"Sam's gonna be mad..."
As Sam levelled the shotgun to take the killing shot, he heard the whispered familiar tones of Dean...his older brother Dean...not the younger version present in the room now. He stilled his trigger finger and glanced around, as if expecting adult Dean to be standing there.
Suddenly the hinges on the door buckled and John's shout echoed around the room..."For god's sake Sam kill it!!" Without any thought, Sam pulled the trigger, the silver bullet flying out of the gun's chamber and piercing the beast's heart as it burst through the splintered door. The werewolf grunted in pain and managed another couple of steps towards its 'prey' before rocking and keeling over right at Sam's feet.
Sam looked down at the beast and watched as it morphed, its body changing to fit that of a middle-aged man. He didn't have time to think anything of it, as his dad began shouting for him to help them.
"Sammy, hold him down" John ordered, indicating the writhing pain-filled young man lying wounded on the ground. Dropping the shotgun, Sam knelt down and gripped his arms, attempting to hold him down. It was only then, close to the young man, that he noticed that the claw marks weren't the only wound...the deep bite mark on the right shoulder was evident to him now.
Sam looked at John and he returned the look with one of pure angst...
John got up from the chair at Sam's bedside in order to stretch his aching legs. He glanced back to look at one comatose son and the other near unconscious - he smiled softly at Dean as the younger Winchester slept with his head resting on Sam's bed. He guessed that this was the first time; since Sam had passed out; that Dean had allowed himself to actually sleep. "He must feel that with me here he can relax a bit" John thought to himself, running a hand lightly through Dean's blondish hair.
Four years ago, when the doctors had first informed him that Sam had suffered post-traumatic stress and his mind had opted to alter his perception of events, John hadn't known how to react. He figured what they had meant was that Sam had just forgotten what had happened to Mark. Unfortunately, the mind was a complex thing and matters had not been as simple as John had first believed.
He remembered Dean's reaction to it all and felt his heart constrict in his chest...that poor boy had been through so much in his life and, not for the first time, John was wondering if he'd forced too much responsibility onto him.
John sighed and moved to the opposite side of the bed to Dean and brushed some locks of Sam's hair from his forehead, a sad expression crossing his features when there was no response to the touch.
Sam looked startled and could've sworn he'd just felt something brush his hair, he frowned and shook his head before telling himself he was acting like a complete idiot.
"I know Sam"
"I said I know Sam!" John yelled, glaring at his son. "I know…"
John's eyes snapped up to meet the unresponsive face of his son…the comatose son that had just mumbled something.
"Sammy, was that you?" He tried not to get too hopeful; he could've easily imagined it.
There he'd seen the lips move himself. Sam had just spoken…he was responding.
"Sam…Sammy…can you hear me son?" John cried, gripping his son's hand and willing him to speak again.
"Dad. What's going on?" John turned his head and smiled at Dean, who had just woken up.
"Sam spoke Dean…he spoke!"
Dean looked shocked and stared at Sam, a hopeful expression upon his face. John patted him on shoulder before running off to get Dr. Adams.