me if you need help."

"Will do, Cas," promised Dean. "Thank you."

"Sam is my friend," Castiel said, a note of sadness in his voice. "It is my duty to help in any way that I can." And then he was gone.

"There's something off with him," observed Adam. "Something bothering him?"

"You mean other than the usual?" grunted Dean, attempting to open the door with Sam in his arms. "I don't know."

Adam opened the door for him and went out first, scoping the corridor to see if the coast was clear. It was, and he signaled to Dean, who carried Sam out.

The kid had lost some more weight, but Dean had no time to worry about it as he carried his brother sneakily through the hospital, with Adam darting ahead and making sure they weren't seen. The boy was surprisingly good at sneaking around, and did a good job of getting them safely to the Impala parked outside. Once they'd gotten to the car Adam unlocked the doors and opened them so Dean could set Sam down in the backseat, and then he sat in the front with Dean.

"Is he going to be okay?" he asked, once the car was going.

"I sure hope so," Dean answered. But he didn't want to think about it, because that would only lead to feeling worse and worrying too much, and that wasn't going to help anyone. So he asked, "Hey, Small Fry, mind if I turn the music up?"

Adam shrugged, and Dean flicked the radio on. The rest of the drive continued with Metallica's Seek and Destroy filling the space between the three brothers.

Once they reached the Batcave, Dean carried Sam to his own room and set him down on the bed, and then said, "Hey, Small Fry, I'm going to set this place up, why don't you do something about food?"

Adam nodded and left for the kitchen. He was being uncharacteristically quiet and subdued, and Dean knew it was because of Sam. The kid hadn't stirred since having dropped, and if Dean didn't know better he'd say Sam looked... dead.

But his face was gaining some of its previous color again, and his skin was getting warmer. Feeling encouraged by that, Dean set about painting sigils on the walls and doors, and putting salt and iron in every small space he could find. Lastly he loaded a couple of guns with rock salt and put them in a corner, just in case, and made sure there were silver knives in his drawer. It wasn't Bobby's panic room, but it came close enough.

Adam returned with a platter of sandwiches and some soda (they'd had no time to replenish their beer supply), and sat down next to Dean on the cold floor. The oldest Winchester had cleaned his room up, and now all his magazines were in a drawer and his clothes in the closet where they belonged. The room looked different, thanks to the unusual tidiness and the sigils.

Dean and Adam ate in silence, both occasionally glancing over at Sam, making sure he was still breathing. The sun was overhead in the sky by now, the light filtering in through Dean's small window and falling on Sam's face, illuminating every single feature. It had been some time since he'd taken the antidote, and Dean figured if it had taken effect they should have some clue by now. But since it was Sam's sight, the only way they'd find out was when Sam would wake.

And that was something Dean wasn't looking forward to.

"Hey," Adam began cautiously, breaking into Dean's reverie, "can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Small Fry," said Dean, wondering what it was.

"What's up with this detox thing you guys keep mentioning?" wondered Adam. "It sounds nasty."

"Oh, believe me, it is," Dean informed Adam. "Very nasty, and not just for Sam."

"Why, what happens?" Despite the situation, Adam sounded intrigued.

"Well, first he starts shaking," Dean explained, making an effort to get the words out. It just reminded him of what had happened before, and what was to come, and that was a frightening prospect. Hurt Sam always was. "Then his temperature goes up. He starts sweating, he gets dehydrated... and he starts hallucinating. Somewhere around that the pain starts, when his system begins to break down the demon blood, separate it from his own blood. And that's the worst part," ended Dean.

"That sounds horrible," Adam said quietly. "He's had to go through this before?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said, swallowing. "And it kills me every time, Small Fry, because there's nothing I can do to take the pain away. There's nothing I can do to make it stop."

Adam remained silent, not sure how to respond. Dean wasn't a feelings guy, much like him, but he was talking, all the same, and Adam didn't know what to make of it. Maybe he just needed to sort it out inside his head, or maybe he just needed to let it out. And since Sam wasn't there to listen, naturally it was Adam he talked to.

"How long before it starts?" asked the boy.

Dean checked his watch, and then looked at Sam. "Not long, I'm guessing." He got to his feet, and put a hand to Sam's forehead. "Yep, he's burning up. Shaking, too." He opened the top drawer of his dresser and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

"What are you going to do with those?" asked Adam, eying them suspiciously.

"If I don't restrain Sam he'll hurt himself," explained Dean, handcuffing Sam to the bed. "During detox he has no idea where he is, or what's actually going on."

"Shit," muttered Adam. "Poor guy."

Dean nodded in agreement, and then sat down next to Sam. "Only thing we can do is make it easier for him," he sighed, and then took Sam's hand as the kid began moaning. "It's all right, Sammy, I'm here, it's okay..."

Sam jerked away from Dean, muttering something. His eyelids were fluttering, and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. Attempting to make it somewhat more comfortable, Adam switched on the ceiling fan.

Sam's eyes snapped open suddenly and he looked at Dean, his gaze terrified. "Dean–" he began, and then stopped as a wave of convulsions overtook him.

Dean gripped his fingers tighter, doing his best to keep his brother anchored. "It's all right, Sammy, it's okay," he repeated over and over again, sounding a lot like a record player gone bad due to the hoarseness of his voice. "You're fine, I'm here..."

"Hurts," whispered Sam, his eyes squeezed close and his grip on Dean's fingers vice-like. "Hurts everywhere, Dean." He opened his eyes again and looked at Dean, clearly able to see him, and for that Dean was grateful.

"He can see," he informed Adam, who was sitting on Sam's other side and awkwardly patting his arm. "It's all right, Sammy," he added to Sam, smoothing his hair back. "It'll be over before you know it."

Suddenly Sam screamed, his entire body convulsing and spasming. His hand was ripped out of Dean's as he curled in on himself, and Dean stood, motioning for Adam to do the same. "That's our cue to leave, Adam," he said, looking miserable. "Come on."

Adam followed him out the door, questioning, "We're just gonna leave him in there all alone? You promised him we'd be with him!" His tone was accusatory.

"We can't right now, Adam," Dean said curtly, walking towards the library. "He's going to start hallucinating, and when he does he's not going to see us. And whatever he's going to see, he's going to attack it."

"But can't you convince him it's not real, the way you do for me?" asked Adam desperately, hating the thought of Sam stuck in there, screaming and hallucinating and hitting things that did not exist.

Dean shook his head. "He's too out of it," he said, even as Sam screamed again. "He'll attack no matter what we say."

"But, Dean–"

Dean turned on his brother, eyes flashing. "Enough, Adam!" he snapped. "I've been through this before, okay, I know what to do and when to do it!"

Adam was not cowed. "He's your brother!" he retorted. "At least try, for his sake!"

"You think I haven't, before?" questioned Dean, looking angry. "This has happened way too many times for my liking, okay, and I know this routine. We. Cannot. Go. In there. Because he'll attack, and if you've seen him on demon blood you'll know he's quite capable of snapping our necks in that state! It's for both of our goods, and his, to remain here!"

Adam glared, but did not reply. Instead he huffed and sat down at the table. "So we just stay here until he stops?" Dean nodded. "And then what?"

"Then we go in there," Dean told him, his voice back to normal.

A while passed, during which Adam doodled on a piece of paper and Dean sat with his fingers knotted on the tabletop, staring at his hands. Sam's screams were painful and hard to ignore, especially when words became discernible.

"DEAN, HELP! PLEASE, DEAN, HELP! DEAN!"

Adam glanced over to see Dean's head lowered over his hands, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Dean was crying. Dean Winchester, feared by hunters and monsters alike everywhere, was crying.

"Dean," Adam began softly, but was cut off.

"ADAM! HELP ME! PLEASE!"

He froze in his seat. It was too similar to the Cage, much too familiar the way Sam screamed his name, begged for help. But Adam knew if he dwelled on those thoughts he'd begin hallucinating too, and that was the last thing anyone needed.

"CAS! PLEASE!"

Abruptly Adam stood, and began walking in the direction of Sam's room. Dean didn't stop him; in fact, Adam was sure Dean didn't even notice. In Sam's room Adam began going through his drawers, feeling sure that there had to be a pair of headphones and an iPod somewhere. There wasn't, and he returned to the library with Sam's screams ringing in his ears.

"PLEASE! DEAN! STOP IT, DEAN, PLEASE HELP ME!"

"Dean," said Adam, his voice thick, "can I borrow the car?"

Dean didn't even ask why, just shrugged and continued staring at his hands, tears dripping off the end of his nose. He made no attempt to stem the flow or even to wipe the tears away, just sat there and cried for his baby brother.

Adam retrieved the car keys from Dean's jacket, which was slung over a chair. He'd hoped the screams would grow distant the further he got from Dean's room, but it was not so, and even outside the base he could hear them, albeit barely audibly, thanks to the metal door.

He unlocked the car and got in, inserting the key in the ignition and starting up. He had no intention of going anywhere, though – he just switched on the radio and turned it up as high as it would go, the music drowning out the sound of Sam's pain. Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, he leaned forward until his head was resting on the cool rim of the steering wheel, the music replacing his thoughts. Adam closed his eyes, and let the first tear fall.

It did not matter that he had known them for not so long. He'd been with Sam for 180 years, longer than three lifetimes for an average human. He'd sat in Hell, curled up in his corner, listening to Sam scream in pain and agony, but never once beg Lucifer to stop, or agree to letting Adam take his place. He'd watched as Michael remained distant and indifferent, ignoring Sam's screams as if they weren't cutting through Adam like swords.

And Adam had just sat there like a coward, hearing his brother die over and over again, in every horrifying way imaginable, and some that were beyond his imagination. He'd let Sam take the fall for him, die for him and suffer for him, and he'd never once tried to stop it from happening. He'd let Lucifer carry on for the first few months or so, feeling entitled and justified in doing nothing, reasoning it wasn't his fault he was in the Cage, and therefore not his burden to carry. He'd pretended it didn't bother him, until the time Sam cried out his and Dean's names both in his pain, and Adam thought his heart was literally going to explode.

And it was from then on he'd stopped lying to himself, and admitting that he did care. He was, after all, safe and sound, in one piece, wasn't he? And it was all thanks to Sam. The worst thing Adam had had to go through, other than Sam's screaming, was boredom in the Cage.

He hadn't stopped being a coward, though – he'd never once told Lucifer to shove it, instead waiting till the Devil was done before going to Sam and trying to help him. And every time Sam held on to Adam's hands, and first asked if he was okay, and then asked, always in that broken voice, for Dean.

Sighing, Adam raised his hand and shut the radio off, the sound driving a spike into his head and intensifying his headache. He needed to get back inside, because the solitude out here was overwhelming. Plus it was now silent and Sam could no longer be heard, and so Adam assumed the worst was over.

He was wrong.

He walked in to find Dean exactly where he'd left him, only he was sitting up, back straight and face alert. "What is it?" asked Adam, noting the way Dean was listening to every small sound, eyes narrowed.

"This isn't normal," Dean muttered, still listening hard for a sign of Sam in the overwhelming silence. "It's not usually over this fast." He got to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going in and checking on him," Dean told him," and you stay here."

"But I want to come," Adam protested. At Dean's unyielding expression, he added, "He's my brother too, you know."

Dean huffed angrily. "All right then. But you have to listen to whatever I tell you to do."

Adam nodded, and began following Dean out of the library. The silence got louder the closer they got to Dean's room, and Sam inside it, and no sound to indicate his presence. Heart beating so loud in his chest he was afraid it might jump out, Dean unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

The sight made his heart sputter to a stop, and behind him Adam gasped loudly. "Oh my God," whispered the boy, even as Dean yelled "SAMMY!" and rushed into the room.

He nearly slipped on the large puddles of blood on the floor, and looked up to see Sam slumped against the bed, his shirt drenched in his own blood. Fearing the worst, Dean sloshed over through all the blood – so much blood – and put two fingers to his neck, panicking when at first he couldn't feel anything. Then, slowly but surely, he felt the resolute thudding of Sam's heart, beating away and keeping his brother alive, and when Dean felt the warmth of Sam's breath on his forearm he went weak in the knees with relief, and collapsed on the bed next to his unconscious brother.

Adam was slowly making his way through the room to where they were, avoiding the blood on the floor. "What happened?" he whispered, his eyes wide and fearful, and in that instance he looked like the young child he really was.

Dean took off Sam's handcuffs and held him close, closing his eyes and just breathing in Sam's scent under all the blood, reassuring himself his brother was alive. To Adam he answered, "I don't know."

"He's alive?" asked Adam, reaching the bed and sitting down next to them. Dean nodded, adjusting his grip on Sam. "We need to get him help, Dean."

"We can't take him back to the hospital," Dean replied. "They've got no clue what's wrong with him, and besides, how are we going to explain this?"

"He needs a transfusion," Adam persisted. "Look at how much blood he's lost."

Dean looked around the room and shuddered, and then realized Adam was right. "Okay, we'll go," he sighed. "But to a different hospital. We ran away from this one, remember, and they're not going to be happy about it."

"Well, hurry up, then," said Adam, standing, his voice going high from worry. "I don't think he has much longer."

Dean nodded and scooped Sam into his arms, not even worrying anymore at the further weight loss, and said, "Okay. Get the car."

Adam rushed out of the room, careful to avoid the blood, and Dean followed, carrying Sam. The kid looked worse than ever, his skin paper-white and cool, his limbs hanging limply from Dean's arms. His hair was damp with sweat and plastered to his forehead.

What's happening? despaired Dean. When – when – did it go this wrong? Sammy...

He put Sam in the backseat and, not even noticing the amount of blood on his own clothes, got into the front seat and rolled onto the road, after which he broke just about every road rule in getting Sam to the hospital. Adam sat quietly with Sam in the back, and Dean saw in the rearview mirror he was holding Sam's hand. He did not comment on the moisture in Adam's eyes.

They reached this hospital even quicker than the last one, even though this one was further. Once the medics had wheeled Sam away and told Dean and Adam to go sit in the waiting room, the oldest Winchester stalked off and got himself a beer and Adam some coffee. Adam didn't even complain, just sat there and sipped his coffee every now and then.

"What's going to happen now?" he soon asked, his throat constricted.

Dean looked at him. "I don't know," he admitted.

Adam looked up at Dean, feeling so young and helpless as he'd never felt before. He'd always been independent his entire life, he'd had to be, but now that he had brothers, two people to lean on (one of whom was in danger of losing his life), he didn't see why he had to pretend to be strong anymore. So he said, "Dean, I'm scared."

Dean sighed. "Me too," he confessed quietly. "Me too, Small Fry."

"What if he doesn't – can't–" Adam seemed to be struggling with the words, but Dean knew what he meant.

"He has to. He can't not."

"But, Dean, what if?" asked Adam softly. He knew this wasn't the Cage – if Sam died here he would not be resurrected. He wouldn't be coming back. Permanent. Gone.

"Then I'm going to do these trials," Dean told Adam, not looking at the boy. "I'm going to close the Gates of Hell, and after that–" he drew a line across his own throat, looking grim.

Adam gasped. "You're going to kill yourself?" he asked, looking stunned.

Dean shook his head. "Oh no, not like that. Let's just say it'll be a hunt gone bad, eh?"

Adam stood, his coffee falling from his hands and spilling on the floor. He didn't care, however, as he rounded on Dean and asked loudly, "What about me, then? What am I supposed to do without you and Sam?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "You're supposed to survive, and find yourself a life," he told Adam.

"How?" demanded Adam, beginning to look angry. "You two are my family," he reminded Dean. "How am I supposed to let go of that?"

"The way only you can," Dean told him. "You're not a hunter, Adam. You're still a kid. Go to college. Find yourself a girl. I don't know."

"But don't you understand?" burst out Adam. "I can't, Dean! Even if I wanted to I couldn't!"

"And why not?" asked Dean, and his calm tone infuriated Adam so much he felt an insane urge to punch his brother's face.

"Because you're my brothers!" he yelled, not caring that he was attracting unwanted attention – the few other people in the waiting room were looking at him curiously. "You're my family! You're my life now!" He stopped short, realizing he'd said too much, admitted too much.

Dean's expression finally changed, morphed into one of shock, which was then replaced by the previous one. "Adam, sit down," he said.

"No!" refused Adam, feeling tears trickling at the back of his eyes. "You can't tell me what to do!"

"I'm your brother," Dean snapped. "I'm eleven years older than you, so you shut the hell up and listen to me."

Adam glared, before taking his seat and crossing his arms so tightly they looked tangled and knotted. "What?" he snapped, his tone hostile.

"Nothing's going to happen to Sam," Dean said quietly.

Adam blinked. "How can you be so sure?" he asked.

Dean offered Adam a small, sad smile. "Because he's Sammy. He pulls through."

"Why?" questioned Adam. "What's he got to go on for?"

"Us," Dean answered, his tone still low. "He never does it for himself. Always for me. And now, for you too."

Adam did not respond. Dean went on, "Did you think he'd stop protecting you once you were out of the Cage? You think he'd stop caring the minute you're perfectly fine? Sam's not like that, Adam. Not like that at all."

"I know," Adam muttered, thinking of Lucifer peeling Sam's face off instead of his own. The memory almost made him gag.

"And you know I'm only going to go if Sam doesn't make it," Dean reminded him. "But Sam will make it. For us. He has to."

To Adam's own surprise, a tear slipped down his cheek. He chose neither to acknowledge it, nor to reply to Dean, and instead just sat there, crying silently. After a few moments of hesitation, Dean slipped an arm around Adam. "It's all right, Small Fry," he murmured. "Sam will be fine."

Adam had no idea when it had gotten this far, when necessary tolerance of his brothers had turned into attachment, and when attachment had become love. He'd only been with them for four days, and in that time he'd somehow become used to his brothers, like they'd always been a family, like he hadn't been discovered at the side of the road and taken in. And now, he realized, it was impossible for him to live without either of them, and that wasn't just due to being unable to survive without them. He loved them.

A doctor in bloodstained scrubs entered the waiting room. "Dean and Adam Smith?"

Both brothers stood at the same time. "What is it, Doc?" asked Adam, as he and Dean hurried over.

"I have news concerning your brother," he told them, his face expressionless. "Come with me to my office."

"Is he all right?" asked Adam. Dean didn't seem capable of speech.

"I'll explain in my office," the doctor said, leading them on their way. Adam shot Dean an uneasy glance – this didn't sound good – but Dean was staring straight ahead, as if he could will Sam to be all right simply by thinking it.

The doctor's office was small and barely furnished. He sat down at his desk and then gestured towards the two chairs in front. "Sit."

They did so, looking apprehensive and in Dean's case, downright scared out of his wits. "What's wrong, doctor?" asked Adam, sensing the doctor's reluctance to start.

"Your brother... he's lost a lot of blood," the doctor began, running a hand through his short, spiky black hair. He wasn't old, maybe Dean's age, and had kind gray eyes that looked sorrowful right now. He hated this part of his job. "Too much."

"What does that mean?" Dean finally found his tongue. "Is he all right? Tell me!"

"Calm down, Dean," hissed Adam.

The doctor sighed. "We tried, Mr. Smith. We tried to replace all the blood he's lost, but there wasn't enough, and..." he stopped.

"And what?" demanded Dean. "And what? Is he dead?" Dean spoke the last word like it was killing him to do so.

The doctor started. "Oh no, not dead," he said, blinking at Dean, who relaxed an infinitesimal bit. "Just... comatose. And we don't think he'll wake up."

"Like... ever?" Adam's voice was a whisper.

The doctor nodded. "I'm so sorry," he said gently, seeing their faces. Dean looked like everything precious to him in the world had just ended (it kind of had), and Adam felt the same way.

"Where is he?" Dean asked abruptly.

"Ward 406," answered the doctor. "I'll take you there."

"No thanks," snapped Dean. "We can go on our own."

The doctor looked mildly hurt, but did not retort. "All right," was all he said, sitting slumped in his chair. Dean turned his back on him and stalked out without a glance.

"Please don't mind him," Adam said. "He's just..." Devastated. Destroyed. Every bit as gone as Sam. "...upset."

The doctor nodded. "I understand," he said softly. "I'm so sorry," he added again. "We tried everything, you know, but his brain had been deprived of oxygen for too long, and... we tried. We really did."

Adam felt tears in his eyes again. "I know," he whispered, and left.

But it wasn't Sam's room he went to. He broke into a run the minute he left the office, sprinting down the hallways until he was back in the parking lot, where the Impala was. The keys were with Dean, but Adam had no plans of going anywhere.

He fell on the floor, curled next to the car's front wheel, and began crying again. Sam. Sam was gone. He was as good as dead. And he wasn't coming back. Adam locked his arms around his knees and looked skyward, whispering, "Why?" When no one answered, he asked again, "WHY? WHY SAM, WHY ME, WHY ALWAYS MY FAMILY?"

The screams ripped from his throat, leaving raw pain behind, but he was too far gone to care. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair, he hadn't done anything to deserve this, nothing at all...

And neither had his brothers. Four days' worth was all Adam knew about them, but it was enough to understand them. They were selfless, brave people who didn't hesitate before risking their lives for strangers, people who'd never even know them, let alone thank them. And all they got in return was being screwed up over and over again, being ripped apart from each other and lost and alone. All they got was pain.

He didn't know how long he sat there, his back against the Impala, sobbing into his arms. He'd never cried like this before in his life, not when his mom had died (though that was because they'd both died together), not when he'd woken in the Cage to find Sam being tortured in his stead. But he was unable to help himself, and the tears just weren't stopping, and he felt so lost and helpless...

Somewhere along the line his arms unraveled and he ended up on his back on the cold asphalt of the parking lot, staring up at the cloudy late evening sky. "Help," he whispered, his throat feeling like it had been punched from the inside out. "Please. Help."

And then his cell phone rang. For a moment or two he was two startled to react, and then he fished it out of his pocket and answered it, mumbling, "Hello?"

"Small Fry." Dean's voice sounded hoarse, like he'd been crying too. "Come inside. You're not safe out there."

"I can't, Dean," Adam whispered, his voice breaking on his brother's name.

"You have to," Dean answered. "You've had enough time to yourself. Come in. Cas is here."

Adam flipped the phone shut without answering. Castiel the angel – could he help? Adam doubted it, but the small shred of hope that had flared inside him at the angel's name was hard to let go of.

He got to his feet and wiped his face clumsily on his sleeve, beginning the walk to Sam's room. He passed by nurses and doctors as if they weren't there, hearing their voices as if through a haze. His brothers' names echoed in his mind with every step – Sam. Dean. Sam. Dean. Sam. Dean.

What he heard when he got closer to Sam's room wasn't crying however – it was raised voices. Dean was yelling at someone, who was answering in a raised voice that had somehow managed to stay calmer than Dean's.

Adam pushed the door open to find Dean and Castiel face-to-face, Dean looking livid and Cas looking irritated as well. "I will not let you do it, Dean," Cas was saying.

"Do what?" asked Adam, and they both spun around to look at him.

"He won't let me save Sam–" Dean began angrily.

"Not by damning yourself," cut in Castiel.

"It's the only way I can think of–"

"You're being foolish, Dean–"

"I can't lose Sam, Cas, and you know it–"

"And Sam can't lose you either–"

"There's no other way–"

"Then we'll find something." Castiel's voice carried a note of finality.

"What are you two talking about?" asked Adam, looking from one to the other with tired eyes.

"Dean wants to sell his soul to bring Sam back," Castiel told Adam.

"Doesn't that mean you'll die?" asked Adam, looking at Dean, who nodded a millimeter up and down.

"Then I won't let you either," Adam decided, crossing his arms and glaring at Dean. "Sam wouldn't want this."

"Right now I don't give a fuck what Sam wants," hissed Dean. "I just want him to be okay."

"Can't you fix him?" Adam asked Castiel.

"I'm sorry," Castiel answered. "It is far beyond my power to heal him."

"There has got to be another way," insisted Adam.

"Yeah, there is," Dean snapped. "I'm having a talk with Crowley."

"Shut up," Adam told him. "Don't be an asshole. Be reasonable about this."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable," argued Dean.

"You're being an asshole," Adam reminded him.

"I agree," Castiel said. "You're being an asshole, Dean." The word sounded strange coming from the angel's mouth.

Dean glared at his brother and Castiel before crossing his arms and sitting down next to Sam, and that was when Adam noticed his other brother for the first time. His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

Sam was hooked to an IV and various other machines, including an ECG machine and a ventilator – a full life-support system. He literally did look dead, and the only thing that assured Adam he wasn't was the not-very-promising reading on the ECG. It was better than nothing, though, and for that Adam was grateful.

"Horrible, isn't it?" Castiel whispered, and Adam jumped. He hadn't noticed the angel coming and standing next to him. "I wish... I wish I could fix this."

Adam choked on his answer. "Can't anything fix him?"

"I don't know," Castiel said, sounding heartbroken.

"Cas, please," Adam murmured, fighting the urge to cry again. "There's got to be something."

"I will try to find out," promised the angel, suddenly looking determined. It was the look on Adam's face that had renewed his resolve – clearly all three Winchesters were quite gifted at making Castiel do things he'd never have thought possible. It was that look. Cas both hated and loved it. He just wished he could see Sam making that face again.

In fact, even a bitchface from Sam would be welcome right now.

"Call if you find anything," Dean said to Castiel.

"Only if you promise not to do anything stupid," Castiel responded, and grudgingly, Dean nodded. The angel nodded back, smiled reassuringly at Adam and disappeared.

"What do we do now?" asked Adam, sitting down next to Dean on Sam's bed.

Dean sounded like there were thorns in his throat as he said, "We wait."

Besides them, Sam remained still, kept alive only by machines.

This is the longest chapter so far, around 6500 words O_o but I just couldn't find a way to make it shorter, or split it into two. Meh. I'm not even sorry. The longer the better, eh?

OMG YOU PEASANTS. I've now got over 50 reviews, and I could happily marry every single one of you right now. But I've already promised my hand to the Impala, so I apologize. Yes, I know, you're heartbroken. Trust me, so am I. We can still be friends though, right? It doesn't have to end badly *looks hopeful*

For that achievement of crossing the 50 review barrier in SIX FREAKING CHAPTERS I have decided to give you all 20-acre plots of land, brand-new brick houses and Rolls-Royce horsecarts. I am an AWESOME Czar ^_^ also, you get your favorite SPN character as your butler :D

OH speaking of, I've just finished reading The Host by Stephenie Meyer, and I've got to say, it's a big step up from Twilight. It's better written, the plot and concept is much more interesting, plus the protagonists have *gasp* personalities. I do wish she'd have expanded more on the secondary characters, they're so intriguing yet there isn't much about them in the book. I also want to watch the movie (though that's only for Jake Abel :3 )

I'm serious, though, the lady is improving her writing, and that's pretty cool. I never thought I'd have liked a Stephenie Meyer book, but I guess I surprise myself sometimes.

(No offense to any Twihards reading this, but Twilight still sucks.)

Today's question: What's your favorite book, and why?

Mine's The Chronicles of Narnia and Artemis Fowl. Of course, Hunger Games and Harry Potter is a given, who doesn't like those? Other than that are the Narnia series - those books are my entire childhood, it's lovely and everything's just so amazing and the movie and its cast is all just so perfect - and Artemis Fowl, which one of my best friends in the entire world got me addicted to. Like the author Eoin Colfer said, it's like Die Hard with fairies. And that makes me happy. I was actually quite sad when it ended.

Reviewers get to offer Adam hugs. The boy needs them.

OH before I forget, in the first chapter I wrote Adam was 21 - I think that's wrong, he was 19 in S5. I'll go correct it now. That makes him 23 right now.

-Peace x