So, this story is totally written, and i should be posting like every few days or so, hope everyone enjoys!!! let me know what you all think!! thanks for reading, bambers;)

A Life No Less Important

Chapter One

"You plannin' on burnin' that freakin' corpse anytime tonight, Sammy?" Dean hollered, wincing as he was thrown into yet another gravestone by Markus Branson's angry spirit, his lower back taking the full brunt of the impact. The heavy gravestone slid of its base, fell to the ground and cracked into several large pieces.

"Just a few more seconds, Dean," Sam hastily replied as he pulled himself out of the grave, and searched his pockets for matches.

Rolling to his side, Dean shakily made his way back to his feet, noticing at the same time the name Edgar Stone on the now broken grave marker. Although he didn't know exactly why, there was something about actually destroying the old stone epitaph that sent a shiver of remorse coursing down the length of his spine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a brilliant flare of orange as Sam struck a match and threw it into the six foot deep hole in the ground. Dean hardly had time to breathe a sigh of relief when Markus' spirit rushed toward him, a fiery trail of ash following in its wake. Once again, Dean was thrown backward toward Edgar's grave. With a short cry of alarm, Dean stumbled and fell backward, cracking his skull against the base of the tumbled down marker.

Dean glanced up through bleary, watery eyes and saw a dark shadowy figure hovering above him, obscuring his view of his brother, but within an instant it dissipated, and Sam was kneeling by his side. Vaguely, he thought he'd heard Sam's voice calling his name as he slowly drifted into darkness, but couldn't find the will to respond.

An uncomfortable feeling of numbness filled his entire being as he was dragged further down into the spiraling nothingness that beckoned him, and now along with Sam's distant voice, he heard another. It grew louder, overshadowing all else. As Dean listened to the words the deep voice uttered, a sense of deep foreboding entered his hazy mind.

A life no less important. It is my gift to you. Do not waste what has been given to you. You will regret it if you do.

"Dean. Come on, Dean, wake up." Sam held Dean in his arms, his throbbing head cradled against his little brother's shoulder.

Slowly Dean's eyes slid open, and he blinked rapidly to clear the white specks of light clouding his vision. He noticed the look of concern clearly etched on Sam's face, and couldn't help but grin. "We're so not gonna have one of those chick-flick moments here, are we, dude?" he weakly mumbled, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.

Sam's relief was instantaneous, and Dean could feel the warm rush of air against his cheek that his brother expelled upon seeing that Dean was all right. "You were out cold for like ten minutes, an' I was really starting to get worried."

"M'okay, Sammy. Nothin' a hot shower and warm bed won't cure." Dean tried to shift into a sitting position but found it all but impossible to do so. Not wanting to worry his little brother any further, Dean quickly covered by saying, "Just need a few seconds to regroup, and then we can get the hell out of here."

Quirking a brow, Sam stared at Dean, his hazel eyes searching Dean's, and Dean could tell he didn't believe him.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, Samantha, I'm sure. Now can you let go of me so I can get up?"

Sam took one last look at Dean, let out an aggravated groan, and moved to stand. Without the support of his brother holding onto him, Dean fell backward, but luckily caught himself before his throbbing head hit the ground again.

His brother stood towering above him, shaking his head and glaring at him. "You're not okay, Dean. You can't even sit up on your own."

"Told you I was fine," Dean snapped, lifting himself up on bent elbows. It wasn't exactly a lie. He really didn't feel in that bad of shape, sure his arms and chest were a little sore from being tossed around by Markus' spirit, but he'd been in a lot worse pain before in his life, and wasn't about to complain over something so insignificant as a couple of bruised ribs.

"Fine," Sam said with a curt nod of his head, "then stand up."

"What the hell, Sammy, told you I was okay so stop playin' nursemaid."

"I said, stand up. You make it to your feet, and I'll leave you alone."

"Whatever, dude." Dean propped himself up further on his outstretched arms, and then tried to bend his right leg, but found it wouldn't budge. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at it, trying to will it into a bent position, but still couldn't manage it.

"I'm waiting, Dean." Sam angrily crossed his arms, and after a few more seconds, added, "why can't you just admit you're hurt?"

"Cause I'm not," Dean angrily shot back, certain he was right. Yet as he again and again tried unsuccessfully to raise his legs, a tremor of true panic surged through his body, and he couldn't shake the feeling as if something was truly wrong with him. Fearfully, he realized that he should be in pain, was always in pain after a long night of hunting, but yet he couldn't feel anything below the middle of his back.

Okay, this is so not happening. I'm fine. This can't be happening to me. Dean rolled to his side, mentally willing his right leg to follow so he could stand, but it remained still and lifeless. Damn it, come on. Move you stupid freakin' leg. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the nape of his neck as Dean pushed hard against the ground with his arms, his body arching, but his legs remained useless. Just move a little. Come on, please don't let this be happening to me.

Sam crouched beside him, and Dean saw his own fear echoed in younger brother's eyes. "Dean, what's wrong?" he asked, the panic in his voice clearly evident.

Dean didn't want to tell him, didn't want to let his brother know how terrified he was at the thought of what had happened to him, but knew he really didn't have any choice. He tried one last time to stand, to no avail, and finally gave up. "Sammy . . . Sam, I . . . ." his voice trailed off, the words forming on his lips too distasteful and loathsome to say.

"Please, just tell me what it is, dude," Sam coaxed, eyes wide and sorrowful, and Dean found it all the more difficult to say what he had to say.

"Can't — "

"Can't what?"

Dean swallowed hard against the thick lump forming in his throat. "Can't feel my legs . . . can't feel anything below the middle of my back."

Sam remained quiet for several seconds as he absorbed the information Dean had just reluctantly shared, and allowed it to sink in, and then he gave a curt shake of his head. "It's not permanent, Dean. It can't be. We have to get you to a hospital, and they can figure it out."

Terrified they would confirm his suspicions that he was indeed paralyzed, Dean muttered, "Really don't want to go to the hospital, dude." He'd always hated going to hospitals, and in his experience, he knew nothing ever good came from going to one, and this time seemed like it wouldn't be any different.

"Huh, you don't." Sam shook his head in disbelief. Scrubbing his hand across his face, he continued, "Okay, you get up and walk out of here, and I'll take you anywhere you want to go. Hell, I'll even drive your sorry ass all the way to the Grand Canyon. But if I have to drag you outta here, the only place you're going is to the hospital." Sam hesitated, a frown creasing his brow, and just when Dean thought he wasn't going to say anything more, Sam added, "Please, Dean?"

It was said in such a forlorn manner, Dean couldn't find the words to refuse. Lowering his head dejectedly, he conceded. "Okay."


Sam sat in the far corner of the waiting room, impatiently drumming his fingers on his thighs, waiting for some word as to how his brother was doing. People passed him by unnoticed as his thoughts remained solely on Dean, and he was certain he would go out of his mind if someone didn't come and give him some information soon about his brother's condition. Damn it, he has to be okay. Why the hell couldn't I have just been a little faster burning Markus' bones? If I had, Dean wouldn't be hurt right now.

It had been nearly three hours since Sam had brought Dean into the hospital, and his brother was whisked away in a flurry of activity, yet no one had reemerged from the ER to talk to him yet. The longer he sat there, the more his fear increased. What if he can't walk anymore? What if he has to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair? Oh, God, this is all my fault. He's never gonna forgive me.

Not able to sit still any longer, Samstoodand began pacing back and forth. Every once in a while, he would pause, glance in the direction of the emergency room, wait a few seconds hoping to see a doctor emerge from behind the double doors, and when none did, he resumed pacing. Finally at the end of his patience, he stormed over to the reception desk, and pounded his fist on the counter, garnering the attention of an old gray-haired nurse.

"Can I help you, sir." She smiled politely.

"I brought my brother, Dean Chichester in here well over three hours ago, and haven't heard anything about how he's doing."

The nurse glanced down at her paperwork, shuffling through it until she found Dean's name, and gestured to it with her index finger. "I'm sorry, sir, we've been backed up all night . . . six car pile-up on the interstate and three house fires, so it might take a little longer than expected. But I can assure you, your brother is receiving the best possible care."

Placing both hands on the counter, Sam leaned forward, glanced at her nametag and then looked her square in the eyes. "Don't really care about who else is receiving medical attention at the moment, Marge. I want to know how my brother's doing. And I want to know it now." He leaned a little further toward her, eyes narrowing menacingly. "So I would suggested you find someone to talk to me, or so help me God, I'll bust down those freakin' doors and find out for myself."

At the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him, Sam whirled around and came face to face with a tall dark-haired doctor who couldn't have been much older than Dean. "Don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Chichester." The doctor held out his hand to shake Sam's, but when Sam made no move to take hold of it, he returned it to his side. "My name is Doctor Morgan, and I've been in charge of your brother's care since he was brought in earlier tonight."

"How is he?" Sam asked in a breathless rush. "When can I see him. Is he okay?"

"He just signed his release papers, so I imagine you'll see him shortly."

"So, he's okay then? He got the feeling back in his legs?" Sam let out the pent breath he'd been holding, relieved that his brother was okay and able to go home. But whatever relief he'd momentarily felt, vanished in a hurry when he saw the doctor's lips press together a tight grim line. "He is okay, right?"

Lowering his head, the doctor flipped through the pages on his clipboard, and then looked back up at Sam. "No, he isn't alright, Mr. Chichester, although we're not exactly sure yet as to why he's paralyzed. Our findings on his MRI and CAT scans were inconclusive. We've determined exploratory surgery is the best course of action, but your brother refused treatment."

"What do you mean, he refused treatment?" Sam exploded in anger, heat rising up to flush his face as he stared incredulously at the older man. "You can't just let him leave."

"We have no choice in the matter, Mr. Chichester. Your brother signed the papers, and unless you're willing to go to court and have him deemed mentally incapable of making his own decisions, our hands are tied."

In that moment of utter frustration, Sam balled his hands into tight fists, wanting nothing more than to slam them into the older man's face, or at the very least, he wanted to drag him back into the ER and force him to perform the surgery on Dean. But he knew it wasn't the doctor's fault. No, the blame lie solely with his older brother who would rather pretend there was nothing wrong with him.

"So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just let him stay the way he is and hope it goes away?"

Doctor Morgan shrugged and looked sympathetically at Sam. "I would say you should try and talk him into the surgery, but from the short time I've known him, I think you'll have an uphill battle on your hands. He was extremely insistent that he wasn't undergoing surgery."

"Oh, he's freakin' gonna — " Sam stopped short, seeing his brother in a wheelchair being wheeled out of the ER by a pretty young nurse.

Dean glanced in Sam's direction briefly then returned his attention to flirting with the young blond-haired nurse. But in that one fleeting second, Sam saw the seething anger flash in his brother's green eyes directed solely at him.

He blames me for this. Sam gave a slight nod in understanding. But how the hell am I supposed to make things right if he won't even try to get better?