Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters …

Summary: Surviving the accident was only the first step for Sam.

Author's Note: My muse is running rampant at the moment, and I'm currently in the middle of a few stories at once. This story however just won't let me go - so here's the first chapter of the promised sequel to my recent fic, Oversight. You don't need to read that to understand this story – they can both stand alone.

I don't have a definitive timeline for this story, other than to say that it would be set sometime in Season 2. I must warn that one or two swear words slipped in.

Is this story really just an excuse to hurt Sam some more? Simply put, yes!



Chapter 1

Taking it easy wasn't a burden when your body craved rest and sleep. For the past couple of weeks that was all Sam had done – the first week in the hospital and the second week at Bobby's. This morning he'd woken up feeling restless, unwilling to spend the day divided between the couch and the cushioned chair Dean had set up for him on the porch.

He was surprised Bobby was so willing to put up with them, particularly as Dean didn't seem to be making any signs of moving them on. Free room and board usually pulled Dean in, but could only contain his brother for so long before the restlessness spiraled out of control. He couldn't ever really imagine his brother putting down roots or setting up home.

He pushed himself up off the couch, taking a moment to gain his balance as the room bowed and tilted before him. He'd had enough of the dizziness that assaulted him every time he stood too quickly or moved too fast. He was sick of feely queasy and tired, of being able to do nothing more than watch TV or read. He needed to take back some control. He needed to work a little harder at getting back his strength and not just spend his days lying around waiting for it to happen.

The house was quiet now, too quiet, so he knew Dean and Bobby must be out back, probably tinkering with the car. The distinctive sound of metal being hammered out had stopped a few days ago, so maybe now they'd moved on to the finer details involved in repairing the car. He hadn't been able to go out and see the progress being made – he wasn't allowed to leave the house. But Dean and Bobby weren't here right now, so there was no one to stop him.


Keeping a firm grip on the railing, he took the short row of steps leading off the porch one at a time until his boots hit dry dirt. He felt a buzz of exhilaration at completing the simple feat and a small thrill at simply breaking the rules. God, he felt like he was a teenager again, sneaking out of the house behind his Dad's and Dean's back, trying, usually unsuccessfully, not to get caught. Dean just didn't seem to understand that if he didn't get and do something soon, he'd go stir crazy. He just needed something to keep him busy, something to keep him occupied. Hell, just anything to break the boredom.

He walked quietly around the house, towards the workshop out back, following the sounds of his brother's and Bobby's voices. He could see the Impala, paintwork glistening under the sun, his brother leaning against her with a beer in one hand and a wrench in the other. Dean looked happy, face animated in conversation as he discussed the finer points of cars with Bobby. It was a rare sight.

He knew he was eavesdropping, but he was reluctant to spoil the mood. He felt a little like an outsider in this world of cars and mechanics and wasn't sure if his presence would be welcomed by the two older men. He missed having this sort of companionship with Dean, based on common interests and not just shared blood and dependency.

As his eyes fell on the Impala's broken head light he felt a twinge of guilt for the damage he'd caused; the damage he'd been unable to prevent. He'd tried to apologize to Dean, but every time he raised the issue Dean had instigated avoidance techniques. That had always been Dean's way – to avoid conversations that involved emotions, and if there was one thing Dean was emotional about, it was his car.

He needed to talk about it though. To explain to Dean that he'd tried - tried to get the Impala out of the path of the out of control truck. To explain that he was sorry – for the accident, for getting sick, for causing them to be waylaid in the one place for too long. He needed to talk to Dean. He needed to make him understand.

He needed some resolution.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the shadows and walked towards the other two men.

"Sam?" Dean pushed away from the car as he saw his brother's approach. His heart sped up as he scrutinized Sam's face, searching for any sign of pain. "Everything okay?"

Sam nodded, not wanting to get into another discussion about his health. "How's the car?"

Dean ignored the question. "Thought I told you not to leave the house!"

"I'm not four Dean. And there's nothing to do." Sam whined.

"Holy hell boy, you telling me you read all those books already?" Bobby butted in.

"Christ Bobby, it'd take me two lifetimes to read all that stuff you've been hording." Sam thought of the hundreds of books piled haphazardly in the house.

"Well then, you need me to help you carry some of them out onto the porch for you? Sure is a nice day for reading outside." Bobby asked, wiping his hands on an oily rag as he prepared to offer assistance.

Sam snapped with irritation. "Goddamn it, I can carry a couple of books." Catching the concerned looks on the other men's faces he tried to calm his voice. "I'm sick of reading – thought maybe I could, you know, help with the car or something?"

"You're supposed to be resting." Dean soothed; ready to escort his brother back inside.

"I have been resting. That's all I have been doing. I'm going crazy in there." Sam retorted, determined to stand his ground.

Dean grinned. "No, you've always been crazy Sam, just realizing it for yourself now is all."

"I'm serious Dean." Sam felt like stamping his feet in frustration.

"So am I. You heard what the doc said Sammy." Dean reminded, hoping Sam would see things his way.

"I've barely lifted anything heavier than my toothbrush for the last two weeks Dean. I need to do something - something useful." Sam whined, hating the desperate need in his voice.

"Why didn't you say so Sam?" Bobby stepped away from the tool trolley. "You come over here and hand the tools to your brother. Me? I'm gonna go get myself another beer." Bobby threw Sam a conspiring wink. He knew for sure he'd face Dean's wrath later on, but right now, he'd escape while he could.

As Bobby made a hasty exit, Sam made his way over to the tool trolley and waited for the inevitable fall-out from Dean.

"Ah, what tool do you need?" Sam asked when Dean just stared at him and remained stoically silent.

"You really want to do this Sam?" Dean looked at Sam, taking in his pale face and the slight tremble in his hands.

"Yeah, just tell me what you need." Sam scanned the array of tools laid out in front of him.

Dean looked at his brother in resignation. "Okay then. Hand me that spanner, the one near your elbow."

He spent the next fifteen minutes handing the occasionally requested tool to Dean, watching as his brother did whatever it was he did under the hood of the car.

Dean pulled his head out from under the hood and handed a tool back to his brother. With a sigh, he braced his hands behind him and leant back against the car. "Just spit it out Sam, whatever the hell it is that's bothering you."

It took a moment for Dean's words to sink in. After days of rehearsing what he wanted to say to his brother, he was momentarily speechless. "I ah …I..."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam took a calming breath. "I wrecked the car Dean."

Dean absently stroked the car with his fingertips. "Yeah, I think we kinda established that, couple of weeks back Sammy."

Sam met Dean's eyes. "I'm sorry Dean, 'bout the car and everything."

"The truck was out of control Sam, there was nothing you could've done." Dean replied, ready to let the matter drop, for good.

"No, I should've done something. When I heard the truck coming, I shouldn't have waited so long to get to the car. Hell, if I hadn't just stood watching, maybe I could've moved the car in time." Sam needed Dean to know the full details of how he'd fucked up.

Dean looked at Sam with utter shock. "Wait a minute! What are you saying? Please don't tell me you ran in front of an out of control truck? For what? To try and save a car? Are you friggin' insane?"

"I had to try Dean." Sam muttered.

"It's a goddamn car Sam. Hell, it nearly cost you your spleen. Your life. What the hell were you thinking?" Dean shouted, wanting to shake some sense into his brother.

Sam cringed. "I was thinking…"

"I don't think you were Sam. Christ, you got hit by a friggin' truck!" Dean raised his voice another notch as he yelled at Sam.

"Actually, I got hit by the car – after it got hit by the truck." Sam's mind flashed back to the memory of the truck careening towards the Impala, brakes locked as the driver fought for control. He paled as he remembered desperately struggling to unlock the door so he could move the car, the sound of the impact and the pain of being hit.

"Oh, you think that makes it alright?" Dean felt his control slipping and had to clench his fists by his side as he comprehended the sequence of events that had led to Sam being injured.

Sam felt his heckles rise. "Don't you get it? I had to try Dean. I know how much the car means to you – especially after Dad. I mean, except for Dad's journal, it's all you have left." He reached out to hold on to the tool trolley as his vision wavered.

Blood roared in his ears and black spots danced before Sam's eyes. He felt his legs start to buckle and he stumbled, trying to remain upright. Tools crashed to the ground as he staggered against the tool trolley, confused and disorientated.

Dean watched what little color his brother had leach from his face. "Sam!" He shouted, reaching out to grasp one of Sam's arms as he tilted into the tool trolley.

"Come on Sammy, don't do this to me." Dean muttered as he wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling him into his chest. Sam's weight felt heavy against him.

"Dean?" Sam murmured, his head bobbing on Dean's shoulder. He felt the strength holding him steady, firm and unyielding.

Sam took a shuddering breath and collapsed into the welcoming blackness.

"Bobby" Dean yelled, bracing himself as he took Sam's full weight.

To be continued.


Author's Note: If you haven't read my previous story Oversight, and as such, this chapter didn't make sense, could you please let me know.

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