I am honestly so sorry this too so long. I don't even have an excuse. It's just...here now?

Sam doesn't wake up the next morning.

Well, that's an exaggeration. He just keeps sleeping. At 11:30, four hours past when he'd usually be up, a nurse who comes in to check his vitals laughs at my concern.

"Honey, he's just had a seizure. His body needs as much sleep as he can get. I'd bet you he's gonna be out for a few hours more. Why don't you go get yourself presentable?" She motions towards the bathroom door, then leaves.

"Presentable?" I mutter to my unconscious brother. "The hell she mean by that? I'm always presentable."

I roll off of the chair I've been lounging on and check my reflection in the mirror.

Oh.

I have four-day old stubble. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair sticking up in all directions.

I rub my jaw, where patchy hair's poking through. Definitely need to find a razor somewhere.

"Boy, you ever gonna stop preenin'?"

Over my shoulder,I see a ragged old man wearing a torn baseball cap. Oh, thank god.

"Bobby!"

Bobby smiles as I turn and hug him.

"How you doin', Dean?"

"Fine, I'm fine."

He scoffs.

"You don't look it, son. You gotten any sleep at all?"

I laugh uneasily and dodge the question.

"Less than this one's been getting." I nod towards the motionless lump on the bed. I walk over and feel Sam's forehead. "Kid's been sleepin' all day. Getting lazy, huh, squirt?"

Sam's only response is to snore a bit.

"How is he?" Bobby's voice drops to a hushed tone as he joins me at the bed.

I shrug.

"Don't know. Seems like no one really knows what's wrong. We came in because he broke his collarbone and got a concussion." I point at the bandages wrapped around his forehead. "But he got worse. Had a huge seizure."

"Uh huh." Bobby squints the readings on Sam's chart. "I'll go talk to his doctors. But, uh, one thing. Has your Daddy called?"

I'm silent. My stomach's twisting into knots.

Bobby interprets the silence correctly.

"That man's gonna get what's comin' to him." He says, taking out his phone. Bobby stalks out of the room, dialing a number I'm sure I know by heart.

Nurses were right. Sam doesn't wake up until late afternoon. I don't mind. Daytime TV's pretty awful, but, honestly, some of the Spanish soaps are kinda compelling.

"Dean."

I jump and quickly switch of the TV, looking wildly around the room. No one there but me and Sam.

I get up and go to the bedside.

"Hey dude." I readjust one of the nodes on his forehead. It feels a bit warm to me. I'll mention it to a nurse later.

Sam's looking lazily at me, not quite awake.

"How are you feeling?" I ask him.

"Like shit." He says slowly.

I laugh mirthlessly. "At least you're honest "

It's quiet for a bit. Sam drifts in and out.

"Guess who's here?" I break the silence a few minutes later.

Sam drags his eyes open and makes an anxious face.

"Dad?" He asks, almost inaudible.

"Uh, no. Bobby."

"Good." Sam even smiles a bit before falling asleep again.

"Docs think the seizure was a result of the head trauma." Bobby says thickly, biting into a sub. I pull mine apart and pick out the olives. First food I've eaten in three days.

"Makes sense. He's had like four concussions this year alone."

"All from hunting?"

" Most of 'em. One was from soccer." Sam did a brief stint when we were holed up in new jersey.

"Soccer?" Bobby grins. "Sam's playing soccer?"

"Was." I correct. "Dad pulled him off the team after he got hurt. Said he couldn't afford to have injuries while we were hunting."

That was the biggest argument that Sam and Dad have had in a few years.

Bobby raises an eyebrow.

"But he has no problem with this?" He sweeps a hand around the hospital room.

"Wouldn't know, would I? He won't pick up the damn phone." I say. It comes out sharp and bitter. I put down the sandwich,appetite lost.

"Don't you worry about that, boy." Bobby says. "I'll take care of your Daddy. You just worry about your brother."

It's late. Bobby's gone to check into a motel. A night nurse comes in while I'm dressing after a shower. I quickly pull on a t-shirt as she rearranges a few monitors. Some scars on me are a bit too hard to explain.

"He feels warm to me " I tell him, coming up to my brother's side. Sam's still pale, hair sweaty. He's asleep yet again.

"Really?" The nurse feels Sam's forehead, then gets a thermometer. "You're right," He says,reading the thermometer. He looks worried. "This doesn't make sense."

"What?" I can physically feel the anxiety wash over me.

"He's got a fever. That wasn't just from trauma." The nurse turns to look at me. "I need to get his doctor. Something else is going on."