Word prompt: Coma

Warning: Wincest, angst, schmoop

Tear after tear cascade down Dean's face, shimmering in the too-white-light of the sterile hospital room as they fall and land at tightly clasped hands of him and his brother.

His brother who had been thrown just this side of too hard into the cabinet by that sonofabitch ghost while Dean had taken a few moments to finish the salt-and-burn on their last hunt

His brother who now lay comatose and covered with so many cuts and bruises that has Dean dying to bring the sonofabitch back just so he can torture the body until it is mangled into a million pieces.

But he doesn't.

Dean sits, glued to the plastic monstrosity that the hospital calls a chair, clutching at Sam's pale hand like it is a lifeline. Sam or Dean's, though, Dean is unsure. Dean just hopes that the touch, the reminder of something to come back for, is enough to bring his brother back to the land of the living. But after three days without any sign of change, of unaided life, from the younger hunter, Dean is beginning to lose hope.

And a new wave of tears roll down Dean's dirty, tear soaked cheeks.

"Sammy...Sammy," the elder brother whispers with heartbreaking anguish, "please...you can't do this to me. Don't leave me..."

Dean's throat constricts, choked on words, on the feeling bursting forth from his gut, but he continues, "We just lost Dad...We just got back to being brothers. I-I miss you, Sammy. P-please."

The elder brother stares, eyes downcast, at the hand clutched in his, waiting for even the smallest semblance of movement. But none come.

The constant beep of Sam's heart monitor and the choked back sobs are the only sounds in the too-sterile hospital room.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours pass without change and any fleeting hope remaining in Dean's heart are being torn out with each moment that Sam lays lifeless.

Sometime later, Dean has lost track, a man clad in a white trench coat walks in and stands next to Dean's chair without Dean's acknowledgement; hunter instincts having dulled by grief, exhaustion, and minimal food. The man begins checking Sam's vitals, touching Dean's Sammy and Dean is livid, tries to fight and protect his baby brother, but can barely muster up enough energy or desire to tear his shining green orbs or hand away from the prized treasure of a brother before him.

Soon, the man, "the doctor", Dean realizes silently, is talking to him, and he tries to focus his one track, hazy mind on the words spewing from the man who could bring his brother back from his state of nothingness. But the only words that Dean manages to recall as the harsh footfalls of the doctor leaving the room are "no change", "doesn't look like he's going to make it", and "I'm sorry."

Despite this, Dean makes no effort to move, no effort to leave the man before him. He sits in the same position, hunched over on the chair, hand clutching his brothers, tear tracks marring his face where new tears just will not form.

"Please, Sammy..." Dean whispers harshly, more to himself than to the Sam's vessel, "what can I do?"

The beeping of the heart monitor rings painfully loud, the only sound, in broken brother's ears, making him grip Sam even tighter as it reverberates, making his exhausted mind scream and moan as he tries to focus on something else, anything else, beside the hallucination of the beep flat lining. But nothing else can pierce through the shield the hunter had built. Not the sound of feet hitting ground outside in the hall, not the moans of agony from adjacent rooms, not the pants issuing from his own mouth. Not even the small gasp of breath and moan of pain from the young hunter trying not to pass out once again from the onslaught of renewed feeling of alive.

"D-De..." Sam coughed and groaned hoping against the suffocating soreness of his throat, the edge of the wounds, and throbbing of a headache, and the pain from his clutched hand that his comfort, his brother, his Dean is with him.

The familiar sound of Sam's voice broke the older brother's stupor and, instantly, the protective brother mode flipped on.

"Sammy?" Dean exclaimed.

"D-De-Deeee," the younger struggled to speak, and by instinct and knowing his brother, Dean reached for the glass of water that a nurse had left him some time ago. He brought it quickly to Sam's lips and titled the glass, letting Sam drink the soothing liquid until the fire scorching his throat died down before he set it back down.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered, almost afraid that this was a dream.

"Dean," a minute upturn of lips and the love and obvious confusion shining like questions in scrunched up hazel eyes brought waves of comfort and right to Dean. "De, what happened?"

Chest tightening at the memory of his brother, lifeless and bloody, Dean stayed silent.

Sam repeated, "Dean?"

"Later, Sammy," Dean choked out, trying to get the relief of his alive brother to overcome the pain of worry.

Sam momentarily appeared as if he wanted to argue, to know, but the concern that he felt at his fearless, older brother's state made him hold his tongue.

Instead, Sam asked for something else. Something that he craved. Something that, even after three days of not knowing anything, he knew that his brother needed. He always knows.

"Dean," Dead immediately tried focusing on his baby brother, ready to do or get anything his baby brother wanted or needed. "Kiss me."

A small smile crossed the older hunter's face as he broke free of his hunched position and eagerly launched forward with new found energy, latching onto his brothers lips with a ferocious relief at and need to feel his brother, warm and responding against him.

The second their lips touch, Dean realizes that this, his brother, is his lifeline and that he is Sam's.