Sam didn't want Dean to know that he'd missed him waking up for the first time because he'd been fighting with Dad. When he'd returned to the hospital the next morning, suitably cooled off and embarrassed, it was to find that Dean's ventilator had been removed. The beaming nurse had told him that Dean's breathing had drastically improved overnight, and now he just needed an oxygen cannula to give a helping hand rather than do all the breathing for him. It was then she told him, rather hesitantly, that Dean had fully opened his eyes literally seconds after Sam had been removed from the room.

'And you didn't call us back?' Sam retorted furiously, though he was careful not to raise his voice, not wanting to get in trouble again.

The nurse probably responded, but Sam was no longer listening, the familiar feelings of shame twisting his insides once again. Back in the car, when he'd feared all hope was gone, that his brother was irretrievably lost, Dean had been roused by the sounds of Sam and Dad arguing, had actually come round long enough to plead with them to stop. Had it happened again? Sam felt sick at the thought that it was fighting, rather than the long whispered one sided conversations at his bedside that had prompted a response from Dean.

He hoped that Dean wouldn't remember it, and immediately felt guilty at the thought that he was wishing memory loss upon his brother. He hoped that when Dean woke up properly, which the doctors were now extremely hopeful would take place sooner than later, he would have no recollection of Dad and Sam fighting so loudly they had to be escorted out, leaving Dean to recover consciousness alone. He slid into the now extremely familiar chair by Dean's bed, immediately noting the absence of a ventilator with a small smile. With that gone, Dean almost looked like he could be sleeping normally, especially now his temperature was almost back to normal and his face was returning to its normal colour. It was only the bandage wrapped round his head, the oxygen cannula and the IV that pointed to the contrary.

He couldn't wait until this was all over, until Dean woke up and they could finally leave the damn hospital and set off on the road again. He couldn't wait to leave this whole damn town. Ever since they'd arrived here about three weeks before, there'd been nothing but arguments, reluctant hunts, sleepless nights punctuated by Dean's coughs, and now this. Then again, apart from Dean getting sick of course, it had been like this for a while now, regardless of which town they happened to find themselves in. But not anymore, Sam decided firmly. Dean had woken up to the sounds of fighting for the last time.

Sam hadn't spoken a word to Dad since their argument the night before. Their car ride back to the motel had passed in stony silence, and Sam had gone straight to bed, pulling the covers over his head to show his father that he had absolutely no desire to speak to him, knowing it looked absurdly childish but unable to care. Dad had been gone in the morning; left before Sam had woken up, leaving a scribbled note saying he'd be back that evening, and a box of cereal on the kitchen table. It wasn't the kind he liked, Dean knew his favorites but Dad didn't and he left it uneaten. With Dad gone, probably in the pursuit of some job or something, Sam, therefore, made his own way to the hospital; he could travel the route in his sleep by this stage. He was sure Dad would drop in some time this afternoon, and Sam would, of course, be expected to apologise for his outburst the night before.

When Dean woke, it was no longer a question of if, Sam decided that he would pretend it was the first time he had opened his eyes. He had no intention of mentioning the argument of the night before. Dean deserved a happy family waiting to welcome him back into consciousness, like the other patients in the hospital. Dean didn't have to know.

Dean, however, deserved a lot more credit than Sam was giving him.

When he'd opened his eyes the night before, was it a night, he couldn't tell, he had been able to hear Sam and Dad arguing. That hadn't surprised him. In fact, he sort of assumed that would be his wake up call. It was more effective than any alarm clock these days. No, it was the other things that surprised him. Like why he had what felt like a damn tube down this throat for one thing, or why he felt like someone had beaten the absolute shit out of him. Had someone beaten the shit out of him? He couldn't remember. He fully intended to ask someone, preferably Sam or Dad, just what the hell was going on, but he couldn't see them, and he felt so damn tired that he was asleep again before he knew it, and he couldn't hear Dad and Sam anymore.

As he slept, or whatever, strange, disjointed fragments flittered across his mind, and he couldn't tell they were dreams, or memories, or just figments of his imagination. Dimly, like it was an old movie he had forgotten most of the details of, he could remember being angry, and upset, more angry than he'd ever been before. He couldn't exactly remember why he felt so angry, until the familiar sounds of arguments jogged his mind. Of course! Dad and Sam ad been fighting, nothing new there, but something had been different…he had been different. Then it all got fuzzy and confusing. He remembered going off somewhere by himself, he wasn't sure where, and then…and then…he wasn't sure what happened next.

He had blurred recollections of rain, and cold, and coughing, and blood. He'd been sick, hadn't he? That's what was wrong. That's why he was stuck here, wherever here was. He wasn't sure if he'd imagined what had happened next, but he seemed to remember Sam being there, and maybe Dad, and the car but he wasn't driving, and that was odd in itself. And then Mom was there, but that couldn't be right because Mom was dead, and if she was there, then maybe Dean was dead too. He could feel the scorching heat of the fire, see the vivid orange flames licking at the ceiling and the walls of Sammy's nursery, and Dad was shouting, shouting at him to take Sammy and go. The bundle of blankets that was his little brother was soft and warm against his pyjamas and the little hair Sammy had tickled as he clutched him close to his chest. 'Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, go!' But that wasn't right, because Dean wasn't allowed to hold Sammy by himself, Mommy always said he had to be gentle with his little brother, and Daddy would be so angry if he dropped Sammy. He didn't understand what was happening, and he wanted his Mom and his Dad, but he had to keep running even if he was terrified that he might drop Sammy, especially as he ran down the stairs. And he'd seen the fire properly, spreading over their house and he didn't do what Dad said because he stopped and looked back, and he was too scared to move. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew he was scared, more scared than he'd ever been before. Sammy was wriggling in his arms, and Dean was tried desperately to keep a hold of him and he didn't know what to do.

And then Dad was there, scooping both of them into his arms, and still Dean kept his arms tight around his brother even as Dad ran. But Mom wasn't there, and that could only mean one thing, because Mom was always there, and even as the firemen arrived with their hoses to put out their burning house, Dean called out for her, because if she heard him calling then she'd come, like she always did. He was having a nightmare, he had to be, and Mom would be there soon to turn on the light and tell him that everything would be ok.

'Mom! Mom!' he shouted, but nobody could hear him over the crackling of the flames and the gushing of the hoses.

But Mom was gone, he knew she was gone, years ago, but why was he thinking of her now? But if Mom was gone, then who had put him in this nice, warm bed? He was quite sure he was in a bed somewhere, and Mom was the only one who looked after him when he was sick. She was the one who smoothed his sweaty hair off his face and held his hand and made him tomato rice soup because that's what her Mom made when she was sick. In that moment, he thought of his Mom more clearly than he had in years. He could practically smell her perfume, feel her long hair tickling his face, making him laugh as she tucked the blankets more tightly round his shoulders.

There was only one thing for it. He was going to have to wake the hell up, and find out what was going on. Easier said than done though. He'd never felt so tired in his whole life and he wanted nothing more than to stay, warm and comfortable, in this nice quiet bed where there was no fighting and no slamming doors. It felt like someone was pinning his limbs down, clamping his eyelids shut and for a moment he wondered whether he was being attacked by a spirit or something. Perhaps he was on a hunt with Dad and some ghost with a bad attitude was taking out its anger on him. At last, with the greatest effort the seemingly simple task had ever cost him, he succeeded in opening his eyes, and immediately regretted it.

Whose stupid decision had it been to make the light so bright? The harsh brightness stung like hell and he was tempted to close his eyes again, but he persevered, his teeth clenched with the effort, and his surroundings finally swam into view, albeit a little hazily.

The first thing that struck him was just how white the place was, and how clean. It definitely didn't look familiar, and all at once, his senses were all assaulted at once, and he could take a pretty good guess as to where he was. The sharp, antiseptic smell, the beeping of unidentifiable machines, the sudden ache in every part of his body all suggested that he was in the hospital. Brilliant. He tried to turn his head slightly to the side to get a better look around, but something held him in place; what felt like thin wires crossed his face and tickled his nose and his head was suddenly throbbing.

A slight movement to his right caught his attention and he strained, trying to get a good look at whatever, whoever, it was.

'Dean?' came a voice, a most familiar voice, from his right.

He knew that voice anywhere. 'Sammy!' he cried, or at least he tried to. All that came out was a croaking, rasping cough as a horrible tightness suddenly seared across his chest. His throat felt like sandpaper.

'Dean, you're awake!' Sam stood up and Dean could see his brother properly; his grinning from ear to ear, floppy haired brother. God, that kid was in desperate need of a haircut.

'Looks like it,' he wheezed, not even recognising the hoarse voice as his own. He sounded like an old man who smoked forty cigarettes a day. Disgusting.

'How are you feeling?' His brother sounded much younger somehow, his voice full of concern.

Dean wanted to tell him that all his muscles ached like hell, his limbs felt like lead, his lungs felt like someone had punched the crap out of them and he had the world's worst headache, but he knew he didn't have enough breath to convey all that. And besides, Sam sounded worried enough already. 'Ok, I guess,' he said at last.

Sam scoffed. 'Well, you're obviously lying, but you sound like yourself. I guess that means you're going to be alright.'

From his left, there came another familiar voice though he hadn't even noticed that Dad was in the room too. 'What the hell were you thinking, Dean?' To Dean's surprise, Dad didn't sound that angry, it was more annoyed, disappointed.

'When?' Dean asked, his voice sounding a little more normal after Sam helped him swallow a spoonful of ice chips and the coolness soothed a raw throat.

'You don't remember?' Sam asked at once, his brow creasing, his eyes narrowed in concern.

Dean frowned, which only served to aggravate his sore head even further. 'Sort of,' he admitted.

'I'll tell you what happened,' Dad muttered. 'You acted like an idiot, that's what, and went storming off by yourself, even though you know damn well that you're not to do that. That's not bravery, that's plain recklessness. So help me God, if you ever pull some kind of stupid stunt like that again-'

'Dad!' Sam said sharply and warningly. He turned his attention back to Dean, his expression instantly softening. 'You were sick, Dean, really sick, with a fever and everything, and you went off by yourself. We found you in the woods at the edge of town. You hit your head pretty bad and you'd passed out, so we brought you to the hospital.' He gestured round the tiny hospital room. 'So here we are. That was six days ago.'

'Six days? Crap.' With Sam's words, the bits and pieces Dean could remember suddenly made sense. With a pang, he deduced that it must have been his fever that made him imagine his Mom. He noticed that neither Sam nor Dad had made any mention of the fact that they had been fighting. That was probably deliberate. Assumedly, they didn't think he remembered that's what had driven him out into the rain in the first place, and they didn't want to bring the subject up again. Presumably they also weren't aware that their fighting had managed to rouse him slightly. He decided he wouldn't bring it up then either. Perhaps it hadn't really happened, he thought in an attempt to console himself. Perhaps his feverish mind had created it all, and what he thought were weeks and months' worth of fights were actually just figments of his imagination. After all, Dad and Sam, the two people he loved and cared about most in the world, couldn't actually be so absorbed in their arguments that they failed to notice that he was sick, or that he'd woken up from a coma, could they?

Apparently they could.

He'd drifted away from the conversation for a few minutes, his exhausted eyes closing over and Sam and Dad probably thought he'd gone back to sleep, or maybe they always talked like this in front of him and he was just hearing it more clearly now.

'Jesus, Dad, that was a great conversation opener there. Threatening him and calling him an idiot? Yeah, I'm really sure that's what Dean wanted to hear!'

'Give it a rest, Sam.' Dad sounded weary and long suffering.

'I knew it,' Sam hissed, sounding furious. 'I knew you'd still be angry, even after I told you all what the nurse said. That's probably what took him so long to wake up.'

'Fine, you've made your point. Happy now?'

'No, I'm not happy, Dad,' Sam snapped.

Dean debated opening his eyes again and telling them to shut the hell up, but decided against it, rightly assuming he wouldn't be able to get enough breath into his lungs to complete the sentence. Thankfully, he was saved by the arrival of a third voice, a completely unfamiliar one this time.

'Did I hear that someone was awake?'

He opened his eyes again to see who he assumed was a nurse, if her blue scrubs and clipboard were anything to go by. She beamed at him, adjusting the IV he hadn't even noticed was stuck in his left hand and checking his vitals.

'Hello there, Dean,' she said brightly, and she had a nice voice, a calm, pleasant one that was a welcome relief. 'It's nice to see those pretty eyes of yours open at last!'

If he didn't know better, he'd think she was hitting on him and he smiled gratefully at her, glad of the distraction from Dad and Sam arguing.

'How are you feeling, sweetheart?'

'Kind of crap,' he admitted and she nodded sympathetically.

'Bacterial pneumonia isn't pleasant,' she said kindly, 'and that head injury of yours didn't do you any favors, but you're going to be ok. It's actually kind of a miracle, Dean. Everyone thought you were a goner when your dad and brother brought you in.'

Sam shot a sharp look in her direction and she seemed to catch her mistake.

'But you're going to be ok now, aren't you? We'll need to do a couple of scans, just to make sure that everything's alright, and you're going to need some respiratory therapy to help those lungs of yours. Even still,' she grinned, 'I tell you, Dean, you must have a pretty good guardian angel watching out for you to pull you out of this one.'

He could hear Dad snorting derisively. 'Don't know about…guardian angels,' Dean said slowly. Squeezing out every word was an effort and his painfully tight chest seemed intent on making sure he stayed silent.

The nurse laughed. 'Well, you had your brother watching out for you. That must have counted for something.'

Dean glanced sideways at Sam who'd suddenly looked to the floor, his face blazing. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'Yeah…thanks, Sammy.'

They needed a proper conversation, Dean knew that, but he was as hell wouldn't be able to do that until his lungs decided to do their damn job, and until Dad and the nurse had left them alone. Then again, did they ever have proper conversations? No, he mused sadly, they didn't, and he knew that they wouldn't have one now either. As much as he wanted to, he knew they never would. That would hardly be watch out for Sammy, wouldn't it, telling him that it broke his damn heart a little every time he and Dad snapped at each other? He suddenly wished that it didn't have to be this way. He wished he didn't have to watch out for Sammy every minute of every day. He wished Dad would act like a proper father and keep an eye on the both of them, like he should, rather than leaving it all to him. He felt so childish to think it, and he knew he would never say it aloud to anyone, but he wished Mom was alive, and she could look after them all.

He didn't even feel the tears building in his eyes until they began to trickle down his cheeks. He should have felt ashamed to be openly crying in front of his dad and his brother, he was nineteen years of age for God's sake, but he couldn't summon the energy to care anymore. Hopefully they would attribute it to the painkillers or something.

Sam had turned back towards the bed in an instant. 'Does it really hurt, Dean?' he said quietly, glancing nervously towards the nurse.

He could have reached up a hand to wipe the damn tears away, but what was the point? 'Yeah, Sammy,' he replied, closing his eyes and hoping for sleep. 'It hurts…like hell.'

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story. I am genuinely overwhelmed by the interest and the kind words! This is the final chapter and I hope everyone enjoys it. I apologise profusely for any wrong Americanisms or medical inaccuracies that occurred, and I'm sorry for everything I put our poor boys through!