A/N And we're back! I wanted to get this chapter up before I go into my next class (hellweek part 2) next week!

I do kind of leaving you all hanging at the end (sorry; not sorry) about what's been going on with Sammy, but rest assured, Chapter 9 should have the goods (I say should, because while it is MY plan, it may not be the boys'!)

Please, please leave reviews if you are liking the story! And for those of you who have already commented, I am deeply appreciative.

Dr Maggie Bloom is still heavily in this chapter. I generally don't do a ton with OCs, but Maggie has an important part to play in this part of the story, and (probably) later on as we get into the series timeline.

We're coming up on the end of the Teen!Chesters section of the story, so there will be jumping forward in the timeline in the next couple/three chapters or so

Disclaimer They may haunt my dreams and daydreams, but I own no one and nothing in Supernatural.

Some clarifications at the end of the chapter!

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Dean stared at her, unable to do anything else. He knew his mouth was hanging open, he was pretty sure he had that deer-in-headlights look that Sammy (but never Dean) got around pretty girls, and for the life of him, he couldn't come up with a denial.

Say something! Big Brother Dean demanded. Deny it. Explain it. Laugh it off, get mad. Say SOMETHING, you big idiot. You have to! Sammy's safety is at stake! Say something, do something, she can't know this, nobody can know this! You'll get locked up. SAMMY will get locked up. You'll never see him again! Oh crap. Oh no. Nonononono.

Well, shit, Hunter Dean thought, unhelpfully and the rest of Dean finally closed his mouth, then closed his eyes and took two deep breaths to calm himself down.

So. Dr. Maggie-who-wanted-to-be-their-friend knew about hunting. She knew what was out there — at least a little bit. But how did she know?

There was only one answer, Dean realized and opened his eyes to meet her blue gaze.

"Was it you who was taken, or hurt, or attacked, or whatever? Or someone you love?"

Maggie smiled sadly. "Both. Me and my little sister," she shrugged. "I never did find out what it was called," she admitted with a frown.

"I generally just go with 'fugly'," Dean admitted with a shrug. "At least until I can put an actual label to it."

"Fugly?" Maggie repeated skeptically.

"Yeah. As in, effing ugly. Fugly."

Maggie chuckled and nodded. "Fugly." She looked at him with a twinkle in her eye. "I like it. And in addition to being good for things that go bump in the night, it can also apply to a males of a certain class hitting on women in bars. Useful."

Dean smiled at her, and resisted the urge to flirt, to see if he was of a certain class or not.

"Anyway," Maggie continued. "Mom and Dad took us up to the U.P."

"The you pee?" Dean smirked

"Michigan's Upper Peninsula," she corrected herself. "My grandparents had a cabin up there, but my Mom and Grandma hated each other, so we'd only been up there once, when Kimmy was about 6 months old, and we didn't go back again until Grandma passed. I was—what? About 11, 12. Kimmy was 7 or 8. Mom and Dad were just there to clean the cabin out, so they could sell it, 'cause it was way too far from Asheville to even use as a summer home. They figured, Dad had grown up there, he'd never seen anything more dangerous than a skunk in the woods, so they just sent us out to play. But in between those two visits, some thing moved into the woods around the cabin. We were playing by the lakeshore, and I was skipping stones while Kimmy was just…I don't know, birdwatching or something. And then I heard her scream.

"I saw something running away through the woods, and I could see Kimmy's blue jacket and I just ran after her." She paused, closing her eyes and took a deep breath of her own.

"It's okay," Dean said quietly. "You don't have to go into it."

"It had made this shelter," she continued, ignoring the out he'd given her. "Branches and dead trees. It knocked Kimmy out, then me, when I got too close. I woke up face-to-face with another little girl, about my age. She was terrified. And bleeding. She died while I watched."

Dean reached out and gently took her hand, earning himself a grateful — if slightly wet — smile.

"There was a pile of bones, too," she continued, her voice quavering only a little. "I couldn't move. We weren't tied up, we just…couldn't move. I couldn't even scream when it was leaning over my sister. We were going to die. I knew we were going to die.

"And then, there was a voice. 'Close your eyes!' And I did, and Kimmy did, and then there was a…a woosh, and a thud, and heat…". She took a slow breath. "The same voice, it was a woman, told me it was okay. I could open my eyes. All that was left of the…fugly…was a pile of ash. She helped us up, dusted us off. Led us back to the cabin. My parents didn't even know we'd been missing.

"She wouldn't tell us her name. Only that she was just doing her job. And I said 'what kind of job is that?' And she said, she was a hunter. That she hunted the bad things that people didn't know were out there, so people would be safe and could sleep at night. And then she just…left."

"Wendigo," Dean said quietly.

"What?"

"The fugly. It's called a wendigo. And there aren't many who see one and survive."

"I figured that much," Maggie admitted and gave his hand one grateful squeeze before letting go. "It's funny how different people have different reactions to things. I knew I couldn't be a Hunter myself. I just…couldn't. But I hated that that little girl died in front of me and I couldn't do anything. I wasn't going to let that happen again."

"So you became a doctor," Dean nodded.

"Not just a doctor. An ER doctor. The most important, urgent, critical patients, at the most important and critical time of their life."

"And your sister?" Dean wondered. "How did she react?"

"It was weird," Maggie mused. "She could accept that a monster grabbed us, but she couldn't accept than some woman saved us. She decided that our Hunter was an angel. An actual Angel. Sent by God himself to save us."

Dean shook his head with a half smile. "Angels? There's no such thing," he told her. "Sorry."

"It didn't matter," Maggie shrugged. "It's what Kimmy believed. Still does, I guess. I became a doctor. She became a nun."

Dean blinked. "Wait. Sister Kimberly, in the ER. She's your actual sister?"

Maggie nodded and grinned. "'Fraid so. After we were…saved…neither of us wanted to be helpless to keep somebody else safe, ever again. We both wanted to help the most desperate. I do it my way, she does it hers — and we both do it here."

"Did you ever tell your parents?" Dean wondered. "That you'd been taken? That you'd been saved?"

Maggie shook her head. "Our Hunter told us not to. She said they'd never believe us."

Dean nodded. "She was right."

"Oh, I know it," Maggie laughed. "The kids — the ones you saved today? — no one believed them either."

"Except you."

Maggie shrugged. "And Kimmy. To the police — it's a shared trauma. A story they made up between themselves about what was really just some…psycho kid killer."

"RIght," Dean huffed. "Because that's so much better."

Maggie laughed. "That is exactly what Kimmy said."

Dean winced. "I feel kind of bad now," he admitted. "I really kind of laid into her."

Maggie giggled. "Don't worry about it. I know it doesn't make sense, but believe me when I tell you, Kimmy and every other nun I know has been treated worse. There's something about a cloistered woman that apparently makes people think they're safe to yell at."

Dean frowned. "Not an excuse."

"The funny thing is, if Kimmy wanted to — she could've laid you out."

Dean blinked in surprise. "I…no, I've…"

"Oh, I know. You're bigger, you're stronger, you're male. Sister Kimberly has four black belts."

"A nun, with black belts?!"

Maggied laughed and shrugged carelessly. "SIster Kimberly always says 'the good Lord said the meek shall inherit the Earth, not the helpless."

"Okay, now I really regret it," Dean grinned. "I think I like her!"

Maggie smiled back, and leaned in to whisper again, "she's going to be so mad that she didn't recognize you for the angel you are."

Dean laughed so hard, some of the other people in the waiting room stopped talking amongst themselves and just stared at him. "Oh, man!" he wiped the tears away from his eyes. "If there is anything I am not, it's an angel."

Maggie laughed with him. "Not to Kimmy. All hunters are angels, to her."

"I think I can say with complete confidence," Dean said solemnly, "that she is unique in that belief."

"Oh, I don't know," Maggie smiled. "Saving people is what angels do, isn't it?"

"I told you. There's no such thing. Wendigos, ghost, vampires, werewolves, sure. But Angels? That's a fantasy, like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny."

Dean froze, his brain suddenly catching up with his mouth. "I…Maggie, I just…"

"It's okay," Maggie assured him. "The first Hunter I met, wasn't my last. Not that I've ever seen any other fuglies," she rushed to assure him. "But sometimes…Asheville is right off both the Blue Ridge Parkway and the Appalachian Trail. Lots of wilderness for all kinds of things to hide. Your Sam is not the first Hunter to be treated at St Joe's. I doubt he'll be the last. Which reminds me," she frowned and patted at the pockets of her white coat. "Oh, here it is!" she smiled and pulled out a worn business card and handed it to Dean.

"KnightMed?" he read, puzzled.

Maggie nodded. "I'm not the only doctor who knows about Hunters," she assured him. "Far back as Med School, I was finding other doctors, nurses, technicians who'd crossed the path of a Hunter. We've formed a kind of…network. Informal, but if you call the number on the front, someone will answer. You tell them what kind of damage you've taken, and where you are…they'll tell you where the nearest KnightMed doctor, nurse or whatever is. Get you medical treatment without having to worry about police getting involved. And if you need a friend," she continued, "any time, you call that number and tell them you're one of Maggie's Blooms. They'll give you my number, or you can give them yours and I'll call back as soon as I can."

"Maggie's. Blooms," Dean repeated. "Seriously?"

"Sorry it's not more manly," Maggie laughed at him. "We've all got a special code, so people can get to a specific doc if they need to. Could be worse."

"How?" Dean scoffed.

"You could've met Dr. Richard Nutt, instead."

"Oh my God," Dean covered his face with one large hand in pure denial.

"Then you'd have to say you were one of Dick's Nutts."

"You made that up!" Dean accused, looking at her again.

"I didn't," she promised and ran a finger over her chest in an 'X' pattern. "I really didn't. But seriously, Dean. Keep that. Just in case."

Dean nodded, pulled his wallet from his back pocket and slipped the card inside behind his driver license. "Thank you."

For a moment, they just sat there, smiling at each other, sharing a secret.

Dean sighed and glanced at the clock on the other side of the waiting room.

"Couple hours," he said softly.

"Probably," Maggie agreed. "How about I get us some coffee?"

"Thanks," Dean nodded then grabbed her wrist when she stood. "Seriously, Maggie. Thank you. For everything."

Maggie smiled down at him. "Consider it payback from everyone you saved and never saw again."

Dean smiled and watched her walk to the coffee station by the elevator.

Well, Hunter Dean whispered in the back of his mind, At least one good thing came out of this shit day. You met Maggie Bloom. One of the survivors.

Two good things, Big Brother Dean decided. We met Maggie Bloom — and we're finally going to be sure that Sammy will be a survivor, too.

Dean sighed and leaned back against the wall, to wait for the news that his brother still lived. He knew that news would come, if he waited long enough. It had to.

Dean wouldn't be a survivor if Sammy wasn't.

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Six hours later, Dean was sitting in another hospital chair, this one in the private room Maggie had arranged for Sam to be taken to after he'd woken up sufficiently in Recovery.

Maggie had proven to be the friend that she'd promised to be, making sure that Dean was allowed into Recovery to be there when Sammy awoke; making certain that the nurses on the floor understood that Dean was not to be bothered with anything as trivial as following Visitor's Hours; and arranging for a Geri Chair so Dean had some hope of a decent night's sleep without leaving his baby brother's side. (That, she told Dean, wasn't entirely for him. After the scene Sammy had made in recovery before he'd seen Dean — who had, naturally, had to rid himself of some of the coffee he'd drunk at the exact time that Sammy opened his eyes — Maggie had been able to convince the nurses on Sammy's floor that it was in their best interest that the first thing Sammy saw when he next woke up was his big brother.)

She'd even insisted on staying with him when CPS finally showed up, backing up all his claims of parental abuse and the danger that Sammy would be facing if he were sent back to their father — even assuming that their father could be found, which Dean knew would only happen if and when John wanted it to.

In the end, thanks at least in part to Maggie's intervention, the CPS social worker had left without feeling the need to interview Sammy as well, and had given Dean the assurance that within a few days, Dean should have full custody of his brother from now until Sammy turned 18.

Now all Dean had to worry about was the unexpected mystery that was apparently his baby brother.

He'd been dozing off and on beside his brother, having dragged the Geri Chair near the head of the bed, but facing the opposite way so that he could watch both Sammy and the monitors he was connected to. The chair was so close to the side of the bed that it was practically a sidecar, and he'd been reclining comfortably for some time, with one hand wrapped lightly around Sammy's wrist, a constant assurance in the pulse beneath his fingers that Sammy was still all right.

He'd just drifted into a reasonably peaceful sleep, when a soft moan brought him instantly, fully awake.

"Sammy?" he said softly, sitting up and leaning closer to his brother.

Sam's hazel eyes fluttered open, his head turning toward the quiet beeping of the monitors. "Dean?" he breathed, confused that he couldn't actually see his brother. Dean was close, he knew that, but where…

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean stood and sat on the edge of the hospital bed, letting go of his brother's wrist to gently press his hand against the forehead, checking for a temperature, before brushing the flop of hair away from his brother's eyes. "It's okay," he assured the boy, while Sam slowly turned to look up at him. "I'm here. I've got you, little brother. I got you."

Sam's gaze grew sharper and he smiled up at his brother, and Dean breathed easily since the first time since they'd left on the hunt yesterday.

Sam tried to sit up and exhaled heavily in obvious pain.

"Easy, tiger," Dean said soothingly, and put a hand on Sammy's chest, pinning him easily to the bed. "What do you need? I'll get it, just tell me what you need."

"Water?" Sam asked and closed his eyes.

"Ice chips," Dean corrected and picked up the pitcher the night-shift nurse had left him, using the tiny combination straw-and-spoon —spaw? Stroon? — that was sticking out of the slowly melting ice to feed a few between Sammy's lips.

Sammy nodded his thanks and closed his eyes.

"Happened?" Sammy wondered.

"Nothing special," Dean frowned at him. "You just almost bled to death internally."

Sammy opened his eyes, surprised to see his big brother glaring at him. "What?," he wondered, a little defensively. He didn't need to finish the sentence — what are you pissed about, not what do you mean. He rarely needed to finish a sentence around Dean, and vice versa, they were usually so much in synch.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me that your stomach hurt that bad? It had to have hurt, Sammy, you were bleeding out internally. They had to remove your fucking spleen, genius."

"Dean, I…"

"Dammit, Sammy! If we'd gone to Kentucky or Illinois, like I wanted to…." Dean closed his eyes and ran his hand over his short cropped hair, refusing to give further voice to the idea that had been plaguing him since Maggie had led him to the surgical waiting room. If I'd had my way, you'd've died in the car before I even realized it. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?!" he demanded again, falling back on anger to hide his fear. Like always.

"I didn't know," Sam admitted with the smallest of shrugs.

"You didn't know?" Dean repeated incredulously. "How could you not know?!"

"Oh, I don't know!" Sam snapped. "Maybe I was distracted by the dislocated shoulder. Or the arm broken in three places. Or the broken wrist," he added, lifting his left arm — now encased in a cast from a few inches below his (now fixed) shoulder all the way to his fingers and resting in a sling, "or the broken ankle," he jerked his chin at the cast on his right foot. "Or the concussion. Or the broken nose. Or the belt marks on my back — and front! I had a lot going on, Dean. The spleen doesn't have a ton of nerve endings, you know. I may have kind of lost track of it in the wreckage!"

Dean sighed and patted his brother's good hand, giving is a small squeeze.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Valid point. But…you know, that's another thing," he frowned.

"What is?" Sam asked, his voice softening with Dean's implied apology.

"You were able to fix…heal, whatever…your hands and arms, where they were all scratched up. But you didn't fix the big stuff, not on you," he pointed out. "Because you fixed Sean. And me. No!" he interrupted as Sam opened his mouth to reply. "Don't you dare tell me you didn't. I know what I saw when I looked Sean over, Sammy, and that was no spell 'making it all look worse'. And I know she more than just fuckin' scratched me. She punctured my lungs, Sammy. I felt that. I know what she did, and I know that the only way I didn't die — the only way Sean is going home to his family at all, much less later today — is because you did…something. For us, but not for you! Now, what the hell?"

"There's only so much I can do," Sam sighed deeply. "It takes…it's not easy. Healing, I mean. And…I guess by the time it got to me…" he shrugged.

"The tank was empty," Dean supplied and Sam nodded, grateful that his brother seemed to understand what he couldn't seem to find words for.

"And exactly how are you even able to heal in the first place?" Dean demanded.

"Dean," Sam sighed, and closed his eyes, "can we…"

"Oh, no, no, no," Dean said firmly and Sam opened his eyes to meet the direct, demanding green gaze of the one person he still really trusted in the world. "Dad's gone, Sammy. For good. I talked to CPS, and before they discharge you from the hospital, it should all be over. So, there's no more excuses. Not any more. It's just us now, Sammy. And you promised me, once it was just us again, you'd spill.

"Well, it's just us now. Always. So, time to tell me. What. The FUCK. Is going on with you?"

TBC

A/N part 2

Yeah, I know the wendigo doesn't paralyze it's victims. Let's call that one poetic license and move on, shall we?

The Geri Chair Dean uses in Sam's room is a kind of reclining chair, usually on wheels, that was designed to allow the elder or those recovering from surgery to more easily sit up with proper support. Speaking from experience, they are not a particularly comfortable place to spend the night, but they are still WAY more comfortable than trying to sleep by draping yourself over two "normal" chairs, even if those chairs are padded.

The spawn/stroon is an actual thing, but I have no idea what it's called, so I let Dean do his thang with names.