A/N: Haven't abandoned you guys or fiction: I've simply been very very busy with my last year of college and a secret project I do every year around Christmas called Project: Christmas. There's 115 small ficlets in all that I've written for my friends on LiveJournal, and this was the big one I wrote for everyone. You're more than welcome to traipse over to LiveJournal to read all the smaller ficlets: it's at community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/skynspace (of course, removing the fancier dots for real ones).

Wishing everyone a very happy holidays and Merry Christmas for those who celebrate it! :)

The last thing Sam saw was Dean running towards him, yelling.

The last thing Sam remembered thinking was, Well, this'll take the merry out of Merry Christmas.

Then there was only blackness.

When Sam came to, it was to lights that were too bright, a sterile, off smell, and scratchiness beneath him.

Oh, and pain. Quite a bit of pain.

"Sammy?"

Sam glanced to his left and found Dean standing beside him, relief on his face. "Hey, how you feelin'?" he asked.

"Do you know where you are?" a woman behind him asked before Sam answered, and a few pieces fell into place.

"Hospital," Sam said. He could feel his head pounding, and when he winced the nurse thankfully turned the lights down. His arm was killing him, and he wondered if fate was a bitch enough to have him break it again so soon after the cast had come off.

"Do you remember why?"

Sam paused in his catalogue of hurts. Well, he knew why, that was easy. But the explanation that Dean had come up with was beyond his grasp. He slid his eyes to Dean, hoping for a cue of some kind.

And Dean, being the wonderful big brother that he was, gave it. "Remember us trying to find the dog? And then that cougar came out of nowhere?"

'Cougar' his ass, but Sam let his eyes widen as if in realization. "Yeah, it threw me backwards. I think I hit my head." Dean looked faintly ill for a moment, and it was enough to make Sam reach for his head, because it had to have been bad. Dean's relief had been too obvious, and Dean didn't get queasy over the easy things.

Just as quickly as Sam had reached Dean caught his wrist and gently tugged it back down. "Don't mess with the surgeon's handiwork," he joked lightly, but his eyes were dark. Surgeons had been involved. Yeah, okay, Dean had a reason to be anxious.

It was only then that Sam realized that Dean was in a hospital gown as much as Sam was. "Wait, did you get thrown?" he asked, making to push himself up. His side came alive then, and Sam had thought he'd felt pain before. Not even close.

By the time he could see again the nurse was leaving, Dean was standing with his hand on Sam's shoulder looking more anxious than before, and oh. There was something very good running through Sam's veins.

"Morphine," Dean said, answering Sam's unspoken question. "And don't do that again. Leave moving alone for awhile. The harpy ripped your side up pretty bad."

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Dean promised. "Swear to god. I just got my head knocked into a tree, blacked out for a little bit. But scans came back okay, so quit worrying about me and worry about you for once."

Never gonna happen. "Told you that you had a hard head," Sam said, or tried to. His lips weren't moving right, and he felt drowsy all of a sudden.

Dean seemed to have expected it. "Work on that witty retort later. You need to rest, Sammy."

"Realize where we're spendin' Christmas Eve n' day?"

Dean paused with a small frown, as if it'd just occurred to him, and Sam drifted off before his brother could reply.

When he came to again, the lights were off completely, and the sky from the window was gray. Early morning type of gray.

Dean was sacked out on the bed beside him, turned towards Sam in what had to be a pose not deemed healthy by the hospital. Sam smiled fondly at him. "Dumbass," he murmured. Worry about himself when Dean had gotten hurt, too. Yeah, right.

Speaking of being hurt...

Slowly Sam reached his good hand up to his head again. As soon as he touched his scalp he felt something foreign. Stitches, had to be. He let his fingers follow it, wincing a few times when the skin was too sensitive to touch. Bruising AND stitching: even more fun.

God, how hard had the harpy thrown him, anyways?

"Good to see you awake: doctors said it'd be a few more days before you opened your eyes."

It was a different nurse from the one the night before, but she was quiet and cheerful, and Sam gave her a smile. "That bad, huh?" he said.

She nodded with a cringe. "Honey you were a mess. You still are: don't ask for a mirror anytime soon."

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Sam muttered, and she gave a soft laugh.

"You'll heal, though, and thank god for it." Her eyes fell on Dean's sleeping form with more than a little sympathy. "Your brother was a nervous wreck. Wouldn't let the nurses admit him, wouldn't let anyone touch him until he knew you were okay. When he called 911-"

"He called 911?" Sam stammered. That was breaking rule number one: go to help yourself, don't call 911 unless it's truly an emergency. There was always too much of a risk when you involved civilians on the scene, especially if there was a supernatural entity nearby or dead.

God, how bad had Sam been?

The nurse raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, of course he did. I guess he was frantic on the phone, trying to wake you up. They didn't even know he'd been hurt until he mentioned that he'd blacked out, didn't know how long you'd been unconscious for."

Sam glanced over at his brother. "Doctors were sure you'd slide into a coma. That much blood with a head trauma...no one expected you to wake up except your brother, and I think the only reason he expected it was because he wasn't gonna let you do anything but wake up."

Sam's lips twitched up into a smile. "He's kinda stubborn like that," he agreed. "He's not hurt that bad, is he?"

The nurse shook her head. "Just kept him overnight because of his head injury. You were the worrisome one. Now, though, you're bouncing back much faster than the doctors thought you would. You don't feel dizzy, hyper sensitive, nauseous...?"

Strangely, he really didn't. "Just in pain," Sam said. "My side. And my arm; I didn't break it, did I?"

She shook her head. Thank god. "You're a Christmas miracle, sweetie," she said, smiling. "And your brother knows it, too. Hit the call button if you need anything, okay?"

"Thank you," Sam said as she left. How the hell could he be so fine after head surgery? His hand reached up towards his head again, brushing lightly over the stitches. No headaches, nothing. All of the injuries seemed external.

"Don' touch it."

Sam glanced over at Dean, who still looked out of it. "Go back to sleep," Sam said.

"You too," Dean mumbled, closing his eyes again. "But don' freakin' touch it."

Sam resisted the urge to chuckle (because god knew what it'd feel like, his side the way it was) and closed his eyes. Sleep happened naturally.

"You could sign out, you know."

Dean shrugged. His eyes were glued to the television set, but his attention was totally on Sam. "Nurses are hot, bed's not too bad. Cable reception's good. Dude, they've got, like, two hundred channels. That's not normal."

Sam sighed and shook his head. Dean immediately glanced over at him when he moved his head. "Dean, I'm fine," Sam said. "I promise. You don't have to stay to watch me."

Dean pursed his lips. "Yeah, well, maybe I want to," he muttered, and Sam let it go. Dean was still obviously pretty freaked about Sam's injury, and it put images in his head as to how bad it'd been. Dean was even willingly staying in a hospital, just so he could remain by Sam's side. Freaked when he shook his head.

"I'm seriously okay, though," Sam insisted. Dean frowned at him. "You heard the doctor. The tests proved that the damage inside wasn't nearly as bad as everyone thought it was."

Dean looked sick again. Sam softened and continued, more gently this time. "I'm not trying to rub it in your face that I was pretty hurt."

"More than pretty hurt, Sam," Dean cut in. "You looked..."

His eyes darted left to right, and then he let out a heavy exhale. "You looked dead, okay? Jesus Sam, you were bloody all over, and you wouldn't respond to anything, and you wouldn't wake up and...god, you couldn't even imagine how bad it was."

Yeah, Sam could. Not his own injuries so much as Dean, frantic out of his mind as he tried to wake Sam up, talking into his cell phone and breaking the number one rule just to get Sam to safety. That was bad, and it hurt to think about.

Dean was fiddling with the remote control, hands expertly twirling it. Sam's lips twitched a little at the sight. "I'm fine, though," Sam said softly. "I promise. I'm just saying you don't have to stay if you don't want to. I know how much you hate hospitals." And the less said about how their last visit had gone, losing Dad and nearly losing Dean, the better.

"Not so much any more," Dean mumbled before he glanced up and said in a louder tone, "I'm not going anywhere, so get over it. You're just gonna have to put up with me as a roommate."

"What do you think I've been doing for the past twenty years?" Sam teased, and did finally laugh when Dean flipped him the bird. It hurt his side just as much as he thought it would, but it was totally worth it to see Dean finally grin.

"Hello boys," the nurse said as she came in. "Doctor said you can pick anything on the menu for dinner, even the solids."

"Hey look Sam, we can have solids!" Dean said cheerfully, and Sam chuckled helplessly. "Wow; must be Christmas after all. This is the best present ever."

The nurse crossed her arms, reminding Sam of Missouri for a moment. "I got a better one, smart-ass: doctor said you two should be able to be discharged by the 26th. Of course, you can be discharged anytime you want," she pointed out to Dean, but Dean shook his head.

"I'm good, thanks."

"I figured," she said, rolling her eyes. "At any rate, pick your food before seven; just hit the call button when you've decided."

"Thanks Shawna," Dean called after her. Figured he'd know all their names. "Ooh, peppermint cookies. Actually, the food's not bad here, for a hospital."

"You could have diner food, though..." Sam tempted, but Dean just glanced over at him for a long moment. He shook his head briefly, the smile on his face just a tad more filled with awe and gratitude than Sam was used to seeing. The doctors must've seriously pulled a miracle out of nowhere for Dean to not only look at him like Sam was the best gift he'd could've gotten, but for him to actually change his opinion about hospitals in general.

For Sam? All he needed was Dean alive, and the hospital had given him that, too. So Sam guessed the hospital wasn't all that bad.

He turned back to the menu with a small smile. Not exactly how he'd planned on spending his Christmas, but there wasn't much he could complain about. In fact, he was feeling pretty grateful, too.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy."

Sam smiled. "Merry Christmas," he said, and meant it.

Dean turned away from the menu at that, a grin on his own face. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

END