It wasn't Sam's fault it had been raining that night, or that the bumpy, poorly lit two lane back road tended to flood when the bottom fell out of the sky. Nor was it his fault that the oncoming van had sped around the corner out of nowhere, practically tipped on two wheels as it careened on the road. And when the large, one eyed vehicle veered over into the other lane, straight for the Impala, Sam had reacted on instinct: he slammed on the breaks and swerved to the right, for the "safer" side of the road where the forest lurked.

He was just grateful to be alive, though he wondered if the Impala would survive. It had, after all, sped headlong into a large tree that appeared out of nowhere.

However, the murderous look in his brother's eyes, made Sam wonder just how long his victory would last. He swallowed visibly and attempted a smile as he laid in the uncomfortable hospital bed, privacy only an option because of the drawn curtain.

"What the hell were you thinking, Sam?" Dean demanded harshly, his back ramrod straight in a defensive posture.

He huffed slightly, his breath coming in short spurts of pain. "Gee, Dean, I don't know: saving myself, for starters?" He glared back at Dean. Thunder roared overhead, a reminder of the torrential downpour still in progress.

"You couldn't save the car while you were at it?!" Dean snapped back and tossed his arms in the air: the tension in the room was so thick Sam could have cut it with a knife... had he been able to move his arms. With one arm in a cast, the other in a sling, he didn't think he'd be able to cut anything for awhile.

"Dude, it's not my fault the other guy tossed me off the road! He was going to hit me... straight on..." He coughed hard and groaned, his chest on fire. His head rested back on the pillow and he closed his eyes against the harsh glare of emergency room lightening.

Dean scowled and pushed the nurse's button. "Look, we can argue about this later. You need some serious knocking out, and unfortunately I can't do that myself." He glanced at Sam, pale and wan, the white bandages shockingly white against his skin. Deep down inside, he was relieved his brother hadn't died. Based on the Impala's condition, it was a miracle the head trauma he sustained hadn't been more severe.

Sam coughed again, his eyes masked in pain. "Don't want painkillers, dude. I need to get out of here."

"Hell no, Sammy. Not going to happen," Dean laughed sarcastically. "You won't fit in the car I borrowed from Bobby." He looked disdainfully away.

"He didn't have another mini-van available?" Sam joked quietly, his eyes still closed. He heard footsteps along the corridor, the rain pelting against the tiny window, and the soft rustling of the curtain. Dean's voice spoke in hushed tones to whoever had just walked through the curtain, and based on the husky tenor of his brother's voice, Sam guessed she was attractive. Moments later he felt a rush of cold through his veins and grimaced. "Please knock me out. Don't want to hear more of Dean's bad pick-up lines."

"Hey, I'll have you know I've gotten plenty of phone numbers that way," Dean protested and sat down besides Sam's bed.

"M'Sorry... about... Impala," Sam muttered, the painkiller already numbing his body and forcing him into a peaceful oblivious sleep. His lips felt thick; he wanted to say more but couldn't.

The last thing he heard was a soft sigh and Dean's voice: "It's fine, Sammy. Get better, okay? Then we'll discuss whether you're going to drive again or not." Sam felt a small smile on his face as the drugs knocked him out.