Sam was so tired he felt he could sleep for weeks. But Dean was there, leaning in over him, talking to him about something Sam was just too tired to listen to. He let the words wash over him and when Dean's lips stopped moving he just asked if he'd brought him some clothes like he'd promised? Dean's face darkened, jaw clinched in that pissed off look. Sam closed his eyes, he didn't want to see the anger in Dean's eyes, not now, he'd seen enough of it in dad's. Dad was mad that he didn't move fast enough, Dean because he moved at all. There was no way to make them both happy.

He made another attempt to get the hoodie over the cast, pulling at the sleeve to get it over the thickest part; the edge close to his elbow. Sweat dripped into his eyes, burning when he finally tweaked the fabric over the cast. Dean cursed and took over; easing the hoodie over his head, gripping the IV-bag to slide it through the other sleeve.

"You fucking smart-ass! You heard the nurse; no one that can't get out of bed by themselves are being discharged from this hospital without a court-order. Just lay back and wait, another day at least? If you ever needed to fight dad on anything, this would be it! But no, now you go along with him? What the fuck's wrong with you? I tried Sammy, I tried talking some sense into him, but I need your help and you're not collaborating!"

"M'sorry," he mumbled, hating how needy he was right now and how much that pissed Dean off.

Dean stared at him. Long and hard. "You don't get it, do you? Sammy, this is dangerous, for you! You're not thinking straight, you're high on pain-killers and god knows what. You need to tell dad you can't do this. He'll listen, I promise he will. This time I'll fucking make him listen!"

Sam worked himself up to a sitting position, slowly pulling his legs to hang over the edge of the bed, fingers grasping at the bed frame for leverage. "Pants?" He was already out of breath, and that pissed him off. He was going to do this, he was getting out of this joint tonight.

Dean helpless look over to the nurse by the end of the bed, didn't escape him. The hospital had pulled out the heavy artillery to stop him from leaving. This nurse was in her fifties, impressively tall and with eyes like a hawk. She'd already had a round with dad about the perils. Now she was the warden, just waiting for him to fail.

"I cant watch this anymore," Dean spoke. "Either you let me help him or you get the court-order to keep him here. I just can't watch this!"

The woman walked over to him, leaned in, hands on either side of his legs, eye level with his. "Sam, do you understand that you don't have to listen to your dad? You can stay here, we'll protect you."

Sam wanted to roll his eyes dramatically, but he lacked the energy. How many times did he have to tell them he wanted to leave, as soon as possible. It was getting tiresome repeating the same words over and over again. "I wanna leave."

The nurse locked eyes with him and he fought to keep his open without blinking. At last she relented and rose to face Dean. "We can't keep him here, not against his will. If it was only your father, things may have been fixed but as long as Sam wants to go, there's nothing anybody can do about it. No judge will issue a court-order to stop a sixteen year old and his father."

"He's a stubborn son of a -," Dean bit down, sinking to sit by Sam's side, arm sneaking around his shoulders. Sam leaned in on him, signaling gratitude.

"Can we go now, Dean, please."

"I'll help you get him dressed," the nurse said, voice softer now.

He was beyond embarrassment when they pulled up the sweatpants and put socks on his feet. He hung on to Dean's shirt when they helped him over to the wheel-chair, the strain enough for his legs to shake and threaten to give in.

"I'll go get your dad," the nurse informed and opened the door.

Dean remained by his side, arm back around his shoulders. "Jesus, Sammy! You're just skin and bones." Dean spoke quietly. Sam's head lolled to the side to rest on his brother's arm.

"M'not!"

"And such a fucking liar, Sammy!" Dean spoke in a low, sad voice. "When you get back on your feet, I'm gonna kick your ass for this. You hear that, Sammy?"

Sam smiled into the bulked up fabric of his brother's shirt.

John took one look at his sons, one leaning on the other and the eldest giving him a look that said it all. Dean was not pleased with this, not by a long shot. Maybe the trust he'd always shown was suffering a little at the moment. But then, Dean didn't know everything, did he? He knew nothing about the rumors of the special kids, the innuendo of something dark, deeply hidden within them as of yet. What would happen if someone found something that didn't pan out in Sam? They may just go X-Files all of a sudden. There were aliens among them, just not from outer space. Even his sons would sit glued to the TV every week if possible, soaking in the mystery. It always hit a nerve with John, it was simply too close to home.

"You, ready, Sammy?" He asked, extending the binder with Sam's discharge papers and a copy of the chart to Dean.

Sam straightened up and nodded, his finger grasping at the armrests of the wheelchair.

The corridors were long and flooded with light, the elevator sank soundlessly to the first floor, opening up to the ER and John gritted his teeth at the sight of nurse Amanda waiting by the door to the ambulance bay. She was holding rolled up blankets under her arm and a plastic bag in her hand. She looked devastated and John wondered if she had been made the scapegoat? Another victim for events beyond her control?

When they got closer, she lifted a hand in a cautious salute.

Dean was the first one to crack a smile. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away from me," he greeted her.

Amanda didn't seem to notice, instead she looked at Sam, bowing to lay a hand on his knee. "I brought you some blankets, Sam. Promise to try and stay warm. I packed a bag with some things you may need, just in case. And I'm sorry for letting you down earlier."

Sam looked perplexed, letting his gaze wander from Amanda to Dean and then back again. "M'fine."

"Right," Amanda said and turned to Dean, extending him the blankets and the bag. "Where's your car?"

"I'll get it," Dean said, accepting the offered items and walking out into the cooler air of the ambulance bay. With a glance at Sam, he grinned and gave him the thumb up. "Don't elope while I'm gone!"

John noticed that Sam actually blushed. Sometimes he forgot how vulnerable a sixteen year old was and Sam had never been prone to form casual relationships. John suspected he wasn't the type that flirted without really caring. That was all Dean.

"Sir? I hope I am not too forward, but I really wish you'd reconsider this decision. Sam needs -."

"I know what my son needs," John interrupted with a harsh glance at the woman. "We can take it from here, thank you."

The young woman flinched and took a step back. For a moment she just stood there, watching John incredulously. When Dean honked the horn and drove up to where they were waiting, she went for a paper in her pocket and walked up to press it into Sam's good hand.

"Call me. I just wanna know you're all right!"

Sam nodded shyly and clutched the piece of paper hard in his fist. With a last smile Amanda turned on her heels and walked away.

Dean jumped out of the car and let out a low whistle. "You got her number? You dog!"

Sam didn't look up.

Sam woke up again from the streetlights that flashed by, glare harsh enough to penetrate his closed eyelids. The constant movement of the car was making it hard to breathe and his shoulder ached whichever way he tried to turn. He wished they'd go a little slower, just a little, so he'd have time to take a deep breath. If Dean asked once more how he was doing, he wouldn't have the strength to tell him 'fine' or even give him the thumb up-sign. It felt like they had been driving for weeks, but he had really lost all count of time. Lost between half-sleep and a strange haze that occasionally numbed him, only to reappear with a sharp pain at any jolt or turn. Breathing through the pain was getting harder and he wished Dean would crank up the stereo to drown any possible sound he might make. He was not going to complain, not now, he'd caused enough trouble to last him a lifetime.

"Sam?"

Despite sitting awkwardly scooped up right by his side, Dean had to check on him verbally. Dean was probably able to tell that he wasn't sleeping by the way he was breathing. He'd tried to keep the sounds even to fool Dean. A complete failure on his part, just as expected.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice had taken on a deeper, more concerned tone as time rolled by.

He managed to nudge Dean's leg with his good hand as a sign that he was all right.

"Dad, slow down! I have to change the IV-bag and push more pain-killers and the antibiotics. He isn't looking too good. "

Sam held his breath when Dean moved around, wary about the car's movements and the risk that Dean might inadvertently touch any of his sore parts. When the car finally slowed down, he took a deep breath, feeling his face crunch up from the pain it caused. At least the rattling was slower, giving him time to suck the air deeper into his lungs.

"Dad, we need to go slower, I don't think Sammy's feeling too good."

There were sounds of Dean digging in the plastic bag, cursing when he didn't find what he was looking for. Then he tensed and reached over Sam to change the IV-bag hung on the hanger above the door.

"Thirty minutes, Sammy and we'll be at Pastor Jim's. Just hang in there. I added a little of that anti-nausea thing in your drip, you're looking kinda green, Satchquatch."

Sam managed a smile and Dean reached out with a wet towel to wipe his brow. "Not gonna puke on me, are you?"

The fear in Dean's voice kicked him right in his gut. He didn't want to put his brother through this, he didn't want to be this weak in front of him. Dean had been forced to look out for him as long as Sam could remember, it wasn't fair on him. Dean shouldn't have to pay for his fuck-ups. God, he really didn't fit in any world, did he? He hated the hunting life, moving around and looking for the next son of a bitch to kill. Hated having to check the salt line before going to bed, waking up at the smallest of sounds, wondering if this was it? Hated seeing Dean place himself in front of danger. Dad dragging them up in the middle of the night to train, just to keep them on their toes. Sam just wanted to be able to relax, sit down o the couch and watch TV, read a book, take a walk; all those normal things people did and found boring.

He didn't fit in the normal world either. Listening to the discussions of his classmates wanting adventures, hating the calm predictable life of the quintessential small town, he just didn't understand them. What was wrong with being safe? Knowing what there would be for dinner? They could have his life if they wanted, he'd relinquish the fricken adventures any day for a week of knowing that absolutely nothing unexpected was going to happen. Nothing would happen to Dean or dad, ever. He needed to get out of their lives and stop messing it up, he wasn't good enough for the kind of life they led, never would be.

"Sam? You zoning out on me?"

He never wanted to hear that kind of concern in Dean's voice again. Dean needed to be out there, chasing chicks and scoring when he wasn't risking his life, saving people. Not looking after his freak of a brother. "Dean, m'sorry."

There was dampness on his cheeks, and he didn't know if it was tears or sweat, maybe both? Dean's leather jacket was warm under his cheek and he pressed his face into the softness, hiding inside the familiarity.

"Uh? What? Why?"

"Fo' ev'rythin'." His voice was thick and snotty, barely audible.

"For fuck's – Sammy?" Dean's hands were on the nape of his neck, fingertips shivering slightly against his skin. "You peed yourself? What the fuck, Sammy, what's wrong?"

"M'fine, Dean, m'fine."

Dean scooted closer, steadying him against the rolling motion of the car. Forearm resting along his spine, cradling him into safety.

"Such a fuckin' liar, Sammy."

The last fifteen minutes were the longest. At the outskirts of town, Dean started counting the seconds. Dad spoke on the phone, voice low and urgent. Sam's body had relaxed a little after he'd received the pain-killer in his IV. But he was soaked; the hoodie clinging to his skin, his face strained and bloodless. Dean tried to keep him still, prevent the car's movement from causing more damage. Sam had slept some, during the ride on the freeway, but now, with the criss-crossing on small streets, stops for traffic lights and constantly altering speed, Sam was clearly barely hanging on.

The last piece of dirt road up to Pastor Jim's house had Dean hold his breath as the tires hit pot hole after pot hole. Sam whimpered, brow creased and eyes clammed shut while Dean tried to stabilize him and dad's eyes were dark in the rear-view mirror when they locked with his.

"S'okay, Sammy, we're here." The moment they stopped, Pastor Jim's face appeared in the side window, questioning eyes trained on Dean. He tried a smile, but he didn't think the fooled anyone. The morning air was fresh and chilly when Pastor Jim opened the door. It filled the car with crispness in no time and Sam shivered.

"Oh Lord! Sam?" Their long time friend's face fell when he took a look at the bundle on the backseat. And Dean knew exactly how he felt; incredulous, chocked and disgusted at them for having put Sam through this.

Sam moved his good fingers in a meek salute and Pastor Jim stared. Dean wasn't able to meet with his eyes and turned back to Sam, covering him with the blankets. Sam's labored breath cut through the silence like dull knives.

"John?" Pastor Jim's voice was a much sharper knife.

"Jim, we need to get Sam inside."

Dean marveled at the sober resolution in their dad's voice. There was no emotion, only a stoic declaration of priorities

"Sammy?" Dean leaned in closer. "We need to move you, not gonna wimp out on me now, are you?"

Sam swallowed.

"Use the blankets, Dean. We'll carry him with the thermo-blanket. It'll hold him, I checked it. You two take the head, I'll take the feet. You Dean, keep an eye on the IV."

"Yessir!" The fact that dad had a plan calmed Dean immediately. There would be no tugging and dragging. Dad had thought about it, he knew how to get Sam inside with as little pain as possible.

"No!" Sam grasped for leverage on the seat. Pulling himself up. "I can do this."

"Sam, no! Stay still, I have it covered." Dad's voice was stern, a clear order, at the worst of times.

Dean knew it instinctively. He moved away and helped Sam sit up. Looking at John to get the message through: don't piss him off, please. Now was not the time. You just didn't mess with Sam when he was at his stubborn-ass worst. It didn't matter if he was half-dead at the time, he wouldn't quit. Dad should know, he was exactly the same.

Dad moved out of the way, watching Sam grit his teeth and pull his blanket covered legs down off the backseat. Socked feet planted on the dirty car floor. Without a word Dean unwrapped the tangled quilts from around the trembling legs. He was just about to protest when Sam ripped the tube out of the IV-bag and rolled it up, gripping it hard with sweaty fingers.

"Easy, Sam," Pastor Jim spoke, breaking the silence. He stepped to the side and reached out for Sam's good arm. "I know you can do it, just let me help you out a little."

The defiant look on Sam's face softened, his bottom lip quivering into what seemed like a small decisive pout. Pastor Jim reached inside the car and twined his arm around Sam's middle. "How long has it been, Sam? Three years? You're about as tall as your brother now, right?"

Sweat was running down Sam's temples every muscle in his body taut when he moved to the edge of the seat and swung his feet outside the car. Dean stayed right behind, ready to catch his dumb-ass brother when he finally collapsed. Dad held his eyes on Sam, worry and pride battling on his face. Yes, he had trained a brave soldier, no doubt about it. The fucking dude was brave enough to get himself killed with pride alone. Dean cursed under his breath when Sam dragged himself into a standing position, leaning heavily on Pastor Jim. When he visibly swayed, Dean stepped out, lining himself up at Sam's left side, wrapping his arms right below Pastor Jim's.

Sam threw him a saggy lidded glance and huffed.

Dean was acutely aware that Sam's legs weren't carrying him anymore and with a look over Sam's shoulder, he caught Pastor's Jim's eyes. The older man slid to stand behind Sam, pulling him back to rest up against his broad chest. Dean let go and bent to hook his arms under Sam's knees.

Pastor Jim kept up his mundane talk when they carried the stubborn-ass up the stairs, over the patio, in through the main door and straight to the room Pastor Jim had prepared. Luckily Sam didn't say anything, if he had, Dean would have to kill him twice.

Sam just fall into bed, eyes closed and the silly long bangs glued to his face.

Pastor Jim tugged the soaked hoodie off and Sam just mumbled. Dean proceeded with the sweatpants, letting them fall into a heap on the floor, while Jim wiped Sam clean with a wet towel. Sam seemed asleep when they got one of Pastor Jim's over-sized t-shirts and flannel pajama bottoms on him. Dean would tease him later on, when Sam was coherent enough to suffer.

Dad had been standing in the doorway, holding the IV-bag and Sam's duffel bag. Jim walked over and shot dad a murdering glance before he took the IV-bag and returned to hook Sam up. Dean tucked him in and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his face in his palms.

Dean felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder. "I'll get you something to eat, Dean. I just have to call the doc and tell him we need a portable oxygen tank, I don't like Sam's breathing. Doc will be here when he's finished the rounds at the clinic. You all right, Dean? Anything you need?"

"Except a miracle?" He lifted his face to smile at the man, the relief making him feel weak and shivery. "Thanks Jim. I'm fine. I'll just sit with him till the doc comes."

Jim ruffled his hair like he were five. "Best brother in the world, huh?"

"I'm awesome," Dean replied, his voice cracking up.

"I know," Jim nodded and turned to the man standing by the door. "John, kitchen, now!"

Dean watched the two men leave. Despite Pastor Jim's shorter stature, his stance told Dean that dad was in for the sermon of this lifetime. It wouldn't be the first, and probably not the last, but maybe the worst. He scooted further up on the bed, leaning up against the old, flowery wallpaper. It was the same room they'd shared since he could remember. Same ratty bed, only Sam filled his entirely now. Another year and he wouldn't fit. Dean closed his eyes and let his arm rest on Sam's bony legs, still keeping vigil over his pain in the ass little brother.

It was dark when Sam woke up. His last clear memories were of the morning sun outside, the chill and Pastor Jim's droning that he tried to follow but failed in separating one word from the other. Then there were snippets of someone poking him, asking him his name, Dean telling him to eat something for fuck's sake, talking over his head with someone, voice strained and forced to sound calm. He remembered swallowing some salty liquid, forcing it down to make Dean happy. Dean laughing at him when he tried to hold the spoon, calling him a dopey klutz. But it seemed he hadn't managed to wake up totally, it was all a blurry succession of edgeless moments, jumbled up in his mind.

He looked up at the ceiling, the moon light bouncing off a silvery spiderwebs in the corner above his head. Craning his head, he saw Dean sleeping in the bed on the other side of the room. The house was silent; Dean's breaths and the faint wind rustling the leaves outside were the only signs of life. He hated to break the calm but he needed to go and the prospect of dragging himself to the bathroom was daunting. The bathroom was approximately twenty-four steps away. Maybe less now that he'd grown. All familiar territory, safe like the backseat of the Impala.

His eyes followed the line up to the IV-bag hanging from a make-do support system on the lamp on the wall. An old metal hanger hooked to it, real high tech. He smiled; it had to be Dean's work. Dean was able to fix a car with a piece of gum and a paper-clip if he needed to.

Rolling over to his side, he gritted his teeth at the pain in the ribs when he slowly pulled himself up to sit. The motion made him lower his head, the room was doing some weird flip-flopping that had his head aching. The tube snaked around his arm and he was so tired of it, tired of being this needy, damned wreck, without any kind of control. How was he supposed to move around with this damned thing attached to him? How was he supposed to get it out with a damned cast that only left his fingers free? The new bruise, visible even in the semi-darkness, like a splotch of ink on his hand, told him that the old IV port had been exchanged. He'd probably messed something up when he pulled the tube earlier. He'd do a better job this time; it wasn't the first time he was hooked up, he had the basic knowledge how it worked, it wasn't rocket-science after all. Easiest way would have been to pull the port out altogether, on swift rip and it would be done, but he didn't want to soil Pastor Jim's sheets. Blood on sheets was a bitch, he knew, he'd washed a few, never getting them quite clean.

Following the catheter with his fingers, up to the plastic square close to the bag, he felt something that seemed like a movable lever. He pushed it up, hopefully stopping the drip. Then he fumbled around with the plastic hub that was taped to his skin. He tweaked and pulled until it came loose and then closed the valve with the plug.

He was ridiculously happy about the accomplishment.

It lasted until he dragged himself out of the bed and almost toppled over. He would have, if he hadn't hit the wall and managed to hold onto the door frame. Steadying his breath, he listened for sounds of Dean waking up until the room stopped swinging. When there was no signs that his stumbling had perturbed his brother's sleep, he opened the door carefully and slid out. The one widow at the end of the hall cast a bleak, square pattern of silvery light on the floor. It made him nauseous and he closed his eyes, continuing forward sideways, with his back pressed to the wall. One step after another, he counted them and after fifteen, he was soaked with sweat and his legs were shaking. Holding his breath he took aim at the bathroom door and stepped across the hall to hang onto the handle. He hadn't calculated with the door not being properly closed and he was propelled inside, hand flailing for something to grab. It happened to be the sink and by then he was out of breath and just sank onto the toilet-seat. His mouth was dry, everything ached and all he wanted to do was lie down on the cool, tiled floor. If he did, he doubted he'd get back up by himself. He bit down and reached over to flick on the light by the mirror. The bathroom was exactly as he remembered it.

Gripping the sink, he pulled himself up, breathing through the pain and rose to get the ridiculously large pajama bottom down his thighs. Yes, he had to pee sitting. And that was the silly thing that had tears burn in his eyes. He turned the faucet on, letting the water run to hide any sound that might escape him when he finally gathered enough strength to rise and pull up the pajama bottom. That was when he spotted a ludicrous reflection in the mirror. It took a while before he realized he was staring at himself; a mangled, multicolored wreck that was in desperate need of a shower. The notion was enough for him to sink back to sit on the toilet seat and lean his brow on the cool porcelain. What had he been thinking? He friggen needed help with everything! Everything hurt and he even had to hold on to the sink not to fall down. Dean hated having to look out for him, Sam just knew that. He'd been doing it since he was a damned kid himself. And now this? At sixteen he felt like he was reduced back to a toddler-like state, not even capable of a damn trip to the bathroom without falling apart. He shouldn't have come here, he should have done anything else but force others to look out for him. Anything! The earlier sense of victory was brutally crushed and the bitterness at the revelation of his own weakness manifested in a sob he was unable to suppress.

"Sam?" The ceiling lamp was flicked on, Dean's rapid steps in his direction and the hand on his shoulder had him capitulate. He was able to suffocate the sobs, but he couldn't hide the trembles. The embarrassment was total.

Dean crouched by his side, hand sliding down to lie lightly on his back, easing the tremors. Sam wanted to crack a joke but the sobs still ripped through his body, tears running hot over his cheeks.

"Hey, hey, hey! What's wrong?" Dean crooned and rubbed Sam's good shoulder. The silence that followed was full of questions. Dean's breath telling Sam that his brother was stressed and Sam knew he was causing it.

"Just tired, Dean," he got out in a snotty, not very convincing voice.

Dean's silence told him that his brother didn't believe one word he was saying. He strained to straighten himself up, stiffening at the jolt of pain in his ribs. Clamming his eyes shut, he rode through the wave of fire that flashed inside his chest. At this point he didn't even bother to hide his tear streaked face.

"M'sorry, I'll get outta your way."

"Sammy! If you apologize one fucking more time, I'm gonna whack you over the head, I swear!" Dean cupped his hands around Sam's face, pulling gently to lock eyes with him. "Where's your IV? You need that, understand? You need the antibiotics and the pain-killers, Sam, you copy that?"

"Don't want it," he mumbled sullenly, trying to turn his face away from Dean's inquiring eyes. .

"Look Sam, the doc warned us about this. She said that you'd probably be messed up for a while, that an accident like yours screws with your head. You gotta give yourself time to heal, man. You should have called on me, I was right there. How about a 'hey, awesome big brother', that'll be enough. I don't wanna come in here and find you having taken a swan dive into the porcelain throne. Got that?"

"Yeah," he nodded and closed his eyes since more stupid tears flowed.

"Jesus, Sammy, " Dean wiped the tears with his thumbs. "Think you can manage to sit here alone for two more minutes without crashing? I gotta get dad and help you back to bed."

"No, please, Dean, not dad. Please not dad! I'll get out, promise!" All he needed now was dad's scowl at the fact that he had failed again. Dad's silent ardent stare of disapproval. He just couldn't take that, not now. Grabbing the rim of the sink, he dragged himself to his feet, Dean's arm sneaked around his waist, aiding him. Out of breath, he leaned heavily on his brother, cursing himself all over. "M'so -."

"Shut up Sam, just shut the fuck up, man, please!"

Dean sounded close to tears when he pulled him into a gentle hug, hand cupped over the nape of Sam's neck while standing steady as a rock. Sam rested his forehead on Dean's shoulder, grateful and ashamed, pulling strength from Dean. He didn't look up when the door opened and sounds spilled in from the hall, instead he balled the fabric of Dean's t-shirt in his good hand, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door. Who was watching his defeat and weakness. Watching the son he found to be such a lost cause, proving to be one.

"He's okay dad, go back to bed."

"What's he doing up, Dean? What did he -."

"Dad, I've got him," Dean interrupted, keeping his voice calm and even.

Sam had never loved Dean as much as he did right there and then. He was being a damned pain in the ass and Dean just stood there with him and didn't complain about being woken up by a sobbing brother in the middle of the night. And all this when he could be some place else, chatting up chicks and getting laid.

Dad's footsteps disappeared in the direction they had come from and Sam lifted his head from the comforting shoulder and pushed himself to stand straight. "Thanks, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, no chick-flick moments thank you very much. Let's just get your sorry ass to bed and hook you back up. Because damned, if you let all the good stuff leak out, you're so sleeping in it, you freak." Dean didn't let go of the grip around Sam's middle, just waited for Sam to take the first step and then followed in his pace

"I did close it off, I'm not an idiot!" Sam gruffed, pausing to lean up against the wall.

"You so are, Sammy," Dean chuckled horsely, casting a glance at him. "And a whiny, pouty OCD- bitch to boot. And you're getting the oxygen taped back under that big nose o'yours. You fricken sound like your exhaust pipe's clogged."

Sam tried his best glare when he put more weight on his feet and started walking. Without a word Dean tightened his grip, lessening the strain.

"Very allegoric," Sam mumbled breathlessly when Dean flicked on the light and eased them in through the bedroom door.

"I know! I'm awesome, you're just a geek." Dean huffed when he helped Sam lie down and pulled the blankets up over him. "I mean, hell, who uses words like allegoric anyway? That won't help you pick up chicks." He rummaged around for the end of the IV-tube, took one look at the hub and clipped it on.

"Now, that's what gets you chicks. Technical skills."

"Not if you forget to open the drip, jerk." Sam replied, smiling into the pillow.

"Smart-ass! I was just getting to that!" Dean made a face at him and Sam coughed on a laugh and Dean retaliated with the nasal cannula and a tighter tuck in.

"Get some sleep, geek-boy!"

The room grew dark and Sam felt the bed dip when Dean sat down at the foot end. He wanted to tell him to crawl over to his own bed and take his own advice but he was too tired. And tears were rolling down his cheeks again. This time he cried because he was lucky enough to have a brother like Dean. One who'd probably whack him over the head for being a girly, doped up dork if he knew there was crying into the pillow. But that didn't matter. Dean was his home. And that was really all he needed.

John remained in the shadows of the corner, watching his sons. One with so many issues stemming from loss and grief never quite worked through and too much laid on his shoulders at an early age. The other, barely walking, with no memories of a normal family-life, rebellious and seeking what he never had. Sam had never been allowed to feel safe and secure and chances were that he never would. He wanted to give his sons what they wanted, it was easier to accomplish regarding Dean. After all, he understood and embraced the life they led. He'd never be able to give Sam what he wanted and the cruelty of it was that what Sam wanted was what most already had. But Sam would probably forever be deprived the simple things in life; family, friends and stability.

John watched them advance slowly. Sam leaning heavily on his brother, trying to keep up the banter, even through the hardest of times. Watched their grip on each other, two lost souls clinging to what was the only certainty in their lives; each other.

He had done more wrongs than rights with the boys, but the brotherhood he was watching was what would see them through in the end. That bond was the one thing that should never be broken and he hoped it would last even after he was gone.

When the light in the room went out, he turned and walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of Jim's lousy Bourbon. Pastor Jim was right, he was a lousy father most of the times. He was absent and not very reliable, controlling and demanding. He'd turned out to be like his own father, the one that he had turned his back on at a very early age and who had left an aching hole in his heart. His model for fatherhood wasn't exactly great, but that didn't excuse anything. Sam had already turned his back on him and he knew it would leave the same aching hole in Sam as it had in him. He hoped he'd fare better with Dean. Tomorrow he'd take a Greyhound and get the car for his son. That was all he could do at this point. It was a meek repayment for Dean's loyalty, but he had nothing more to give.

He didn't know how to repay Sam, didn't even know if it was possible. Sam was his lost son, his sorrow and he wondered if his father had looked at him and thought the same? It had been too late when he realized how much he loved his father, too late to express it in either words or actions. The ache lessened but it never went away. It came back with a vengeance when he looked at Sam and wondered if Sam would end up just like him? There was still time to remedy Sam's distrust, but he lacked the knowledge on how to reach out to his son and make him understand. Right now he needed to stay away, give Sam space to heal. He'd go back and get the needed document from Sam's school, try and find a job somewhere and send them the money for Sam's medical bills. Dean would look out for him and he'd call and check up on them until Sam was well enough to leave Pastor Jim's. Staying away was the best thing he could do for his sons right now, let them lead a normal life for one summer.

He looked out the window, watching the age old trees moving in the wind, imagining the creak of the branches. There was so much he wanted to tell Sam, emotions he couldn't put into words, fears he hesitated to verbalize and the pride he felt, watching his youngest become a man of his own. John was aware that his communication skills had never been good and the only words he could express right now were hoarsely whispered into the stillness of the night.

"M'sorry."