Disclaimer: The characters of "Supernatural" were created by Eric Kripke, and are owned by the WB network. No profit is being made.

NOTE TO READERS: This is just a small tag piece of sorts, if you will. This is my take of a possible Season Two Opener to follow the finale end of "Devil's Trap." There are a lot of ways this could all ultimately go in the actual show. I have no idea what Kripke has planned. And, as much as I like JDM, he doesn't survive in my season opener, although in reality I wouldn't mind if he did.

And, to the readers looking for story # 8 the sequel to "Last Resort" I promise I am working on it, but this story is asking to be written, so I had too. Sorry! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Side Note: The title and lyrics used are from the song "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas. When they played "Carry On Wayward Son" I was so happy. It's an awesome song, and I knew I had it on CD all ready. So, now I'm on a Kansas kick again. So, it was only fitting that this story was inspired by their music.

Dust in the Wind

By Dawn Nyberg

I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment's gone. All my dreams, pass before my eyes a curiosity. Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind … All we do crumbles to the ground though we refuse to see…Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky. It slips away, all your money won't another minute buy. Dust in the wind, All we are is dust in the wind. Lyrics excerpt from Dust in the Wind by Kansas.

The world came back to him slowly. He felt he was surfacing from a long nap. There were distant noises creeping into his consciousness. He listened to the ones closest to him. There was a quiet steady beeping, and he felt encumbered in some way, but his eyes remained closed. Then the muted sounds of a paging system filtered to his ears, paging Dr. Messler to 3 South Unit. And, he opened his eyes. And, took in his status. There was a bandage on his chest under his gown. He had multiple IV bags hanging next to his bed. He glanced around his room, but didn't see any of his family members with him. He frowned. Then he remembered, Oh yeah, Sammy shot Dad in the leg. He's probably splitting his time between rooms, he thought to himself. He did recall why he was in this bed. He recalled the Demons handy work and how much it had hurt. He evaluated his body as he lay there, and had decided he hurt, but that it wasn't that bad.

"You're awake," a happy female voice commented as she strode into his room. "I'm Sue, your day shift nurse."

"How long have I been out?" Dean croaked.

"Three days," she offered lightly. His eyes were wide. "Nothing that wasn't expected. You lost a lot of blood, and required surgery to repair a nicked artery. But, you're on the mend."

"My Dad? My brother?" He saw her eyes shift slightly away from him. He wasn't sure what cover story his family had provided in the ER. After all, his dad was walking in with a bullet wound to his leg, and he had no idea what they had said caused his own injuries. "Where are they?"

"What do you remember?" she questioned.

"Ah, we were in the car headed to town," he decided he'd be a little fuzzy on details. "And, that's it. I woke up here." He saw her eyes soften, and then there was this look, and something about it made him afraid. "Where are they? I want to see them?" He was getting agitated, and his monitors were showing the stress.

"I'll get your doctor. But, you're going to have to calm down. You're body has been through a lot." And, long moments later a doctor that didn't look much older than him walked into his room.

"Mr. Winters," he began. Now, Dean knew who he was. Dean Winters that was the ID in his wallet.

"Dean," he requested. The doctor smiled. "My family? Where are they? My Dad? My brother?"

"Sue tells me you only remember being in the car coming to town," he offered lightly.

"Yeah," Dean knew the man was hedging. "Just tell me what the hell's going on," his frustration and fear growing.

"You never made it to town in your car," the doctor began. "There was an accident. Your car was broad sided by a semi-truck."

"What? But, I …" Dean had no memory of it.

"I don't think any of you saw it coming," the doctor offered. "That's why you have no memory of it. It happened too quickly. You were most likely rendered unconscious on impact."

"Broad sided," Dean forced the words out. "What side?"

"The passenger side of the car." And, Dean's eyes grew large in worry.

"God, my Dad, he was on that side," Dean's words rushed out. "How bad was he hurt?" The doctor was quiet and Dean could see his eyes soften just a fraction.

"You're father was at the nearest point of impact," he began. "I'm sorry…" Dean turned his face away at those words. He knew what was coming. "He didn't make it. He was killed instantly," the doctor spoke softly trying to gauge his patient's state of mind. "He didn't suffer." Dean shot angry eyes at the doctor.

"How the hell would you know?" he spat out. And, then just as suddenly his anger was gone. Sammy, oh, God Sammy! raced through his mind. "My brother," his voice caught in his throat. "Where's Sam?"

"Alive," the doctor answered. "He suffered a head injury in the accident. "He's in the cubicle next to yours." He motioned to the glass wall covered with a curtain. Dean interrupted.

"Head injury? How bad? I want to see him," he tried to sit up, but pain lanced through his chest. The doctor put a hand out.

"You need to lie still. You had surgery three days ago. You could have died."

"You aren't listening to me," Dean ground out. "I want to see my brother," his tone deadly. The doctor proceeded to walk over to the glass partition wall, and pulled back the curtain, so Dean could see into his brother's room. He stared at what he saw, and it made his chest tighten. Sam's face was bruised and had abrasions. Deathly pale skin peeked out in places that weren't bruised. There was an obvious breathing tube jutting from his little brother's mouth. He saw IV's and monitors. And, Sam was so very still. His dark eyelashes were a harsh contrast against his brothers pale color. His brown bangs were askew across his forehead, and he could see sutures hidden along his hairline covered with a line of steri-strips. He glared at the doctor now. "You said head injury," Dean's tone harsh. "Tell me what's wrong with my brother."

Dean alternated between staring at his ceiling in frustration to turning and looking at his brother through the glass. He wanted to be in there with Sammy, he felt compelled to touch him, and to feel that his brother was alive. His mind recalled each thing the doctor had said. Sam has suffered a closed head injury. Hairline skull fracture. He experienced some brain swelling, but we have been able to keep that under control with drugs. His brain is bruised; the doctor had gone on to explain Sam's head was snapped side to side when the truck hit the car, and essentially causing his brain to slam back and forth inside his skull. We inserted a breathing tube to insure he maintained an airway, and because he had no gag reflex when he arrived at the ER. Your brother is in a coma. Dean had shut most of the other words that followed out of his head. His world stopped at the word coma.

He had pushed his father to another place in his brain. He couldn't deal with that yet, so he ignored it.

The next morning Dean couldn't take it any longer, and raised hell with the medical staff, so in order to keep him calm they assisted him out of bed into a wheelchair, and rolled him into Sam's room.

"I'll leave you alone. If you need anything use the call button."

"Thanks Sue," Dean turned his face up to the nice day shift nurse that had been his one consistent thing in this place since he woke up yesterday. She nodded and smiled. Dean turned his attention to his brother. He reached a hand up slowly trying not to pull too much on the sutures in his chest. He hesitated for a moment at the action of picking up his brother's hand, but he dropped all pretenses, and grasped his little brother's cool limp hand squeezing gently.

"Hey, Sammy," his voice was fragmented with so many emotions. He finally had the physical touch he had longed for to assure him that his brother was still here, and not in a cold morgue… his mind slammed that door quickly as he realized it was sneaking open. He couldn't think of his father, he wouldn't, not yet. He couldn't do anything for him now. His sole focus was on his last living family member on this earth, his brother, his Sammy. The geek little brother he knew he couldn't face burying. Sam would live, and he would open his eyes. Dean Winchester wouldn't accept any other options.

Two Weeks Later

"Dean let me help you," Bobby chided. "You've only been out of here for four days, and you're trying to do too much. You'll end up right back in here if you're not careful." Bobby tried to make Dean slow down. He had called the older man last week and told him about their run in with the demon, John's death, and Sam's coma, the accident. He had come without hesitation. "I told you that you should have stayed at the motel today and rested. I could have sat with Sam."

"Bobby, he's my brother. Look just be glad you got me to leave at all." Dean had tried to stay with Sam as much as possible, but he found he couldn't sleep in a chair with his sutures and other bruises. And, as much as he hated admitting he was physically weak right now and had limitations, he was willing to acknowledge them for the sake of being strong for Sammy. Bobby had rented two motel rooms that had adjoining rooms. His house was a little over a four drive from Jefferson City and he planned on taking the boys home with him to heal. Bobby saw Dean to the room, and stopped at the door.

"I'm going to go grab a bite in the cafeteria," he started. "You want anything?"

"No, I'm good thanks," Dean answered as he settled into the chair next to Sammy's bed. Bobby smiled and left. "Hey, kiddo, how ya doin' today?" Dean took his brother's slack hand in his own. He watched Sam's face for any sign of life. He always hoped for a twitch and fluttering of eyelashes, but nothing. "Sammy, I need you to listen to me okay. I can't do this without you," his voice shook, and part of him hated that he sounded weak, but he had to say this, make his brother hear him. "I don't know where you are Sammy, but it's time to come back, okay? You gotta open your eyes. This coma boy routine is getting old now. Sam, please," his voice broke off as his emotions swelled and he dropped his head trying to calm himself. And, then he felt it. Sam's fingers slightly curled around his own and released. His head shot up, and he stared at Sam. "Sammy, come on little brother I felt that. Sam squeeze my hand, you can do it," he encouraged, and to his amazement he watched in rapt awe as his little brother's fingers again curled around those of his big brother's. And, then Dean saw Sam's eyes flutter erratically as he fought toward awareness. "Come on Sam, you can do it. Open your eyes. I'm right here, Sammy." Dean had stood up and was doing his best to lean over his brother, but the damn sutures in his chest pulled slightly. He pushed a little further.

Finally, Sam's eyes opened and fought to focus on his brother's face. "Sammy, that's it." Dean just stared at his brother, and he could see that Sam was trying to focus. Dean knew the moment his brother did see him, and he smiled at Sam. "Easy, Sammy," Dean's voice was soft. "You've been out of it for a while. You hurt your head." He saw Sam start to move his lips, and he quickly motioned for him to stop. "No, Sam, you can't talk right now. You have a tube in your throat, okay?" He waited to see if his brother registered what he was saying. Sam's fingers squeezed his brother's hand to acknowledge that he understood. Dean watched Sam's eyes travel around what he could see of the room, and then land back on his face. He saw Sam take the gauze bandages peeking out from his brother's button down shirt, and the way his brother hunched painfully. Sam could see the tight lines around Dean's eyes betraying his weakened state to him. Dean noticed the survey. "I'm okay little brother. You know me," he encouraged. "I'm like a Timex, I take a lickin' and keep on tickin'," he mused. "Anyway, I got my walking papers a few days ago from here. You're the one still flat on his back." Sam didn't look convinced. He pointed to the chair behind his brother with his other hand. "Fine, have it your way," Dean feigned frustration. "You'd think someone that's been out of it for two weeks wouldn't be so bossy."

Dean grabbed the call button, "I think your doctor will want to know you're awake."

Two Hours Later

Dean was allowed back in to see his brother after a lengthy exam from his doctor, and an MRI scan of his head. Bobby actually wheeled him back in this time, and both men were happy to see that although Sam still looked incredibly rough around the edges and pale against the white sheets of his bed they both quickly noticed that the breathing tube had been removed. And, now only thin tubing ran under Sam's nose. Dean also noticed some of the many IV bags that surrounded his brother had dropped in numbers, too. Sam's head was lulled to the side, and Dean knew he was asleep. "Bobby," he whispered. "I'm going to stay a while longer, okay? Do you mind if I call you later to come get me?"

"Not at all. Tell Sam I said 'hi' will ya?"

"Sure," Dean replied. "Hey Bobby?"


"Thanks for everything," his voice was quiet, but sincere.

"Don't mention it." Bobby smiled. "Dean?"


"When do you plan on tellin' Sam about your Daddy?" Dean's eyes shifted to his sleeping brother's face.

"I don't know. I can barely get my mind around the fact he's gone myself. I don't think it's sunk in."

"I understand." Bobby comforted as best he could. "Call me when you're ready. I don't care what time, okay?" Dean nodded.

Twenty minutes later Sam began to stir, and opened his eyes to see Dean idly scratching around his gauze bandage, and hadn't noticed he was awake. "Stop that," a quiet voice spoke. Dean raised his head quickly and met Sam's stare. "You shouldn't scratch," he coughed slightly against his dry throat. He winced at his sore throat.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean stood up slowly. "You're throat's gonna be tender for a few days from that tube being removed. Here the doctor said you could have this," Dean stuck a plastic spoon into a cup and walked to Sam.

"Ice chips?" Sam asked right before Dean put his free hand gently behind his brother's head, and started to help him raise his head. "Your stitches," he mumbled a protest to Dean.

"I got it under control Sammy. Anyway, your head doesn't way a ton. Open your cake hole," and Dean slid the spoon in gently letting Sam take the ice chips into his mouth.

"Thanks," he let Dean lower his head back. Dean sat back down in his chair, and the brothers sat in silence for a long moment. "Dean?"


"What happened? I remember I was taking you and Dad to the hospital, but how did I get here. You said I hurt my head. But, how?" His words rubbed against the inside of his throat like sandpaper, but he had questions and he was going to ask them. He saw Dean's eyes shift to his hands in his lap, and he saw pain there. "Dean?"

"There was an accident," Dean began as he let out a sigh. "We got broad-sided by a semi-truck, Sam. That's how you hurt your head." He could see the confusion in Sam's eyes.

"Dad?" Sam's voice croaked out. "What about Dad?" And, Sam watched his big brother closely, and that's when he saw it a glint of loss in his sibling's eyes, and then it was locked away. "No," came out of Sam in a strangled noise. He twisted his head away from his brother, and he could feel his heart pounding against his sternum. No, this isn't happening. Dad's not gone. He's not dead. His mind raced. Sam's heart monitor began to beep loudly.

"Sam!" Dean stood abruptly and went to his brother. "Sammy, listen to me," he reached out and put a hand on the top of his brother's head. "You gotta calm down okay, the doc said you can't get excited. It's not good for you right now." His words weren't breaking through. He needed to make Sam here him. "Sammy," he pleaded. He took his little brother's face in his hands forcing him to look at him. "Please, relax. It's okay. We're going to be okay. Please, Sam, calm down. I can't lose you too," his voice choked. And, Sam stilled in his hands, and his heart rate began to calm down. He just stared at his brother. Both young men holding the others gaze. Dean released Sam's face, but with gentle care pushed his baby brother's bangs off his forehead, and smiled as they rebelled and fell right back to where they had been.

"You okay?" Sam's voice was quiet. He sounded so vulnerable, so young to Dean's ears.

"No," Dean answered softly. He couldn't lie to Sam not now. This kid was his whole world. His only family now that their father was gone. "But, I will be," he offered honestly. "And, so will you." Sam' s dark expressive eyes were filled with tears, and something in Dean crumbled, and both siblings cried. Dean wanted so badly to hold Sam to comfort him, but he just couldn't with his healing injuries, so he scooted the chair closer and placed one hand on his brothers chest, and the other stroked his brothers bangs gently in sweeping motions. Sam turned into his brother's touch while he placed a hand on his chest topping his brother's own comforting hand.

"Dad was disappointed in me Dean." Sam started as he remembered their conversation in the car before he woke up in this bed. "He was mad."

"Sammy, listen to me," Dean's voice was assertive, but held no anger. "Dad wasn't disappointed. He was just so focused on the demon that he couldn't you know…" he sought to find the right words, but had to fall back on an old adage. "He couldn't see the forest for the trees, you know? He would have come around." A wry smile crept across his face at a memory of his father. "You know Dad's a stubborn bastard, but he would have come around." Sam nodded feeling too emotional to verbalize in that moment. He took a breath, and spoke. He had one question he needed answered.

"Dean," his voice tentative. "Where is he?"

"Bobby helped take care of things while I was still in the hospital. Dad wanted to be buried by Mom, Sammy." He paused. "Bobby contacted Missouri and had things set up. Dad's home with Mom now." His voice broke off for a second. "When you're stronger we can go see him, okay?" Silent tears rolled down Sam's cheeks as he nodded, and Dean went back to stroking his kid brother's hair.

"You really believe we're going to be okay, Dean?"

"Yeah, we will Sammy. We're Winchester's remember?" Sam nodded still unsure.

"But, we're all alone now. Now Mom and Dad are both gone."

"We're not alone Sammy," Dean chided with gentleness. "We got each other," he said smiling. And, he smiled at his little brother as Sam looked into his eyes trying to believe in his big brother's faith, "we got each other," he reaffirmed. And, a small smile tugged at the edges of Sam's mouth, and Dean could see the smile reach his brother's eyes. And, he knew they would survive this loss as a family, as brothers. They were John and Mary Winchester's children it was in their blood.


Five Months Later, St. Theresa's Cemetery, Lawrence, Kansas

Sam and Dean stood in front of their parent's gravestones. Both stones were pale gray with black lettering. They stood side by side, and Sam kneeled placing a bouquet of spring tulips in the planter that sat joining their parent's duel headstones.

"Come on, Sammy," Missouri's making lunch for us. We better go." Sam looked at his brother and then at their parent's stones.

"Bye Mom. Bye Dad." Sam said with confidence. "And, Dad. Dean and I are good. I just wanted to tell you that." Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder with pride and warmth.

"You heard him Dad," Dean asserted. "And, Mom," he said with a smile. "I bet you got your hand's full with the old man. Miss you, both." He looked at Sam. "We both do." They both glanced at their parent's graves once more, and left walking side by side as brothers, as men, as a family.

The End

Well, what did you think? Let me know. Like it? Hate it? Maybe, not one of my best, but I felt I had to write a quick tag to the finale and give a version of the Season 2 opener. Leave a review. Thanks!