Author's Note: I've been overwhelmed – so to everyone who reviewed, sent me a message, or put this fic on alert – a massive thank you. I can't express how happy you made me or how inspired to keep up the writing. You all made me sit down for half the day, tweak this fic, write a bit more …hope it meets everyone's expectations. I promise to respond to all the reviews soon! Oh, almost forgot ...angst warning...

Dean aged 18 and Sam 14.

Bleeding Out

Chapter 2

The distinctive rumble of the Impala pulling up outside was enough to pull Dean away from the magazine he was reading. Giving the kitchen a quick glance to make sure everything was reasonably clean and tidy and would pass muster with his Dad, he rose to make a pot of coffee, knowing it would be his father's first request. He was keen to hear all the details of the latest hunt.

John got out of the car, feeling exhaustion in every fibre of his being. He was glad to be home, back to his boys, who he'd been away from for far longer than he intended.

Laden with bags of weapons and dirty laundry he fumbled with his key, trying to unlock the front door. Frustrated when the handle would turn but the door wouldn't budge, he put the weight of his shoulders behind it and gave the door a final decisive shove, pushing it open.

The color drained from his face as he took in the pool of blood under his feet and his eyes quickly sought out the legs of his youngest lying awkwardly behind the half open door.

Loaded bags dropped unheeded by his feet.

Scenarios rushed through his mind, none of them good.

Something had gotten his boys, he thought, devastation hitting him full force.

A low pain filled groan pulled him from his stupor.

"Oh god, Sammy," he muttered, dropping to his knees beside his youngest.

"Dean!" He yelled; panic filled at the fate of his eldest. He knew Dean would do anything to protect Sammy, and if Sammy was down, well then…

Turning Sam onto his back, John quickly assessed the injuries sustained by his youngest son. Years of training in the marines kicked in as he applied pressure to the wound on his arm to stem the freely flowing blood as he checked his son's breathing and heart rate.

"Dad?" Dean skidded to a halt at the sight before him.

"Dean, what the hell happened?"

"I don't…" Dean went pale as he took in the volume of blood covering his brother.

"Dean, what the hell happened to your brother? Dean!"

"I don't know Dad …I don't know."

"It's your job to know …one thing …I ask you to do one goddamn thing…"

"Is he…"

"Dammit Dean …I can't stop the bleeding …get me a blanket …and towels; I need towels …now Dean!" John barked.

Dean raced to follow the order, returning moments later to see that his father had ripped off Sam's shirt and was holding it over his brother's arm.

Sam still wasn't moving.

"Put the blanket over him …he's going into shock." John issued the curt command, grabbing the towels out of his son's hand and wrapping them around Sam's arm.

"Dad?" Dean whispered.

"Keys are in the door – go start the car." John spoke in hushed urgency.

"Sam, Sammy, can you hear me?" John wasn't surprised when he didn't get a response. "It's gonna be okay son, I'm just gonna pick you up now, get you to the hospital …everything's gonna be okay ...just hold on …you gotta hold on a little longer, can you do that for me?"

oooOOOooo

Dried blood covered his hands and stained his jeans and shirt, but he didn't care.

He didn't care about the strange looks he attracted or the way everyone else in the waiting room gave him a wide berth.

All he cared about was his son, and the longer he spent waiting the more his worry increased. 'Goddamn hospitals needed a few less regulations and a little more humanity' he thought as he tried to curb his restlessness.

John looked at his eldest, slumped beside him in a chair, his face pale and drawn. It mightn't be the time, or the place, but he had to know. "What the hell happened Dean?"

Dean raised his eyes to his father. "I don't know …we had an argument …Sam went outside for a bit…"

"Alone?"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. " …he was only gone ten minutes at the most …no more I swear, then I heard him come home …few minutes later you showed up."

John ran his fingers through the three day old stubble on his face before rubbing a hand across his tired eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking Dean …I told you to watch him …to look out for your brother …and you let him go off wandering the streets on his own?"

"I didn't think…"

"That's right, you didn't goddamn think …and now your brother's in the hospital …and God only knows…"

"Mr Winchester?" John looked up at the white coated doctor who called his name from the doorway.

"Wait here." John spat at his eldest before making his way to the doctor.

oooOOOooo

John felt the tension coiled tight in his body as he waited for the doctor to speak. The schooled expression gave nothing away …no hint of whether or not Sam was okay.

"Your son's blood loss was severe and I have to be honest, it was touch and go there for a while …but we've managed to control the hemorrhaging and get him stabilised."

John felt a little of his tension fall away and nodded at the doctor to continue.

"The minor surgery to repair the damage to his arm went well and I don't think there will be any long term effects …once it's fully healed, he should regain full use of the limb, but it may take a while for him to regain full strength in that arm. The cut on his neck was superficial; minor in comparison …it only needed a few stitches and barring any complications, it should heal without scarring."

"So, he's gonna be okay?" John needed plain honest clarity and a little more reassurance.

"Our main focus now is on replacing the blood that he lost and getting his blood pressure up to more normal levels. We've inserted an intravenous line to give him fluids and transfuse blood and I hope to see him making steady improvements as we get his fluid levels up. He's a strong young man, a real fighter, and I'm pleased to say that he's breathing on his own again which is a promising sign."

"Thank God."

"Now don't get me wrong, he's not completely out of the woods yet, but his condition is improving and at this stage I'm feeling optimistic."

"Can I see him?"

"He's being settled into a room now; just follow the signs down to the paediatric ward and ask at the nurses' station, they'll be able to give you a bed number."

John nodded his head and gave his thanks.

"Oh, and Mr Winchester." The doctor grabbed his attention again.

"Yeah?"

"I believe there're a couple of police officers on their way over to speak to you and your sons." He felt fair in warning the father on what to expect, picking up on the genuine worry in the man's demeanour.

"Thanks, for everything ...'ppreciate the heads up." As the doctor walked away John looked across the room and locked eyes with his oldest son, feeling remorse at the way he'd lashed out and knowing that worry and stress were no excuse.

"Dean," he called, waiting for his son to reach his side. "Let's go see Sammy." He said, resting a hand on Dean's shoulder and filling him in on every thing the doctor said.

oooOOOooo

Sam hadn't moved since they'd been shown into his room a few hours previously and Dean was getting desperate for a sign. He needed something more that the flashing display on the monitors to tell him that Sam was going to be okay.

He watched his father leave the room, his eyes only straying from his brother for a minute. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He was surprised that after his Dad's outburst that he trusted him enough to watch over Sam while he returned to the house for a quick shower and change.

He still hadn't given his Dad the full details of what had happened. How he'd let his brother leave without a second glance. How he'd ignored his brother's cry for help. How he hadn't lifted a finger to go to his brother's aid. He knew it was just a matter of time before their Dad demanded answers, answers he wasn't sure he was ready to give.

He wasn't ready yet to face the disappointment he'd see in his father's eyes. The loss of trust. All things which he deserved, twice over and then some.

He couldn't change the fact that it should be him lying there, not Sam.

He realised that now. Sam had been calling for help when he'd come back into the house. Even now he could hear Sam's voice clear in his head as he called his name. He couldn't erase the image of Sam lying on the floor covered in blood that was permanently imprinted in his mind, reminding him of how he'd failed every time he closed his eyes.

He'd failed. In the worse possible way.

"Oh god Sam, I'm sorry," he whispered, taking his brother's pale hand in his own. "I'm so sorry."

He knew now that Sam would never look at him in quite the same way again. How could he? How could his brother ever forgive him?

He couldn't forgive himself.

oooOOOooo

Sam drifted in the heavy haze between awake and asleep, trying to keep himself there.

He knew where he was even before he opened his eyes. The familiar tang of hospital antiseptic and the firm rubber covered mattress were all too familiar.

As the memories surfaced as to what had happened to bring him here he let out a low groan.

"Sammy? Hey come on, time to wake up now." Dean whispered.

"Son, can you hear me?" John asked.

Sam pushed his eyelids slowly open and looked into the tired eyes of his family leaning over him, inches away from his own face. He felt a little more relaxed knowing they were here with him, making sure nothing bad happened. He let his eyes slip closed again.

"Hey, no come on…" Dean ran a hand through his brother's hair, pushing it off his face, hoping he'd open his eyes again.

"Dean, let him be, he needs to rest."

oooOOOooo

The next time Sam woke up he felt a little clearer. His eyes fell on his father slumped in the chair beside his bed, neck resting at an awkward angle as he slept.

"Sam?"

Sam turned his head to the other side and looked at his brother who was staring at him through bleary blood shot eyes.

"Dean …what…" he whispered; coarse voice barely audible.

"Hey, take it easy."

Dean held out a glass of water to Sam, angling the straw into his mouth and waiting until he'd taken a few small sips.

"How you feeling kiddo?"

"…'m okay."

"Yeah right …don't think you'll be winning any beauty contests this year."

"Dads back."

"Yeah, and not a second too soon." Dean muttered.

"Huh?"

"Uh never mind …you need anything?"

Sam gave a small shake of his head and let his eyes slip closed again.

oooOOOooo

When he was finally able to stay awake longer than a few minutes, Sam gave details of his attacker to the local police, not surprised that his Dad and Dean had been unable to give them any information about what had happened. He was grateful to put that part of the ordeal behind him. He just hoped the police found the man before his Dad or Dean did, because he didn't want his own stupidity to get his family into any trouble further down the line.

Now he just wanted to go home and put the whole incident behind him. He was tired of the constant monitoring and hovering, the crappy TV and the even worse food. He loved his Dad and brother, but he wanted some privacy - he needed a little bit of space.

He needed his Dad to stop giving him furtive glances every time he didn't think he was looking.

He needed his brother to stop turning away every time he tried to broach a conversation.

He needed things back the way they were.

It didn't come as a great surprise when his Dad managed to convince the doctor that he could be discharged, even though his scheduled discharge date was still a few days away. The doctor didn't look overly happy about it, but Sam didn't care. Resting up in his own bed would be heaven in comparison to the hospital. At least he'd have his own books, and could maybe get his school work sent home so that he could keep up until he returned to classes.

He never thought he'd be so eager to get back into the Winchester routine.

"You ready?" Sam looked from his Dad to the wheelchair he pushed in front of him.

"Yeah, but I can walk." Sam stated emphatically.

"Sam…"

"But Dad, I…"

"Just humor your old man and use the chair."

Sam gave his Dad a look of displeasure as he lowered himself into the wheelchair. "I feel like a geriatric," he muttered, gaining a chortled "join the club" from his father.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was glad he didn't have to walk all the way through the hospital and to the car. He still felt light headed if he stood up too quickly or moved too fast, and a simple trip to the bathroom pretty much used up all of his energy.

He welcomed the familiar sight of the Impala waiting at the curb, his brother predicably ignoring all parking restrictions. Dean stood tall by the side of the car as he watched their approach, moving to open the back door of the Impala as they neared.

Dean hadn't spoken to him much since he'd woken up in the hospital and he worried that his brother was still angry at him. He'd started to ask Dean a few times if they were okay, but each time he'd stopped, a little afraid of the answer.

Dean remained distant and he didn't like it.

oooOOOooo

As frustrating as it was to need help, he leaned into his fathers support as he was helped from the car and in to the house. Although the assistance was given with total willingness, he'd never felt like such a burden.

As his father eased him down onto the couch he breathed a sigh of relief, happy at last to be home. As sparse and dreary as it was, it was a vast improvement over the hospital.

"Thanks."

"Need anything?"

"Nah, I'm right." Sam leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes, surprised at how much the short trip had taken out of him. Within minutes he succumbed to sleep.

He wasn't aware of the covert glances that his dad and brother kept sending his way, constantly checking that he was okay. He didn't twitch when and old rug was procured and draped over him or a pillow slipped behind his head.

"You sure he should be out of the hospital?" Dean asked his father, his voice dripping with concern as he kept his eyes trained on his sleeping brother.

"He's okay son, just gonna take a little time for him to recover …you wait and see, he'll be up and about annoying the crap out of you before you know it."

"Doesn't need to be up and about to do that." Dean threw back, immediately feeling a twinge of remorse at the throw away remark.

He was a crappy big brother and Sam deserved so much more.

oooOOOooo

Dean sat down on the chair opposite his brother, watching the even rise and fall of his chest. He hadn't been able to shed the guilt he felt every time he thought of his brother bleeding out, so close to death and him just sitting in the next room - doing nothing to prevent it.

Completely oblivious.

Yet totally to blame.

They'd been lucky this time, but he knew from experience that 'luck' couldn't be counted on. Not good luck anyway.

He propped his feet on the edge of the couch and just watched. Watched Sam sleep.

He sensed Sam waking up before he opened his eyes. He knew the subtle movements his brother made as he surfaced from a deep sleep.

Sam opened his eyes and stared at his brother.

Dean didn't make any effort to move away.

Sam felt a ripple of concern. "Dean? ... Everything okay?"

"Sam, I'm sorry." Dean dropped his gaze.

"For what?"

"Letting you go."

"It wasn't your fault ...none of it was."

"If it hadn't been for me, you would've stayed inside …been safe."

"Dean, you couldn't know what was gonna happen …"

"Yeah, but I should've stopped it. Should've stopped you from going out."

"Not your fault Dean." Sam shook his head in denial.

Dean raised his eyes to his brother. "I know now …I know you didn't take the knife."

"How?"

"Dad. …It was in the weapons bag …Dad had it the whole time. Handle broke on his new one so he just borrowed mine ….I didn't know …he didn't tell me …I just thought…"

"Yeah, I know."

"God Sam, I should have…"

"Dean …sometimes, you just gotta let me go."

-end-

Reviews are love.

Authors Note: No John and Dean fallout you yell …I know I'm going to get some grief over this. Yes, seriously, I think I should end it here. Otherwise I'll never get around to all the sequels I owe or the plot bunnies I've adopted.