Part Two

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Chapter Two

He's aware of things slowly. The first thing is: he hurts, everywhere. There are noises around him he doesn't recognize, a symphony of beeps and swooshing sounds, and people speaking all at once. Everything seems soft, kind of out of focus, like he's dreaming it.

The first thing Sam sees when he manages to open his eyes, is his brother. Dean's sitting beside him -- where am I? -- frowning. He looks pale and tired, but the minute he notices Sam looking at him he perks up, the frown changing over to a smile. Sam opens his mouth and gags on the tube that's down his throat. That makes him jump, panicked, and Dean squeezes his hand.

"Easy, Sammy. Hang on, they gotta take the tube out."

'They' move into his line of sight then, a man and a woman, talking to each other as they fuss and fiddle with things Sam can't see.

The man says, "Sam, I'm Dr. Peters. I'm going to take the tube out for you. I want you to take a deep breath for me, and I'm going to count to three. When I pull on the tube, blow out, like you're blowing out birthday candles. Okay?"

Sam nods and tries to pull in a deep breath. He shudders and coughs as the doctor pulls the tube up and out, leaving his throat burning behind it. He coughs some more, wincing when it makes the rest of him hurt even more.

"Water?" He manages, the word coming out as a hoarse croak. The nurse is there in an instant, holding a straw up to his mouth. The water is cool and soothing going down and Sam takes the cup she's holding and sips at it eagerly. It still hurts to swallow, but not as badly as it did.

"Do you know where you are, Sam?" The doctor – Peters? Sam thinks that's what he said – leans in to listen to his chest. Dean squeezes his hand again. "Sammy?"

"…hospital." The word still comes out as a croak. A painful croak.

"That's right. Do you remember what happened?" Dr. Peters pushes the blankets down and begins gently pushing at various spots on Sam's abdomen.

Another drink of water. "I—there was a truck. I think?" He frowns up at the doctor, then at Dean, eyes going wide. "Accident! It hit us, the truck hit us. Dean--Mom and Dad?"

"In a minute, Sammy." Dean's smile changes, tightens up, shifts back into a frown, and Sam feels dread move through him, icy-cold and swelling, making his chest tight and his throat ache for a different reason. "Soon as the doc's done checking you over."

That can't be a good sign. It just can't be. If their parents were okay, Dean would say so, not make him wait. Right? Or maybe there's something else going on, like they're in the hospital too? He wishes he could remember better what happened. He was texting…in the car, they were all in the car going…where? Dinner. They were going to dinner and then there was a truck—but it all goes blank after that.

"What time is it? Is it Saturday? I have to call Eric, tell him I won't be at practice—Ow!" Sam glares at the doctor.

"Sorry," is the mild response. "I just need to be sure everything's healing up. Does it hurt here?" He presses a little lower.

"It hurts everywhere," Sam says, gritting his teeth. He wants his parents, or at least to know where they are and how they're doing, and he wants Dean to smile again, and he really wants to be on the practice field, getting ready for next month's competition. He doesn't want to be in a hospital bed, aching from head to toe.

"We'll get you something for the pain in just a minute." The doctor nods toward the nurse. "Nothing but clear liquids for twenty-four hours, while we see how he tolerates those. We'll go from there."

"What day is it?" Sam asks, a little desperately. "Dean?"

"It's Thursday, Sammy," he says quietly, and squeezes Sam's hand again. "I've already talked to Eric. Just chill for a few more minutes, okay?"

Thursday? That's—he's missing a whole week?

"Well, it appears everything's holding together," Dr. Peters says, stepping back from the bed, and turning to include Dean. "His fever's completely gone, and while he's going to have some pain from the surgeries, I'm not finding anything to indicate any continued internal bleeding. I'm sorry we had to do it, but it looks like removing the spleen was the right call. You're probably going to hurt for awhile, Sam," he turns back toward Sam. "You've been through a pretty severe trauma. But we'll have you fixed up and ready to go again before you know it. And we'll be transferring you down to a general ward in the next few hours; you don't need the ICU any longer."

Dean looks relieved at that. "How much longer is he going to be in the hospital, Doc?"

"It's hard to say for sure; at least a couple more days. We need to make sure there aren't any further complications, and that his pain is managed and he can tolerate food. Let's just take it one step at a time. We'll see where we're at on Saturday."

"Okay." Dean nods.

"The nurse will be back in with some more medication for the pain, Sam, and I'll be back later tonight to see how you're doing."

Sam nods, and manages to wait until the doctor's out of the room, the nurse following behind him, murmuring in response to whatever orders the doctor is giving, before he turns back to stare at Dean. "Surgeries?" he asks finally, shifting gingerly. "More than one?"

Dean sighs. "You had internal bleeding, dude. They thought they got it – you were in emergency surgery when I got here Friday night – but then you spiked a temp and started bleeding again, so yeah. Back into surgery. I thought, for a little while—" Dean cuts himself off and shakes his head. "Sunday and Monday were pretty rough, kiddo."

"And Mom and Dad?" The panic is back, clawing at his chest and throat, and Sam swallows against it. "Dean, where are mom and dad?"

"They—dammit." Dean's voice turns rough, harsh, like he's the one who had the tube down his throat. "They're both gone, Sammy."

"Gone—" No. No way is Dean saying what Sam thinks he's saying.

"Dead." Dean raises his free hand up to wipe at his eyes. "Dad—was dead at the scene, and Mom. Died on the way to the hospital. You were in pretty bad shape; they couldn't wait for me to get here to get you in to surgery."

Dead? Both of them? Sam shakes his head. No. He can't believe what Dean's saying, because that means they're gone, and just, no. "They're not—they can't be—"

"I'm sorry, Sam. I really—wish. Wish you didn't—"

"No! You're wrong—you have to be wrong. They can't be gone! I need them, we need them, they're not—No, Dean. No. Please, no—" Sam breaks off, throat closing up against any other words. He shakes as the sobs come, and when Dean shifts around so he can hold Sam close, Sam goes, burrowing as far inside the safe circle of Dean's arms as he can get, clinging to his brother like Dean's a lifeline.

~~~~~

"Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up, Sammy." Dean's fingers dance over Sam's forehead, and he knows even without opening his eyes that his brother is pushing the hair back from his eyes. "C'mon, you big faker. They're gonna give you a change of scenery in a few minutes, move you down to a different room."

"'M not faking." He opens his eyes, though, and blinks a few times. "God, I hate crying," he mutters, and hears Dean snort. "How long did I sleep?"

"Hour or two? I don't know. The nurse came back and stuck something in your IV, and you went out pretty fast after that. How you doin'?"

"Just peachy." Sam stares at the IV taped to his hand. "I didn't—dream that, did I?" He's hoping so hard that Dean will just say 'yes' that he's actually surprised when his brother shakes his head.

"Sorry."

"Yeah." Sam rubs his eyes – he's not crying again, dammit – and gives his brother a small smile. "How did you—find out? Who called you?"

"Gunther." Dean stands up when the nurses – one male, one female – come in. "Dad had him down for Emergency Contact. I got here a couple hours after the accident." He steps back to make room for the nurses to do whatever it is they're doing to get Sam and his bed mobile, tucking things in and hooking things onto the bed itself. "He's been here every day, checking in on us, helping me get stuff done."

"Okay, Sam, I'm Tyler and this is Angie. We're going to take you to your new room now, so just relax back and let us do the driving, okay?"

"Please keep arms and legs in the vehicle at all times—" Angie breaks off with a grin and Sam gives them both a smile. Dean laughs.

"Have you seen this kid? He's all arms and legs."

Sam shoots him a glare. "I'm taller than you now, too."

"In your dreams, Sammy."

"No, really. Just ask Mo—" Sam breaks off, his bit of good mood vanishing instantly. Tyler and Angie give him sympathetic looks, and Dean reaches over and pats his arm. "It's cool, Sam."

It just hurts so damn much. Sam's not sure a body is meant to feel something like this.

Tyler clears his throat. "Okay, kids, let's get this show on the road, shall we? I might be young and beautiful right now, but I'm getting older and beauty fades."

Sam nods, then twists – or tries to – as they move the bed and he loses sight of Dean. He clamps down on the sound that wants out when something inside him burns hot and sharp, and calls, "Dean!"

"I'm right here, Sam. I'm following you guys, right behind you all the way, okay?"

"Okay."

It's hard, though, not seeing him, and Dean must sense that because he starts talking, telling Sam about all the calls he's made the last few days: schools, friends, an attorney, the insurance agent. "Your teachers told me to let them know when you're out of the hospital and they'll figure out something for homework, though with your big brain I don't know why they're worried about it."

"Funny." Sam bites his lower lip. "What about you? Don't you have school stuff you'll have to make up? How're you going to do that and be here? You're staying, aren't you?" Don't go and leave me all alone.

"Hey." They stop to wait for an elevator, and Dean appears beside Sam's bed. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Sam. Promise." He shrugs. "I called and talked to the Admissions office, and I'm withdrawing for this semester. I'll probably end up transferring to a school here in town."

"Sucks you have to drop out."

"Well, yeah. But it's okay. It'll all work out in the end, one way or another."

For the first time since opening his eyes earlier – god, it's only been a few hours! – Sam realizes his brother looks older. Older, and tired, eyes shadowed with too much responsibility way too fast. He frowns and reaches out grab Dean's hand, giving it a quick squeeze before he's being wheeled into the elevator.

Sam groans when the elevator bumps them as it comes to a stop, and Angie frowns. "Pain?"

"Pretty much yeah, everywhere," he says. "Not as bad as earlier, but starting to hurt again."

"We'll get you settled, and get you some more meds," she tells him. "We'll get you some Kool-aid and broth, too."

"Kool-aid?" Dean raises an eyebrow. "He can have that?"

She shrugs. "It's a clear liquid, it's sweet—would you rather have apple juice, Sam?"

"Nah. Kool-aid's fine. Just, no purple, okay?"

"You don't like the grape?" Tyler's pretty good at backing through the door, swinging the bed slowly as they go.

"He doesn't like purple. Traumatic experience with Barney when he was in pre-school. Gosh, Sam, it's already been a year, hasn't it?"

"Bite me. Contrary to what you might think, Dean, you're not funny." Sam turns to Tyler. "No, I don't like grape. Not if I have a choice. And it has nothing to do with Barney." He glares at Dean. "Jerk."

"Yeah, but you love me." Dean waits until the bed is positioned, locked, and Sam's settled, then asks, "You feel up to company? Eric's been calling every day to check on you. I told him once you were awake he could probably come up and visit."

"Yeah, I'd love to see him—and Gunther, too."

"Gunther'll be in after the shop closes, around seven."

"Good." Sam watches while Tyler and Angie move around him, checking his vitals and IV bag, and—"Oh, god. Is that a catheter?" He feels the blush heat up his cheeks, and it only increases when Angie nods.

"Once you're able to get up they'll take the cath out, but it was necessary while you were sedated."

"Meanwhile, don't mess with it," Tyler says, and Sam and Dean shudder at the same time, and Sam says very emphatically, "no worries there."

Sam drowses while he waits for more pain meds, and the promised broth and Kool-aid. He's not hungry, exactly, but Kool-aid sounds good. His throat is still scratchy and sore. Dean's on his phone, and Sam lets the quiet sound of his voice lull him, drifting on low rumble as easily as when he had chicken pox and only his brother could settle him.

~~~~~

While it's mind-blowing to realize he's missing a week of time, being awake, Sam decides, isn't all it's cracked up to be. It seems like time is slowing down, moving backwards.

Dean calls Mrs. Westerly to let her know Sam's awake, and that he'd like to see Eric if she would bring him up to the hospital. Then he calls Gunther to tell him the same, and Sam has to smile when he hears Gunther's voice echoing over the cell phone speaker, telling him it's about damn time he got his ass up.

He's trying to doze, restless and achy in spite of the pain meds, but every time he closes his eyes all Sam can think about is Mom and Dad, gone. Dean's paging through a magazine beside him, humming tunelessly under his breath, and Sam tries to focus on that. He's nearly nodded off when there's a knock on the door, and Eric's peering in, smiling faintly behind a bunch of balloons cheerily proclaiming, "Get Well Soon!", and a bouquet of bright flowers.

"Can I come in?"

"God, yes." Sam tries shifting and groans when everything inside him screams. Dean's there immediately, pushing the buttons to get the bed moving so Sam's sitting more upright. "Man, it's good to see you."

Eric reaches out and hugs Sam gently, obviously mindful of the IV tubing, and Sam's incisions. "I'm so sorry about your parents, Sam, Dean." He nods at Dean, then looks back at Sam. "I tried texting you, and then calling you Saturday when you didn't show up for practice, and Mr. Foster tried calling your mom's cell—"

"Hey, Eric. You want the chair?" Dean stands up and stretches, then gives Sam a quick…well, caress, is all Sam can call it. Fingers brushing across his forehead gently. "I'm gonna go get a soda, Sam, and grab a burger, okay?"

"You'll be right back, right?"

"Yeah. And Eric's got my number. You need me, have him call, okay?"

"Okay." Sam swallows uneasily as Dean heads out of his room, and gives Eric a tired smile. "You told Mr. Foster where I am, right?"

Eric settles into Dean's vacated chair after putting the flowers on the table beside Sam's bed. He has an envelope in his hands that he fiddles with. "I think Dean did. I mean, I know he did, because I gave him Mr. Foster's phone number. Mr. Foster brought it up in band Monday morning, and, well—here."

He thrusts the envelope toward Sam.

Inside the envelope are two smaller envelopes. The first one Sam opens is addressed to both him and Dean, and is a light blue and white card that reads, "With Sympathy". On the inside it says, "Thinking of you and wishing you peace and comfort." It's signed by Eric and his parents, and Sam's eyes sting with tears at the note Mrs. Westerly added at the bottom: "Boys, please know that you're in our thoughts and our prayers. If you need anything at all, any time at all, don't hesitate to call."

Sam sniffles. "Tell your mom I said thanks, okay?"

Eric nods. "I will. Or you can tell her; she'll be here in a few minutes to get me."

"Okay." He sniffles again and sets that card aside. The other one is addressed just to him, and the card inside says "Never Underestimate the Healing Power of Hope, the Loving Power of Friends." It's signed with different colors of ink, different messages that range from "thinking of you" to "feel better!", and everything in between, and just scanning it quickly Sam's pretty sure every member of the marching band signed it, including Mr. Foster.

He can't blink the tears away this time, and Sam's still crying when there's a soft knock on the door and Eric's mom comes in.

"Oh, honey," is all she says, and then she sits on the side of his bed and holds him while he cries. Somewhere inside his head Sam's horrified at losing it like this in front of, well, everyone. He feels like he's half out of his mind with pain and drugs, and he's afraid he might never be able to stop crying. That this will never end.

At some point someone opens the door, but Sam can't see through his tears, doesn't know if someone's coming in or going out, and he doesn't care.

"I j-just want it to stop h-h-hurting," he sobs, and Mrs. Westerly pats his back.

"I know, honey. I wish I could do that for you."

He wishes she could, too.

There's more activity around him, around them; Dean's voice hushed and low mingling with Mrs. Westerly's, and someone else's, and then warmth spreads through him slow but steady, and Sam's sobs taper off as the world goes fuzzy and soft around him. He hears Dean talking, hears the other voices, but can't connect them anymore. He's so sleepy now, everything warm and heavy. From far, far away he feels the warmth of Dean's hand stroking his hair back from his face, and hears Dean sigh.

"It's gonna be okay, Sam. We're gonna be okay."

"Don't—promise me," he slurs, tongue thick as sleep closes in on him. "P-promise me, don't leave me. Stay here…."

"Not goin' anywhere, Sammy. I promise, I'm not gonna leave you."

~~~~~

It's quiet in Sam's room – too quiet. Dean walked Gunther out a little while ago, saying he was going to get some coffee and then he'd be back. Sam wants him back here, now. As long as Dean's here, and talking, Sam doesn't have to think about the week he's missing, or the accident, or the fact that Mom and Dad are gone.

Gone. He's never going to get to give Mom a kiss and a hug before leaving for school again. Or argue with Dad about the best way to mow a lawn. There won't be any more family dinners, or Mom and Dad embarrassing him by being mushy in public. He'll never get to see his parents' eyes shining with pride over an accomplishment, or sad when he's sad.

Tears well up again, and Sam wishes he could turn onto his side and curl up in a ball, hold all the pain out by making himself as small as possible. Instead he wipes his eyes and sniffles, and tries to remember his parents as he saw them last, Mom smiling and Dad smiling at her. Happy. He hopes they're happy right now; hopes they're together wherever people go after they're dead. Sam knows Mom will be glad to see her parents again. Grandma and Grandpa Campbell died before Sam was born, and Dean says he only vaguely remembers them.

He's still sniffling when Dean comes back, steaming coffee in his hand. It smells really good, and Sam wonders if coffee counts as a clear liquid. Probably not – at least not the hospital coffee.

"Sam? You okay?"

"Yeah." He sniffles again, and manages a watery smile when Dean grabs a handful of tissues and hands them to him. "Thanks. Just thinking about Mom and Dad."

"Ah. Yeah." The chair squeaks a little when Dean settles down on it. "I think I've cried more in the last week than in the rest of my life put together."

"I miss them." It doesn't seem like it can be real.

"I know. I do, too." Dean leans forward and leans carefully on Sam's bed. "Sally gave me a couple of names for counselors. Grief counselors. If either of us wanted to talk to someone."

"You gonna?" Sam has a lot of trouble picturing his I can handle anything, I'm so macho brother going to talk to a counselor.

"I dunno. Maybe." He gives Sam a sheepish smile. "I punched a hole in the wall in your bedroom. Right next to the Harry Potter poster."

"My room? Why my room?"

"Mike and Ellie brought me home last Friday, after Gunther called, and stayed until Monday afternoon. While they were here they slept in my old room – and there was no way I was going in Mom and Dad's room, at least not to sleep. So I was sleeping in yours, and I just—after they had to take you in for that second surgery—I kind of lost my temper."

"Dude."

"Yeah, I know. Hurt my hand, too."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Idiot." He shifts a little. "Would you raise the bed, so I can sit up a little?"

"Shouldn't you be sleeping, or something?"

"I will when they bring the next round of pain meds." Sam wiggles a little, grimacing when even that tiny movement pulls his stitches and jostles things inside. "I think I liked it better when I was unconscious."

"I didn't," Dean says quietly. "I'll be glad when you're discharged and I'm not home all by myself. It's kind of creepy."

"Plus there're all those defenseless walls." That gets him a small smile.

"Well, yeah. That too."

It's quiet for a few minutes while Dean drinks his coffee, and Sam tries not to think about their parents, but thoughts keep slipping in until he says, "So, um. What are we supposed to do—about Mom and Dad?"

"Do?" Dean frowns in confusion. "Oh. Um. Their, uh, their will says they want to be cremated, and then have a memorial stone placed in the cemetery. I've got all the info at home—they bought a small plot, and paid for the stone and stuff. I mean, they did it awhile ago."

"Are they still—uh. Did you do the cremation yet?"

Dean shakes his head. "I was waiting for you—to wake up. I just, I don't know. I thought you should know before I did anything. It felt wrong with you still asleep. And I figured we could have a memorial service for them, then. I know Gunther and Sally, and the guys at the shop, want to pay their respects. I don't know but probably Mom's book club people, and some of the neighbors, stuff like that."

"Yeah." Sam closes his eyes for a minute, trying to think. His mom was – used to be – active with Band Fundraisers, and Dad coached his soccer team for three years in a row, and they'd been active with the Parent-Teacher association for as long as he and Dean had been in school. "I can make a list. What time is it?"

"A little past nine. You okay?"

"Hurts again." Sam leans back against his pillow. "Did you—find out anything about who hit us?"

Dean reaches for the call button, but Sam shakes his head. "They'll be in, in a little while. I'm all right."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. But if it gets worse, tell me."

"Will do."

"It was a tractor-trailer that hit you guys. The driver fell asleep at the wheel, lost control. The police said he woke up just as the truck crossed the median, but it was too late to get control back."

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask. I know he's alive, and they took him to a different hospital."

"Glad he's not here." Sam bites his lip. "I want…I wish…"

"That it was him, and not mom and dad?" Dean says it gently, and Sam nods. "Believe me, I know."

"It's wrong to wish bad things for people."

"Maybe." Dean shrugs. "But it's, I'm not gonna go hunt him down or anything. I don't…know. I don't want anything bad to happen to him, not really. But accident or not, our parents are dead because of him. I don't exactly feel friendly toward the guy."

"Yeah."

Sam wants to say more, but the pain's increasing with every minute, and it feels like if he opens his mouth all he'll do is scream with it. Dean's frowning down at him, hand reaching toward the call button. This time Sam nods. He hates how fast it knocks him out, but he doesn't really want to be awake anymore right now. He just wants to sleep, and not hurt, and not know his parents are dead.

The nurse – she introduces herself as Maggie, and says she'll be his night nurse – comes in to add his meds to the IV. "You get some rest, Sam, and we'll get you up and walking tomorrow; you'll get to go home in no time at all."

When she's done with her checks and gone back to the nurse's station, Dean smiles at him. "Least you got cute nurses to look at. I have to go home and stare at the walls. Or Harry Potter posters."

Sam grabs at Dean's arm, hissing when it makes things shift and burn. "Don't—can't you stay here? I don't want…to be by myself."

"Sure, Sammy." Dean leans in, and to Sam's surprise, brushes a quick kiss across his forehead. It's so totally what their mom would do that Sam feels tears welling up again. All he can do is turn his head and let them soak the pillow while Dean strokes his hair back off his forehead, whispering over and over, "it's okay, Sam, we're going to be okay."

~~~~~

Sam's released on Monday afternoon. He's been up and walking around since Saturday morning, tiny, careful steps that still had him wincing and left him exhausted, but walking.

Since he doesn't have a spleen anymore, the doctor goes over a list of immunizations he has to get, as well as the antibiotics he's going to be on for a while, until his system has fully recovered from the trauma and can stand on its own. Tyler goes over wound care with Sam and Dean both, along with a list of restrictions – "no lifting anything over ten pounds for a couple of weeks" "well, Sammy, guess you can't walk around with your head attached for a while" – and exercises to start doing. He has a follow-up appointment scheduled for ten days from now, to get his staples out, and another with his family doctor to get the aforementioned immunizations, and there's something in there too about dietary things and blood work, but Sam's already tired and hurting again and a lot of what's said just buzzes around him like so much white noise.

Hopefully Dean's paying attention.

Gunther comes along to help Dean get Sam out of the car and into the house, and settled on the couch. He's glad he spent a couple of extra days in the hospital so he gets to miss out on the 'no stairs for 48 hours post-op' restriction. This whole thing sucks balls as it is; coming home only to have to try and fit himself on the couch would have sucked beyond the telling of it.

Sally's there at the house when they pull up, and she's made a banner to hang over the door that reads 'WELCOME HOME SAM!'

"I have homemade macaroni and cheese with ham in the oven right now, honey," she tells Sam as he walks carefully up the steps and into the house. He goes happily into her arms for a long, gentle hug, then sits on the couch while Dean and Gunther go out to switch cars around.

"Eric just called and said he can come by after dinner, if you're up to it," Dean says, coming back in.

"I don't know. Maybe. I'll call him in a few minutes." Sam feels absolutely exhausted, and all he's done is get dressed (with help), get in and out of the car (with more help), and walk up three steps into his house (with even more help—Dean was totally standing behind him while he took each step).

Dean frowns. "You okay?"

"Just really, really tired."

"The casserole will keep on warm, if you need to take a nap, Sam." Sally's already pulling her coat on, and Gunther hasn't taken his off. Sam looks between them. "You're not staying?"

Gunther shakes his head. "I need to get back to the shop, and Sally's going to get to work on the accounting stuff until I can get someone else in to do it. Your daddy did all of our bookkeeping, so we got behind, and it's taking me some time to get back up to speed." He lays one hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezes gently. "But we're both of us just a phone call away if you boys need anything, you hear?" He looks from Sam to Dean and back again, waiting for them both to nod. "Dean, let me know what you decide to do about the memorial service, when you want to do it. The boys at the shop all want to come, so we'll close down for part of a day if we need to."

"Thanks, Gunther." Dean reaches out a hand but Gunther snorts and pulls him into a one-armed hug. He does the same with Sam, though much gentler, and then he and Sally are gone.

"Do you want to eat? Or take a nap?" Dean sits beside Sam and brings one arm up around his shoulders. Sam leans in gratefully. "I need to run to the pharmacy and get your prescriptions filled, but if you want to sleep while I'm gone, I'll help you get settled first."

"Can I go with you? To the pharmacy?"

Dean pulls away enough to frown at Sam. "I'm not gonna be gone long, dude. I just have to turn the prescriptions in; I'll have to go back later to pick them up."

"I just—" Sam stops, bites down on his lip. How do you say – to your older brother, no less – that you don't want him to leave you alone, because you're afraid he might not come back? That you're scared to be alone, period? "Please?"

Dean stares at him for what seems like forever before nodding. "Okay. Sure. Let me go turn the oven down, and then we'll go. You need to hit the can or anything?"

"I'm good."

"They told you to go to the bathroom regularly."

"It hurts when I pee." It hurt like nothing Sam's ever felt when they took the damn catheter out. He was sure that was that last of it, but no. Days later and it still hurts some, which would totally have Sam freaked out except the doctor told him it probably would hurt for a while yet. Just like the rest of him.

"Still." Dean stares until Sam heaves a sigh and pushes himself carefully upright and off the couch. When Dean makes like he's going to follow, Sam scowls at him. "I don't need you to hold it for me."

"You know you secretly want it."

"Perv." Sam smiles as he heads for the bathroom. "Don't forget to turn the oven down. Or better yet, turn it off. It would really suck, after everything else, to burn the house down."

Dean laughs, a sharp, barking sound of agreement, and disappears into the kitchen.

It seems to take years that Sam's standing in front of the toilet, nothing happening, and he has to remind himself he's hurt worse – and recently – and this pain is less every time. He still has to turn the faucet on and listen to the water trickling out before he can make himself actually go, and he's reminded yet again of his mom, how she used that trick many times when he was really little and insisted he didn't have to go.

He finishes and zips up, washes his hands quickly, and heads out to get in the car. Dean's already waiting for him, leaning against the side of the Impala, arms folded across his chest.

"What'd they do with Mom's car?" Sam asks as he very carefully gets in.

"It's at the police impound lot, I think. Unless the insurance agency's gone and carted it off. Why?"

"Was—did anything—was there anything in there?"

"A few things, but even those were busted up pretty good. I have your cell phone, but we'll have to get you a new one—it's all messed up." Dean pats his leg. "The whole car is pretty much scrap metal, Sammy. Not even enough left to use for spare parts."

Sam nods tightly and wonders if things would've been different if they'd been in the Impala. If they'd been hit in this, mom and dad would probably still be alive. He rubs his eyes impatiently and stares out the window, all the way to the pharmacy.



On to Part Three