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So I said Supernatural three times, in front of the bathroom mirror in the dark. I waited with bated breath, hoping beyond hope that my dreams would finally come true. Suddenly two yellow eyes flashed before me before a loud crack was heard … and all I got in the end was a busted bathroom mirror and seven years of bad luck.

This is it guys, the last chapter! I hope I don't disappoint anyone, or worse … that it's anticlimactic!

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"Family of Sam Harper?"

Dean and Bobby instantly rose. They had been waiting in the hospital for the better part of three hours. The trip there had been haphazard at best, though Sam had been blissfully unaware of Dean's crazy driving as he was too busy being unconscious for the duration of the trip. Bobby, however, recalled every pothole with a vividness that his ass would not soon forget.

"Yes." Both hunters said at once causing the doctor to raise a brow, though he kept his opinions to himself.

"If you two will follow me…"

Dean started to protest, to demand to see Sam, but Bobby laid a calming hand on his shoulder reminding him that now was not the place to voice his no doubt caustic opinions. Dean glowered, giving Bobby a look he knew well, as he should, his father used to wear it often when it came to stubbornness. It was a look that quite clearly said fine, but if this asshole doesn't hurry it up, I'm going to salt and burn his ass. It was a look Dean had inherited naturally from the legendary John Winchester.

Moving down a corridor that reminded him too much of the place they had just pulled Sam out of, Dean clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles were white from the effort. An effort that was proving difficult as all he wanted to do was throttle the doctor. Not only this one, but also every other one that dared come near his brother.

"How's my brother?"

Doctor Martin just ushered them into the small conference room and nodded to the chairs there. Dean looked at the chairs, then to the doctor, and while he did sit, it was on the edge of his seat as he awaited news.

Bobby, realizing he might need to play mediator, or help kick the doctor's ass depending on the situation, stayed at Dean's side, a hand resting on his shoulder as he too eyed the man in the white coat.

"He's … resting … "

That drew both hunters' alerts to full force for the answer was cryptic at best. Dean, starting to rise, felt Bobby's hand once again tighten on his shoulder.

"Tell me again, Mr. Harper, how did your brother receive his injuries?"

Dean took a breath, his eyes level at the man who professed to be helping Sam. He wasn't. Didn't he realize that the best medicine for Sam was to allow Dean near him? To let the brothers heal each other in a way that only their close bond could?

Apparently not.

"He was jumped. By the time my Uncle Bobby and I got there, Sam was practically dead…"

Doctor Martin just stared, his own opinion held in check as he nodded.

Dean, unable to contain his anxiety any longer, blurted out in a rush, "How is he?"

"Well, your brother's condition is stabilized now, though with the blood loss we were worried there for a bit. His left leg wound was showing signs of infection, so we treated him with a heavy dose of antibiotics."

He looked at Dean pointedly at that, it being no secret that there had once been a bullet in his leg … a bullet that had been expertly removed. But, getting no reaction from the elder Winchester, he slowly continued.

"His right shoulder had been dislocated, and while it has been set right, he should refrain from using it for anything strenuous."

Dean was eyeing the man, waiting for the but, the cosmic bang that would send Dean hurtling toward some black Sammyless hole where life just didn't measure up to an ounce of shit.

"His wrist was broken in three places; we've set and cast it. And his side was stitched. That is not taking into account the multitude of bruises or the fact that your brother had been choked. All in all, Mr. Harper, I would say that your brother is a very lucky man."

Dean hardly blinked as the doctor rattled off the things wrong with Sam. In all honestly, Dean was almost smiling. If there were things wrong with him, that meant he was still alive and hanging in there.

"Can I see him?"

Doctor Martin sighed and finally nodded. He didn't know what had happened to bring the young man in his care into the hospital in such a state, but it was obvious something was being covered up.

"Very well, but he's been sedated, so I doubt he'll be very coherent."

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Dean sat at Sam's bedside, staring at his brother, his baby brother. At how still he was, how quiet he was.

"God, Sam, will you shut up!"

"I just wanna know which exorcism works best on which demons, I mean, if I get a … "

"Sam!"

"But Dean … "

"No! Just. Shut. Up!"

Sam was never quiet! Not even in his sleep. He tossed, turned, and bed hogged all night long.

"Can I sleep with you, Dean?"

"God, Sammy, you'll steal all the covers."

"I promise, Dean, please…"

And he had this sickly aura about him. His skin was pasty, something Dean only saw in Sam when he was ill or hurt.

"Come on Sammy, we gotta get you in the tub."

"I don't feel so good, Dean."

"Yeah, I know, kiddo, but we gotta bring your fever down."

Reaching out, he tentatively brushed a strand of brown from his brother's closed eyes, and then grasped his hand before ducking his head down to rest his forehead on the back of Sam's hand.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry."

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A tingling sensation tickled his flesh, bringing awareness back to an unconscious Sam Winchester. With that tingling sensation was a fogginess that made everything, including truly coherent thought, elude him.

"D…………."

The one sound he made was raspy at best, making it quite apparent that cotton had taken up root in his mouth while some wild beast scratched his throat until there was nothing left to make sound with.

"De … Ug … "

He tried moving his hand and found that one had some heavy weight bearing it to the bed, and the other … well, as soon as he twitched his fingers pain shot up in an electric current up his arm.

"Dea…….."

"Sammy?'

The voice had him trying to open his eyes, though it took several seconds for his brain to get them working properly. But even those few seconds didn't make them coordinated. First the left worked and then slammed shut, only for the right to open then close.

"Come on Sammy, you can do it."

"Thirsty…"

There was so much, in that moment, that Sam could have said to his brother. So much to thank him for, so much to wonder about, but in that one waking moment, Sam knew Dean would have balked at his words of gratitude, so he waited, bid his time, and gave Dean his need instead. It was something Dean seemed to relish in, taking care of Sam.

Sam felt the bed shift, felt Dean move from his spot only to feel his hand under his head a moment later, his gentle urging lifting Sam up a bit so he could drink. The cold water had a calming effect on Sam, and after a few swallows, he tried to pull away, which sent a dribble of water down his chin to splash the sheet below.

"Sorry, Sammy."

Sam's eyes remained closed for so long that Dean actually reached out to touch his chest and give him a small nudge.

"Sammy?"

He was rewarded with hazel eyes once again, albeit filled with pain; they were the most beautiful thing in the world at that moment to Dean Winchester.

"How ya feeling, kiddo?"

"Like I've been broken, beaten, choked, and shot."

"Ha ha! Very funny, Sammy."

Sam grinned a bit, though it looked sort of sickly and grotesque with the bruising on his baby brother's face, and then closed his eyes only to feel that incessant shake again.

"Dean … ?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I'm fine, Dean."

Thanks to you.

Those words, however, went unspoken as Sam once again looked at Dean.

"I um … when you called, I … "

"Yeah … me too."

There was an awkward silence between them before Dean reached out and grasped Sam's good hand and squeezed.

"Don't ever do that again!"

"Do what?"

"Go missing like that."

"Yeah, you said last time you wouldn't come looking for me again."

"Yeah, well, this is your last time! Next time, I'm leaving your ass!"

"Yeah, right."

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Bobby glanced over as he heard the approach of silent footsteps. Lifting his chin in acknowledgement, he offered a waning smile to both Joshua and Gary.

"Did you take care of everything?"

The nonchalant question posed, Joshua raised a brow at Bobby, as if he'd ever not taken care of everything on a hunt.

"How's Sam?" Gary's voice cut into the silent battle of authority between Bobby and Joshua, drawing both hunters from their glares to come back to the present and to why they were all there.

"He's resting, or so the doc said. Dean's in with him now."

Joshua nodded; his mouth opening to say something before movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning his head just a bit, he spied the two police officers speaking to a doctor. Turning back to Bobby, he smirked.

"Time for damage control."

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Officer Johnson had been on the force for going on 18 years, so when he got the call from Dr. Martin, someone he knew personally as they'd both been in this pissant town nearly all their lives, but he honestly wasn't too tense. They were right off the beaten path, so there was always someone getting hurt by something or other that just demanded the attention of the boys in blue.

"I need you down at the hospital Ben."

"What is it this time? Another drunk driving accident?"

"No, nothing like that. We had a young man brought in earlier this evening by his brother and Uncle, beaten to hell, choked, his wrist broken, and shot in the leg."

"Is the man conscious? Can he remember who did this to him?"

Already he was grabbing his hat and keys and heading for the door, but Christopher Martin's next words had him stopping cold.

"Well, that's the thing … I think it was his brother and Uncle."

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"So this young man … ?"

"Sam Harper. He was brought in several hours ago."

Ben nodded and glanced to his young partner, a rookie just a few years out of the academy who had never done anything more exciting than issue a speeding ticket to people who had no intention of ever coming back to this one-horsed town.

"What exactly was the extent of his injuries?"

Christopher Martin ran a hand over his face as he let out an exhausted breath.

"He was beaten severely. He'd been shot in the leg. His wrist was broken. His shoulder had been dislocated. And he'd been choked. But that's not even the worst part."

"What could possible be worse, Chris?"

"The gunshot wound was several days old. The bullet had been removed."

The words hung there a moment before Benjamin Johnson turned to stare at his old friend.

"You mean … ?"

"This had been going on for days. They were keeping him alive in order to abuse him more."

Officer Johnson just stared before he finally found the words to ask his next question.

"What makes you suspect the brother and uncle?"

"I'm not going to just sit here and wait for mom to die!?"

Ben glanced to the two men who had, before now, been unobtrusive in their conversation as they waited for news on some family member in the hospital's Emergency Room waiting room. But, he easily dismissed them and turned back to the doctor.

"Well, Sam did."

"Did he say that?"

"Why not? You certainly didn't mind waiting when dad died! That is, til you discovered he wrote you out of the will."

Dr. Martin glanced over this time, studying the two men before turning back to Benjamin and his young partner.

"No, but he kept crying for him to stop. Over and over he said 'Make it stop, Dean' in this voice that made you ache. Never heard anything like it."

"What are you implying?"

This time the voice drew young Rick's attention, along with his two elder counter parts from their in-depth conversation of a man who was beaten by his own family.

"Nothing. Except that you're one sorry son of a bitch!"

"Not as sorry as you, you bastard!"

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It was almost forty-five minutes later when the two officers, led by Dr. Martin, proceeded down the stark white corridors to room 307 where Sam Harper was residing. With a knock to the door, the doctor pushed the door open and called cheerfully into the room.

"Mr. Harper?"

When only silence echoed, he flipped the light switch and proceeded into the room, followed by the men in blue, to the lump under the covers on the small hospital bed.

"Sam?"

Without an answer, he pulled the blanket back, preparing to rouse the sleeping man, only to find … more blankets.

"Shit!"

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"Hey, Sammy, wake up."

Sam lay motionless, the escape through the hospital taking what little energy he'd had in reserve. But, after another call from his brother, there was a faint groan before Sam Winchester opened his eyes to the blurry outline of his brother.

"Did we win?"

"Oh we so won, Sammy."

Pressing with his left hand, Sam tried to sit up, though only made it a few inches before he was falling back, but his decent was caught by Dean's guiding hands.

"Easy there, Sammy."

Sam swallowed, his hand still pressed to the back seat of the Impala as he tried to regain his bearings, the steady hand at his back soothing and reassuring. Finally he nodded.

"I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, Dean."

Nodding, Dean very slowly helped Sam to first sit, and then began the task of getting him out of the car. It was lackadaisical at best, but Sam was tenacious and Dean was patient and soon Sam was on his feet and leaning against the side of the Impala while Dean grabbed their duffle bags. Hoisting them over his shoulder, he moved back to his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You good, Sammy?"

Nodding, Sam leaned on Dean as he led him into their abode for the evening, a non-descript motel off the beaten path and as far away from Sunnydale as Dean dared to go. Dropping the bags just inside the room, Dean kicked backward to send the door closed as he led Sam to the second bed within the small room.

"Easy, Sammy, I got you."

Sam clutched at Dean with his one good hand as he was lowered to the bed, his eyes glazed for a few minutes until he regained his bearings. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes to look up into his brother's concerned face.

"I'm good."

Dean studied him a moment before nodding.

"God I need a shower."

Dean chuckled, slapped Sam's thigh, and then dropped to the other bed across from him.

"Easy, Tiger, one step at a time."

Sam groaned and looked down to make mention he was in blood stained jeans and a torn shirt when he noticed, for the first time, that he wasn't in his clothes. Looking back to Dean, his eyes narrowed.

"Dean … you took me out in a hospital gown?"

"Well, yeah, I had to make a quick escape, Sammy!"

Sam started to agree, started to say that just getting out of there was what was important when he spied something. Glancing down, his eyes narrowed before he looked to his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"What's that?"

Dean raised a brow, feigning complete innocence.

"What's what?"

"That!" Sam said pointing to his foot.

Dean looked down and then quickly rose and started rummaging through his duffle bag.

"Is that a toe tag, Dean?"

Snatching out his clothes, Dean high tailed it for the shower, his grin hidden as he turned.

"Dean, did you wheel me out through the morgue?"

Dean paused at the bathroom door and grinned to Sam.

"No need to thank me, Sammy."

"JERK!"

Just as the door closed behind him, Dean's voice echoed out into the motel room.

"BITCH!"

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Okay, so that's it! I hope I didn't disappoint anyone with the ending. I would like to thank each and every one of you that took the time to review, it really meant a lot to me. I'm already working on my next story, so any that are interested, it's titled Torn Asunder. Again, thanks all!!!!

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