Drum roll, please!

This is the FINAL CHAPTER!

I hope you guys enjoy it, and please read my author's note at the end!

Also, do not trust my medical knowledge. Everything in here was random stuff I learned from Google or just made up.

Dean felt as though his own heart had given out as a team of nurses flooded in, shoving him out of the way.

"No!" He kept shouting helplessly. "No no no, please—"

Bobby and Garth held him back as the doctor readied the defibrillator. "Charge 300 Joules," he barked. "Clear!"

With a zap, Sam's back arched briefly off the bed. When he fell back down, Jenny immediately placed her hands on his chest and began CPR while the defibrillator charged up again.

"Still flatlining!"

"Give him an amp of epi!"

Another nurse was injecting something into Sam's IV line as Dean clutched his head in his hands, tears shining in his eyes. "C'mon, Sammy, you can't do this to me now," he moaned. "Not after everything—we were so close—" he stopped as his voice hitched.

Bobby was squeezing Dean's arm, eyes locked on Sam. "C'mon, kid," he kept murmuring like a mantra. Garth was just crying openly.

"Clear!"

Sam arched again. Jenny continued the chest compressions with fervent determination, but Dean could see the tears in her eyes.

Time passed, and the nurses continued to work. But as Dean watched the heart monitor, his own heart dropped further and further. That damn line just refused to move . . .

Sammy's heart refused to pump.

After a long time the doctor leaned back with a weary sigh. "Alright, call it. Time of death—"

"No!" Dean lunged forward and seized the doctor's collar. "You can't stop! He's my brother, you have to save him!"

"Sir—"

Dean shook him. "You can't stop!" He cried, over and over. "Please—"

Bobby stepped forward and began to try and gently pull him back. Dean finally let him, dropping his arms to his sides, suddenly feeling bone-weary.

"Sammy," he croaked.

Bobby wrapped his arms around him in a rare and tight hug. Dean simply continued to stare at Sam's body, tears rolling down his cheeks.

He looked so peaceful. Now, as the nurses began to remove all the tubes and monitors, Dean could almost fool himself into thinking Sam was just sleeping. His face was relaxed, stress lines smooth, and lips parted, like they always were when he slept.

The nurses sent him sympathetic glances as they began filing out of the room. Jenny approached the three hunters, her own eyes overflowing with grief. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Dean just shook his head, walking around Bobby to stand next to Sam. Garth sniffled and quietly excused himself, while Bobby stood silently in the corner, wiping away his own tears.

Dean couldn't speak. He just collapsed into the chair next to his brother and took his hand. It was still warm. Dean pressed his forehead to the back of Sam's hand, trying to imprint the feeling of Sammy's warm, living skin into his memory before it turned cold for good.

A sob escaped his lips. "Oh, God . . . Sammy . . ."

He was so goddamn tired of watching Sam die. What kind of world was this, where it would force Dean to watch his little brother perish over and over and over again?

Not a world Dean wanted to live in anymore.

Soft footsteps approached him from behind. "Dean?"

He ignored Jenny.

"Um, Dean, I'm really sorry," she choked, "but we have to take him down to the morgue."

"Already?" He snarled suddenly. "He's not even cold yet and you want to cart him off down to a slab?"

"I know, it's awful," Jenny's voice trembled. "But due to health hazards, and other patients that need the room . . . and, um, we have to do an autopsy to see if we can find what the problem was . . ."

Dean ignored her again, still staring down at his brother. His dead baby brother.

I never should've let him go off alone.

"Dean." Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know that look. And it's not your fault."

Dean flew to his feet and whirled on the old man. "How?" He demanded loudly. "How the fuck is it not my fault, huh? I let him go off alone, and when he went missing I waited for days before going to look for him. I knew something was wrong, I knew! But I ignored it, and look where we are now!"

"Dean—"

"Look at him!" Dean's voice broke and more tears poured from his eyes.

"You still can't blame y—"

"My brother is dead!"

A loud gasp sounded behind him, and Jenny screamed. Dean whipped around—and it was like the earth stopped.

Sam's eyes were open. His mouth was, too, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His hands clutched the sheets convulsively and he rolled his head from side to side, groaning.

"Oh my God!" Jenny cried, hands over her mouth. "DR. WIDENER!" she screamed.

Dean had already shoved past her and was bending over Sam, hardly daring to believe this was happening. Nurses once again swarmed in behind him and tried to get to Sam, but not even a hurricane could have moved him at this point. He gently took Sam's face in his shaking hands, stilling his brother's frantic movements somewhat, although his eyes continued to roll. Dean tilted Sam's face towards himself. "Sammy," he murmured, "Sammy, hey, look at me . . . it's okay, I'm here . . ."

Sam's eyes finally focused. He stared at Dean for a long moment, and Dean fearfully wondered if Sam even recognized him.

Sam swallowed. "De?" He croaked.

Dean blinked. And then he laughed. He laughed like he hadn't in a long time and he scooped Sam up into a tight hug, one hand under Sam's head and the other arm supporting his back.

"Oh my God," Jenny was still gasping. "Oh my God oh my God oh my God—"

Dr. Widener had come running back when he heard Jenny's scream, and when he charged into the room and saw what was going on, his face went white as a sheet. "My God," he whispered.

Bobby had run to stand on Sam's other side, roughly shoving nurses out of the way. He stood there with one hand tightly gripping Sam's arm and a huge grin on his face. Garth had also rushed back in when he heard Jenny's scream, and was currently standing nearby, jumping up and down with joy.

Sam coughed against Dean's shoulder. "Agh—Dean, my ribs—"

"Shit! Sorry," Dean quickly and gently lowered Sam back down to the bed, afraid he had hurt him. But he was amazed at how coherent Sam was, just seconds after coming back from the fucking dead.

"My turn!" Jenny barked in a no-nonsense tone as she pushed past Dean to see about her patient. "Out of the way! All three of you!"

Dean was reluctant to leave Sam's side, but he stepped back enough for the nurses to get to him.

The next few moments were a complete blur. Bobby excited the room, dragging a reluctant Garth behind him, to allow the nurses some room. Dean, however, flat out refused to leave, and the doctor didn't say a word in protest. He was probably afraid they would sue for what appeared to be a colossal fuck up on the staff's part—pronouncing a patient dead only to find out that that is absolutely not the case.

Sam was beyond confused at the whirlwind of white jackets and scrubs around him. He was poked and prodded relentlessly, lights shining in his face, and cold needles being stuck in his arms. It was all just too much and he found himself beginning to hyperventilate, his vision blurring and his ears ringing.

The nurses tried telling him to calm down. But the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia only grew as all these strange people closed in on him, and he began putting his arms up in a fetal attempt to fight back.

But suddenly a familiar voice cut through the noise—someone was shouting, and the nurses began to back up. A calloused hand landed on his forehead and Sam looked up.

Dean smiled reassuringly down at him. "It's okay, Sammy," he murmured, moving his other hand to rest on Sam's chest, which was rising and falling far too quickly. "I'm here, just breathe . . ."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as he focused on taking deep, shuddering breaths. The familiar weight of Dean's hand helped to calm him down, and soon Sam was able to breathe properly again.

Dean looked up at the swarm of nurses with a glare. "Chill out, would you? You're freaking him out."

"He's right, guys," one of the older nurses said. Sam squinted at her ID tag and was just able to make out a name: "Jenny Faith."

"Why don't you all just give me and the doctor some space," she was saying to the others. "We can take care of him."

The nurses looked unsure, but after the doctor nodded in confirmation, they began trickling out of the room.

The next few minutes consisted of some more subdued prodding and questions about how he was feeling. Sam was still confused—How the hell did I end up in a hospital?—but he tried to answer each question as best he could. Dean's presence definitely helped, because it gave him something to lean on. Bobby and Garth had also come back in since the room wasn't full of hospital personnel anymore, and were standing nearby.

"I can't explain it," the doctor finally said in exasperation. "You were dead, Samuel. We kept trying to revive you for over half an hour and there was just nothing. And then you just—you just came back." He ran a hand through his hair. "Aside from your broken ribs, you seem to be in good health, especially considering you just came back from the dead. I just—I've never seen anything like this before. You . . . ugh, I don't know. I honestly don't know." Dr. Widener took a deep breath to steady himself. "I still want to keep you here for at least another couple of weeks to allow you some time to regain your strength, and of course for observation. We don't want to send you home only to have you collapse."

Sam managed a tight smile. "Okay, sounds good."

The doctor nodded to them with a professional smile and excused himself to write a report. As soon as he left, Garth swooped down like a skinny pterodactyl and squeezed Sam's shoulders in a hug. "Sam, you're okay!" He kept crying, tears still streaming down his face. Sam patted his back awkwardly. "Yeah, Garth, I'm—I'm good." Sam shot Dean a look over Garth's shoulder that clearly said, Help me. Dean just smirked and crossed his arms, leaving Sam to suffer. Sam glared at him halfheartedly, resigning himself to being stuck in Garth's spindly embrace for a while.

Luckily, however, the little man seemed to realize he was making a scene and stepped back, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm just so happy you're okay—!" He stumbled off to stand in the corner, still crying quietly.

Bobby approached Sam with a grin and squeezed his arm. " 'S good to see ya, boy."

Sam grinned. "Same to you."

The nurse sat down next to Sam with a smile. "Well, Sam," she said, "I finally get to see those pretty eyes of yours."

He chuckled as she stuck out her hand. "I'm Jenny," she said.

Sam lifted a heavy arm and weakly shook her hand. He smiled crookedly. "I would introduce myself, but apparently you already know me."

"Sure do. I'm the one who's been caring for you—well, I do on the few occasions when Dean's not here."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, he likes to bother people like that."

"Hey," Dean said indignantly from his seat on Sam's other side, "I'm a joy to be around!"

Sam snorted. "Are your feet wet, Dean?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

" 'Cause you're knee-deep in denial."

Dean scowled in mock anger. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Jenny watched the interaction between the two brothers and felt her heart swell immeasurably. Out of reflex, she reached out and tucked Sam's hair behind his ear.

Sam jumped a little at the sudden touch, turning to look at Jenny, who was now blushing. "Sorry," she chuckled. "I'm just so used to caring for you that I forgot myself."

Sam smiled. "Thank you for watching out for me," he said.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't thank me, it was my pleasure. Even when your mother-henning brother here was clucking away." She grinned playfully at Dean, who just rolled his eyes.

Sam shifted uncomfortably as the pain from his broken ribs suddenly flared. Dean immediately snapped his gaze to him. "Everything okay?" He asked.

"I'm fine."

"No, he's not," Dean said to Jenny.

"Hey!" Sam said indignantly.

"He needs something for pain."

Jenny smiled. "I'll get right on it," she said as she stood, patting Sam's arm before exiting the room.

"Dean," Sam groaned.

"You're in pain, Sammy, I can tell. I'm not just gonna sit here and let you suffer. Now shut up and get some rest."

Sam sighed. "Fine, but not until you tell me what happened. How did I get here?"

Dean frowned. "You don't remember?"

Sam twisted his mouth in thought. "The last thing I do remember was leaving the motel to meet up with you again. I think I might have heard something . . . but everything is fuzzy."

So Dean settled in to fill Sam in on everything that had transpired. How the Sandman had attacked Sam, how Dean had searched and found him comatose, and how Bobby and Garth stepped in to help. After he finished, Dean hesitated a moment. "Do you remember anything from when you were unconscious?" He finally asked quietly.

Sam certainly did. How could he forget?

He looked up at Dean. "No," he said, "I don't remember anything."

Dean knew he was lying, Sam could tell. But Dean didn't say anything. He just nodded down at his lap in understanding.

It was at this point that Jenny came back in, carrying a syringe with her. She stuck the needle into Sam's IV line, and as soon as she pressed the plunger, Sam could feel a warmth spreading through his veins. He let his head fall back and sighed as any pain that had been plaguing him instantly vanished.

Jenny smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll leave you guys alone now. Just press the call button if you need me." She started to leave, but stopped. She turned back to Sam with a thoughtful expression. "Sam, can I ask you just one question?"

He nodded sleepily. "Sure."

She fingered her belt thoughtfully. "You were dead. I mean, really, clinically dead." She tilted her head with a strange expression. "How did you come back?"

Sam thought back for a moment. "I heard Dean," he finally said. "I heard my brother and I just came back."

Jenny's eyes widened with wonder. She stared at him for a moment, and then continued out the door.

Sam rolled his head back towards Dean. Even though sleep was beginning to blur his vision, he could see tears shining in Dean's eyes as his brother glowed with happiness. Dean took his hand, and Sam squeezed back just as his eyes slid shut. And maybe it was just the drugs, maybe it was just his imagination, but he could've sworn he heard Dean's soft whisper:

"Love you, Sammy."

Fin

So that's it! End of the story! You didn't think I'd actually kill Sam, did you? ;P THAT'S MAH BABYYYYY!

I had an awesome time writing this, even if sometimes I wanted to rip my hair out. You guys are my motivation, and y'all are all what made this story possible. So thank you, thank you guys so much, you're friggin' AWESOME! I love y'all, and I shall see you with another story, hopefully soon!

Please, please drop a review, tell me what you thought. I can't tell you how much y'all's reviews mean to me!