A/N: And this is it. I always hate posting the last chapter of a fic. I'm always afraid of not tying things up write, and of missing the fic when it's over. The entire process is oddly addictive and I truly appreciate everyone who read and reviewed this one. I hope it was an adequate b-day gift, Gem. You deserve the best :) Thanks again to Tyranusfan and to sendintheclowns who helped make this possible. Until next time!

Dean knew he needed to stay awake because the doctor would be coming with news on Sam soon. But his eyes were tired, they were weary, and resting them couldn't hurt. The lights in the hospital were garish and the sting of antiseptic was so thick in the air that it burned.

Behind his eyes he could see the Impala parked in a deserted field, low and sleek under a star-filled sky.

He edged closer, hesitantly, knowing he didn't really have time for this. For some reason, but he couldn't quite remember what. Then he saw her--long legs, short shorts, perched on the edge of his baby. She was leaning forward in invitation, a smile playing on her lips.

He really didn't have time for this, but her hair was a perfect shade of blonde and the dip of her shirt wisped just low enough to make him want to see more.

"Hey there," she said in the best damn seductive voice he'd ever heard. "You thirsty?"

She nodded to her side where a twelve pack of beer sat in the dewy grass. He felt a sudden dryness in his throat. Maybe just one beer.

He moved closer, easing up next to her and her long fingers went to his body, running up the length of his torso before shaking him gently.

He pulled away, looking at her funny, but she just shook him again.

He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her what she was doing, to figure out what kind of messed up dream this was when he shook again.

That wasn't part of the dream. No, he was really shaking. Someone was shaking him.

"Dean? Dean, wake up."

The voice was vaguely familiar, but it certainly wasn't Sam or his father so he wasn't sure it was worth waking up for.

"Dean, the doctor is here to talk to you about Sam."

That was all the incentive he needed. Instantly, the dream world vanished, the Impala, beer, the beautiful woman, and he was back in the hospital waiting room, a gray haired doctor standing over him, looking skeptical.

Dean rushed to stand, wobbling a little as he did so, and he tried to erase the vestige of sleep from his mind. "How is he?"

"Well, we've got him through surgery, and he's stable for now," the man said, a bit gruffly.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean knew enough about doctors to know that they liked to hear themselves talk, to cushion things, to say things in a roundabout way. Dean didn't have the time or patience for that--ever.

"There are multiple factors working against your brother right now," the doctor explained, peering critically at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. "While in the museum, he was exposed to the same contagion that the other victims were. We haven't been able to identify it yet, but it messes with the nervous system. Makes the body nearly incapable of maintaining normal functions. Essentially, the body has to shut down, conserve energy to regulate itself."

That explained the comas all the victims entered into before they died. "What about his other injuries?"

"Well, we did a CAT scan and the concussion is minor. It shouldn't be causing any real complications except giving him a headache. However, the blood loss was significant--the actual damage to tissue and muscle is limited, but losing that much blood only exacerbates his exposure to the contagion. We probed the wound and tied off the bleeders. He had to be transfused, but his blood pressure is still all over the place. He's gone into cardiac arrest once and come close a few other times. We've got him on some drugs to try to regulate it a bit since his body can't handle that job right now, but at this point it's just a matter of waiting."

The medical monologue left him feeling numb inside, and Dean searched for something to say, for something to do. All he had done today was wait, and he was more than a little tired of being idle. "When can I see him?"

"He's still in recovery. We'll be transferring him to ICU within the hour, I suspect."

Dean didn't watch him go. Dean didn't do anything. Dean didn't know if he could even move.

Sam was supposed to be okay. Sam was supposed to be fine. And all the doctor could tell him was to wait and see.

"Dean?" Grace asked, her voice soft, tentative. "Dean, are you okay?"

Without warning, Dean felt his knees give, and he sank hard to the chair below him. Grace's hand went out to catch him, and she followed him down.

"Dean?" she tried again. "Say something, Dean."

He swallowed, and felt himself trembling. "Sam has to be okay," he murmured. "Sam has to be."

Grace's fingers brushed his hair now. "I know," she said. "They're doing everything they can."

There was no response he could make, nothing else he could say, and all of his efforts were focused on trying to remember how to breathe.

"Hey, Dean," she called to him softly. "Look at me."

Though words still wouldn't come, Dean managed to raise his eyes to meet her. She was looking intently at him, compassion in her eyes--compassion and confidence.

She smiled at him now. "Let's head upstairs and see what we can find out, okay?"

He just stared at her, a little confused, a little reassured.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head toward the stairs. "We'll have more luck if we take a proactive approach."

Dean couldn't have agreed more. Standing, he followed Grace toward the stairs to find his brother.

-o-

Sam didn't look as bad as Dean had feared. After all, the last time he had seen Sam, the kid had been covered with blood and still as death. Sam was still far too still, but there were monitors now that heralded his life. And the blood had been washed away, making Sam appear less morbidly hurt.

The doctors had no answers for him. Sam's condition did not improve.

So he waited.

Grace stayed with him for a bit, then wandered off to check on the kids. When she came back, she reported that they were maybe improving a little, but that they were much the same.

Whatever had attacked all of them in the museum eluded the medical staff and Dean avoided people at all costs. He had no answers to give and he certainly did not feel like expending energy on lies right now.

-o-

It was about noon the next day when Sam's vitals took a nosedive and monitors were beeping all over the place. He was shoved unceremoniously from the room and the curtains were drawn, blocking his view from Sam.

The feeling of helplessness was all too familiar. When Grace found him there a minute later, he must have been crying because she was all over him, asking, "What's wrong? What happened?"

Dean would have told her if he'd known.

She stayed with him when the doctor came out looking grim.

"Sam's heart stopped," he announced. "We got him back, but it was touch and go for awhile there. We've upped his meds, changed a few, but if something doesn't change soon..." The doctor's voice trailed off and he looked apologetic.

Dean might have hit him if he'd had the energy. Instead he licked his lips and tried to bring himself to his full height. "Can I sit with him?"

The doctor's nod was reluctant and full of pity.

Dean would take what he could.

-o-

Grace stayed with him for awhile, and at this point, Dean didn't think to question it much. They didn't talk, not really, and all his dreams of conquest when it came to her were so long gone that he didn't even give her low cut tank top a second glance (the first, he admitted, was inevitable).

Dean did all he could. He talked to Sam a little, but there weren't even words to say. He thought about apologizing, but Sam would never stand for it, and an apology was too much like a goodbye.

The staff shooed them out around dinnertime, and Grace took him to the cafeteria. She ordered for both of them, and she guided him to a spare table near the windows.

"I have to go back to work tomorrow," she said, taking a bite of her sandwich. "Are you going to be okay by yourself?"

Dean looked at her, surprised. "Yeah," he said.

She nodded like she didn't believe him. "You love your brother a lot, don't you?"

The question shook Dean. "What?"

"Sam," she replied. "You care so much about him. I thought no one could feel worse about this entire mess than I do, but I can see that's not true."

"I told you, he's my responsibility," he replied absently.

"But it's more than that," she countered, pulling an onion from the sandwich and depositing it on her plate. "Ethan and Liam--they're my responsibility too. What happened to them, happened on my watch. That's not easy to deal with. And don't get me wrong, I love those kids, but it's not the same. I see that now."

Dean's face screwed up. "Why are you saying this?"

She flicked her eyes at him. "I was just thinking about what you told me, about you and Sam do and what was really in that museum. The police had to take my statement about it all."

Dean's breathing quickened. The police were an element he did not want to deal with, that he wasn't ready to deal with. Sam wasn't well enough to leave town.

"I lied to them," she said. "The curator too. I told them I had no idea what happened and that you two were just passing by and tried to help. I told them that Sam had gone back right away, that he never broke in at all. The kids all lied too. They told everyone that there was some kind of freak explosion--they didn't see what happened, of course, and they're kids, so no one would expect them to really know. And it accounts for the amount of debris strewn throughout the place.

Her words dumbfounded him, and he stared at her, blankly. "Why would you do that for us?"

She studied her tray thoughtfully. "I owe you," she said with a sigh. "And I owe Sam. I can see what he did for those kids. You have no idea. Those kids--they'd walk through hell and back for Sam. Kids don't give their trust away without it being earned. If Sam can earn theirs, then you two can surely earn mine."

Dean's eyes dropped back down to his own unfinished meal and he suppressed a laugh. Just another thing he'd need to thank Sam for when Sam woke up.

-o-

When Grace came back, Dean had already been camped out in Sam's room for two days. The nurses humored him, mostly because he was pretty sure he looked too pathetic to argue with.

Besides, even the strictest nurses and doctors had to admit that Dean's presence seemed good for Sam. Sam remained comatose and his vitals still fluctuated, but they hadn't crashed or spiked in about 24 hours and things were looking good. They'd transferred him from the ICU about 10 hours ago and all indications were that he would continue to get stronger.

Grace showed up with an entourage, and Dean recognized the three kids from the museum. They all looked better than before, less pale and blank, though standing in the entrance of Sam's room, they certainly did look scared.

"They wanted to see him for themselves," Grace explained. "I kind of had to sneak them in, so I hope you don't mind."

The kids lingered behind Grace, peeking around her tentatively. "Can we come in?" Jaclyn asked.

"Yeah," Dean said, remembering himself. "He's still unconscious but they say he's doing better."

Grace stepped inside and the kids spread out around her, keeping close to Grace nonetheless.

"Dean, you remember Lara, Jaclyn, and Jeremy, right?"

Dean nodded vaguely at them. He did remember them, though it was a distant memory. His attention had been on other things at the time.

Jeremy inched closer, studying the machines that still surrounded Sam. "He's going to be okay, right?" the boy asked.

"They think so," Dean replied.

"But he hasn't woken up yet?" Jaclyn asked, still too afraid to edge closer.

Dean shook his head.

"Ethan woke up," she told him. "Daniel says Liam should soon too."

Lara had moved closer. "We should talk to him," she said. "People always talk to people in comas and they can hear them. And then they make their way back from the other side to see their loved ones again."

To that, Dean didn't have much to say. His jaw worked, trying to come up with something to say. It wasn't the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, and he couldn't deny that he'd thought that a little too which was the only reason he'd managed to say anything at all to his kid brother while he was waiting.

But Lara looked almost dreamy eyed about it, and she was approaching Sam with purpose.

Grace saved him. "Lara, things are not quite like they are on TV," she lectured gently.

Lara seemed to be a little disappointed and kept her distance from Sam.

"It's okay," Dean said. "Sam has a thing for blondes. He'd probably like it if you talked to him."

Lara brightened, smiling shyly and snaked forward again, her little hand going to Sam's.

"He told me everything would be okay," Jaclyn informed Dean.

"Well, then," Dean said. "Then I guess it'll have to be. Sam doesn't lie about things like that."

Jaclyn smiled and straightened a little.

"Okay, kids, say goodbye to Sam," she said. "I think I've got to smuggle you back out to your parents."

Jeremy stuck at Sam's side for a minute before shyly drifting to the door. Lara leaned over and placed a peck on Sam's cheek. Jaclyn gave Sam's limp hand a tentative squeeze before following her classmates to the door.

"Go out to the hallway down by the nurse's station. I'll be there in a minute," Grace instructed.

The kids filed out, each casting longing glances over their shoulders as they went.

Grace followed their gazes, letting hers rest on Sam for a long moment. "So he's really going to be okay?"

"That's what they tell me," Dean said. "I'll feel better when he wakes up."

"Ethan and Liam really are on the mend," she told him. "It's only a matter of time for Sam."

A silence lapsed, and Dean found himself wondering why she was still here.

She laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You know, now that Sam is feeling better, I was hoping that when he woke up, I could...," her voice trailed off and she blushed, looking down. "You don't think he'd be interested in going out sometime, would you?"

Dean just stared, trying hard not to let his mouth fall open.

All of her words, all of her encouragement--it had all been a way to get at Sam. Dean had stayed out to make her fall for him and somehow Sam, by going in to save the kids, with all of his injured heroics, had earned her adoration without even trying.

He grinned, feeling utterly ridiculous. "I'll put in a good word for you."

The smile she gave him was all girlish and giddy. Bright eyes, red cheeks, she nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you," she said. "I'll be back."

Dean didn't doubt that in the least as she scurried out to find her students.

Tired, Dean sunk into the chair, giving his brother a once over. "Man, Sammy," he said, shaking his head. "You have her ready to eat out of your hand and you didn't have to do anything."

He took in Sam's closed eyes, his long body prone on the bed.

"Okay, okay," Dean relented. "So you only had to get yourself speared in the side and attacked by some freaky-ass spirit. It's not like you did anything that took any talent."

Though Sam was unconscious, Dean was pretty sure some part of Sam was probably flipping him off.

"Don't worry," Dean assured him, leaning forward and patting Sam on the arm. "I think you've earned this one."

-o-

Sam knew that sometimes it didn't pay to wake up.

Waking up meant stuffing himself into the Impala, it meant hunting down things that wanted to kill him, it meant dealing with Dean's obnoxious eating habits.

Sleep wasn't always a refuge, that much was true, but sometimes...Sam had to admit, sometimes the nothingness was welcome. Especially since he hardly ever got it.

Hunts usually happened at odd hours. Sleep was often relegated to unusual times in unusual locations, of course assuming he got it at all and it wasn't marred by nightmares.

But this time--this time he was in a bed. Someplace warm and soft and it felt good.

He didn't want to wake up.

But there were these voices...more than one. Talking all around him.

Talking so much, so excitedly, he couldn't sleep.

He grimaced.

That's when he noticed the pain. It lingered over his body, settling heavily in his head and in his side.

Nope. He definitely wasn't getting anymore sleep right now.

"I think he's waking up!"

The voice was exuberant and trying too hard to be quiet. It was young and inexperienced.

Most of all, it definitely wasn't Dean.

Sam was used to waking up to a lot of strange things, but he was always used to Dean being there.

"Look! I saw his eyes flutter!"

It wasn't Dean, but he knew that voice. He knew all those voices.

He made himself blink, and the light made him wince. He blinked again, prepared this time, and slowly the haze focused into some semblance of reality.

At first he thought he might be hallucinating. He was probably in a hospital, after all.

Four kids, four pairs of eyes, all staring directly at him.

"Are you awake?" one of them asked, and the sheer ridiculousness of the question made him remember her. Lara.

Sam tried to speak but found his voice scratchy and rough. "I think so," he managed to get out, but it sounded garbled and wrong.

"You almost died," Lara said with a familiar wide-eyed expression. This time, however, he could see there was awe, not fear behind it.

"Yeah," Daniel agreed. "There was a lot of blood."

"That spear you pulled out of your side was pretty sweet, though," Jeremy added, hero worship coloring his voice. Sam remembered hearing it in his own once upon a time.

"You scared us," Jaclyn said, a little shyer than the others.

Sam tried not to flinch at their words. Everything was too loud. The recollection of his injuries was not a pleasant reminder of how he'd ended up here, and gauging from the fuzziness in his mouth and head, he doubted he'd be feeling up to par any time soon.

But there were other things to worry about. Like where Dean was. How he had ended up here. What had happened in the museum. The last thing he remembered was starting the exorcism. He just couldn't remember finishing it.

He had too many questions, and none of them were things he wanted to ask the kids.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Daniel was asking.

Sam blinked, his focus coming back to the situation at hand. The kids were watching him. "Sorry," he said, forcing a smile. "What happened?"

"I finished the spell," Jaclyn said, leaning forward and whispering. "I had to pull the paper out of your hand but I did and I read it and there was this bright light and this noise and it went away."

Sam stared for a second. Jaclyn had finished the exorcism. That certainly hadn't been part of the plan.

Before he could completely process that though, Lara was standing and bouncing in a way that only young girls seemed to be able to. "Ms. Young! Ms. Young!" Lara cried. "Sam's awake!"

Sam recognized the face of the young teacher, but hardly recognized the relaxed expression on her face. Her smile was wide and bright and suddenly Sam realized why Dean had wanted to hit on her in the first place. She strode into the room with confident and grace, Dean lurking at her heels.

"I see that," she said, putting a hand on Lara's shoulder. "You guys aren't being too loud now, are you? Sam still needs lots of rest." She said it in a teacher's voice, but there was bemusement and humor laden in it.

The kids nodded seriously. "We're not being loud," Jeremy said. "We were just telling him that we were glad he was okay."

At this, Grace nodded in approval. "And we are quite glad," she said, smiling at Sam. "It's not everyday we get saved by heroes."

Dean seemed to stiffen behind her, as if begging to be noticed, but no one caught it but Sam.

"I didn't do anything," Sam said sheepishly. "It was Dean who figured it all out."

Grace didn't even look back at Dean and the kids were still crowded around the bed. "To risk your life for people you hardly know--that's heroic," she explained, leaning forward to pat Sam's wrist. "Thank you."

Sam blushed.

Grace pulled something out of her bag, holding it out to Sam. "The kids wanted to make you something. It's not much, but..."

Sam opened his mouth, dumbfounded. "Well, I mean--"

"I wrote the 'Thank You'," Jaclyn piped up, leaning over to take the card from Grace and handing it to Sam, her fingers pointing at the purple scrawl. "And I drew the stars."

"I drew the hearts," Lara said. "I was going to draw a bunny, but it took too long. And some of the other kids were impatient." She huffed a little.

"Check out the inside," Jeremy broke in, opening the card for Sam. "I totally drew the Eskimos. I was going to draw them fighting with the Indians but Ms. Young said that wouldn't be very encouraging or something." He cast an annoyed glance at his teacher.

Sure enough, there were stick figures wearing floppy parkas, carrying fishing poles and sleds.

"And I drew the mummies," Daniel said. "I drew the dinosaurs too, because Liam's not well enough yet. He loves the dinosaurs, remember?"

Sam's mind clicked. "How is Liam?" he asked with a sudden rush of urgency. "And Ethan? Are they okay?"

"They're fine," Dean said, speaking for the first time. "Ethan's going to be released tomorrow and Liam should be out by the end of the week. Weirdest thing. Docs can't figure out what it is."

Grace turned around at this, offering Dean a knowing smile before turning back shyly to Sam. "We're just glad everyone is okay. And we really do have you to thank for that."

"Really, it was nothing," Sam said.

"Well, just the same," Grace said. "I do believe it's time for us to go." She looked pointedly at the children. "We need to let Sam recover."

There was a chorus of whines.

"We'll come back and visit him again later, okay?" Grace conceded.

The whines become sounds of approval and Sam barely had time to think before he was inundated with hugs. They all hugged him, climbed on the bed and wrapped their arms around him. Even Jeremy.

When they left, waving and in a flurry of chatter, Sam resisted the pull of tears behind his eyes. Grace lingered in the doorway a minute longer, eyeing him, a mixture of gratitude and something else, before she followed the kids into the hall.

The room was strangely silent without them. Sam took a shuddering breath. Quiet and empty and guilty. The kids were thanking him and he'd nearly gotten them killed. They were thanking him and all he'd done was steal a part of their innocence that they could never get back.

He looked at his brother. Dean was still lurking in the corner, leaned silently up against the wall. Sam attempted to smile, wiping his eyes a little to try to play down the swell of emotions the children had left him with.

"Hey," Dean said finally. "You feeling okay?"

Sam grimaced, remembering with sudden clarity the spear in his side. His hand went to the location, feeling the padding of gauze underneath. "It hurts."

Dean snorted at this, winding his way to a chair and sinking into it. "You took a spear to the side, dude," he said. "I think it's going to hurt."

"I should have ducked faster," Sam griped, trying to breathe evenly.

"If you'd have ducked, you'd have just taken it higher," Dean said. "Do you need something for the pain? They've had you sedated, but now that you're awake, they may let you have the good stuff."

Sam shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do right now was sleep. Funny, a few moments earlier that was all he wanted to do. "I'm okay," he said, and it was almost the truth. The pain was manageable, at least. He looked around, taking in the room. The monitors were on silent and he was hooked up to a pair of IVs. "How bad am I?"

The look on Dean's face was a little amused, a little controlled, but mostly weary. Sam braced himself for the answer. "You're going to be fine," Dean said. "But you had me worried there for awhile."

Dean's voice was unusually quiet, unusually withdrawn, and Sam's worry flared. As hard as it was for him to wind in the hospital, he knew it was exponentially worse for Dean to sit there and worry over him. He knew, all too well. He'd been in that position more than he wanted to remember. "How long have I been out?"

Dean looked down, playing with his nails. "Five days."

Sam blanched. It was worse than he had expected. He had known the wound was bloody, but five days? "Why?"

"The concussion wasn't anything serious. They had to transfuse you, though. You lost way too much blood back there."

There was an air of a reprimand in Dean's voice, but it was as if he couldn't carry through with sincere anger.

"But it was the arrhythmia that really...Your heart—it just wasn't beating right, just like the kids. They think you got bowled over by whatever 'contagion' was in the museum. The blood loss just made yours harder to recover from. They weren't sure for awhile..."

Dean's voice trailed off and he looked away, and Sam struggled to find the right thing to say.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, not just from the pain in his side and head. He hated this--hated seeing his brother like that, hated it when his brother gave him that look. He knew Dean wanted to protect him, he even understood it--it was the same way Sam felt about Dean. But Sam didn't want to be a burden, not anymore, and whenever Sam got himself hurt, it was like fighting the battle all over again.

Dean didn't know how not to take care of him. He didn't know how to keep his sense of protection in check. His brother was blaming himself and this wasn't Dean's fault.

Sam didn't know what to say. He never did. Not that he could say anything Dean would listen to anyway. He sighed, letting his head roll to look at the window. "Thanks," he said finally, his voice quiet, soft. He may have gotten out alive, but it wasn't because of anything he'd done. It was because of Dean. It was because of the kids.

If Dean heard him, he didn't acknowledge him, and Sam knew it probably wasn't something his brother even wanted to talk about. "I'm going to get the doctor," Dean said instead, to divert the conversation.

Sam didn't look back as he heard his brother stand and leave the room. He just lay there, wishing for a way to make this better. A way to show Dean this wasn't his fault. A way to help those kids unlearn what they'd learned.

-o-

Now that Sam was okay, Dean was beginning to realize how not okay he really was. The physical wounds would heal—they always seemed to—but there were lingering doubts, lingering questions, and Dean didn't know quite what to do with them.

He just wished he could forget this hunt ever happened. If he could go back and avoid it altogether, he probably would.

The entire thing had mostly been a bust. Sure, in the end, they had gotten rid of the spirit, purged the exhibit of evil and generally saved the day, but it had been a sloppy hunt. A sloppy and costly hunt—it had nearly killed two innocent kids. It had nearly killed Sam.

And that wasn't something Dean could ever take lightly.

It was true Sam was on the mend, and Dean was sure the kid would be driving him crazy in no time. But he couldn't forget how pale Sam had looked, how limp he'd been when he'd found the kids trying to drag him out. And he certainly couldn't forget the doctor's litany of medical jargon, talking about severe blood loss, concussions, and muscle damage.

Sam was a few pints lighter, a few stitches heavier, and Dean hadn't even gotten the girl in all of this. She only had eyes for Sam, and his prudish kid brother was too busy being embarrassed to even reciprocate.

He sighed. All in all, he supposed, that meant things were getting back to normal. A few days after waking up, and the doctor was talking about releasing Sam. Dean wanted to blow town before someone recognized who they really were.

Trudging back through the hospital corridors, coffee in hand, Dean couldn't help but think. Some hunts were harder to let go of than others. Some just lingered with him, stuck in his mind. Sometimes they haunted him with failures, with what could have gone wrong, with people they'd met and already left behind.

It was never certain what got to him and what didn't, and Sam was even harder to figure out when it came to that stuff. The truth was, Dean hardly ever missed the women he met, especially the ones he ended up sleeping with. It was the families that were difficult, the people who had shared grief with him, the people who had bonded with Sam.

Watching Sam meet people, connect with people, and then get torn away hurt Dean more than he liked to let on. The days after Jessica had been more painful for him than the days after Sam had first left for Stanford. He loved his brother and he was beginning to realize that seeing Sam hurt, physically or emotionally, was far harder than being without Sam.

This hunt wouldn't leave either of them soon. Almost losing Sam unnerved him, reminded him of his own vulnerability, and he knew he wouldn't be taking any backseats any time soon. He also knew they'd be doing their legwork much better upfront, and Dean wouldn't belittle the value of research for at least a month or two.

For Sam, though, he knew it would be the kids that would stay with him, in his mind. Something had happened between Sam and those kids, something Dean would never understand. There was a bond, a trust, that had been forged of life and death. Sam had saved them, and they had saved Sam. They had needed each other, and Dean knew that wasn't something that would ever be forgotten.

Especially not with kids.

Dean paused outside of Sam's room, peeking in. Sam was asleep on the bed, head turned away in rest to the window. They'd be leaving soon, on to the next hunt, and Dean knew they'd probably never be back again. It wouldn't be long until someone figured out who they were, and Dean wondered how the kids would take to knowing that their savior was a wanted felon.

That hurt more than just about everything else. To know that those kids idolized Sam, loved him, and that it could all be taken away by Dean's run-ins with the law.

It wouldn't be the first thing this job had cost them, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. In the grander scheme of things, the respect of five children didn't mean much, but Dean hated to think of it anyway. Because Sam deserved better than that.

Sam deserved better than all of this. Sam deserved kids of his own, a family, a life, a future. He knew Sam wanted it, knew Sam had almost had it with Jessica. It was why he wanted Sam to hook up again, why he'd encouraged Sam to be with Sarah. Because someday he wanted to give that chance to his brother.

Sam would be so good at it. As a father, Sam would be gentle and steady, solid and supportive. He would get his children to listen to him by the very nature of his voice.

Quietly, Dean entered, moving to Sam's side, watching him sleep.

He had always thought that he and his brother would hunt together forever. That the hunt would be what bound them, would be what kept them together.

The past two years had made Dean realize that the hunt would do nothing but kill them. They hunted to survive now, hunted because they had no choice. But the cost of that...

The cost wasn't worth it. Not anymore. Not with losing their dad, not with almost dying. Nothing was worth that. Nothing was worth Sam's future.

It did scare Dean, though, the thought of Sam going away again. But he knew his brother, and he knew his brother would never leave him.

And in the end, he'd rather have Sam living his own life apart from Dean than be dead with him.

Wearily, he sank to the chair.

He had always thought Sam was selfish for leaving, for wanting more than the hunt, more than him. But now he was beginning to see that Sam was just trying to survive all along, that Sam needed the outside contact. Sam needed his dreams.

Sinking back into the chair, Dean wondered if maybe he did too.

-o-

Sam was no stranger to hospitals, though he was used to being a stranger in hospitals. He was used to being alone a lot, or just being with Dean, passing long days with nothing to do but watch TV, read books he managed to borrow from helpful nurses, and bicker with his brother.

So the visits from his seemingly adoring fan club were definitely not something he was used to, and he was almost afraid to admit how much he liked it.

Yes, it did make him feel guilty to see how much the kids idolized him. But seeing them safe, seeing them smiling—it gave him hope like he'd never known before. Hope that maybe they'd be okay. That maybe he'd saved them in more ways than one.

That was the real draw to hunting--the only draw, really. Usually he hunted out of desperation. He hunted to find the demon that started this and end it before it was too late. Hunting wasn't so much a choice as a necessity. He'd never understood why Dean had ever tried to convince him otherwise. The whole saving lives mantra seemed to pale in comparison to the fact that the Demon was still out there and still coming for him.

Because he never saw the results. They so rarely had time to stick around and see what good they had done. Sure, he knew it logically, but experiencing it--that was something else entirely.

He was lost in this train of thought when a knock came at the door.

Grace was peeking her head in shyly. "You mind if I come in?" she asked. "I was just over seeing Liam get checked out and thought I'd see how you were doing."

Sam smiled warmly at her. "How are you?"

She blushed a little as she sat down. "I should be asking you that."

Sam shrugged. "I feel fine," he said, which was mostly true. The drugs they were giving him were very good. He did feel tired most of the time, but in comparison to before, he really was feeling fine. "The doctors think I'll be good to go in a few days."

"Where will you be going? You're not from here, I take it."

Sam kept his response easy. "Hard to say," he said. "Dean and I will just see where things take us."

"But you will be leaving town?" It didn't escape Sam that she seemed disappointed.

"Not much reason for us to stay." Sam didn't want to be cruel, and honesty seemed like the best route in the long run. He knew what Dean had told Grace, and he could only hope that she understood what that meant for him.

"The kids will miss you," she said, playing with her fingernail. "They want you to come visit the classroom."

Sam couldn't help but grin at that. It would make one hell of a Career Day presentation. "I'll miss them too."

"You could stay for awhile...for them, I mean."

But Sam knew he couldn't. "Well, we'll have to see--"

"And as thanks, I could take you out for dinner," Grace offered, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Too hopeful. Sam felt his resolve crumbling. "That's really not necessary--"

"I think it may be," she said quickly. "Sam, what you did for those kids--what you did for me--I just have no other way of thanking you. You gave yourself over completely for those kids. You nearly died for them. It's not every day a girl gets to meet a bonafide hero."

Sam looked at her sympathetically. She didn't have any idea. "I'm not a hero, Grace."

He was a liar, a cheat, and a thief. He was wanted by the FBI, a college dropout, and tied to something evil. His father thought he would need to be killed and his brother didn't trust him to save himself. Every relationship he'd attempted with a woman had ended up poorly. And that was an understatement.

Sam was many things, but heroic was not among them.

"My offer still stands," Grace said, rising. "I need to head home now, but when you get out of here, I'm taking you out."

Sam didn't have the heart to say no.

She leaned over, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Stay safe, Sam," she said.

"You, too," he replied.

She hesitated, meeting his eyes one last time, before she turned and left.

As she left, Sam couldn't help but wish she wouldn't come back again. Because each time he saw her, each time he talked to her, it made him want to stay a little more. Not because he was particularly attracted to her, not because he even wanted to know her better, but because she was offering him normal. No matter how hard he tried not to want it, no matter how much he knew he couldn't have it, no matter how dedicated he was to Dean, nothing made that easier to reject.

-o-

Sam got his wish. It wasn't even daybreak when Dean broke him out of the hospital, by stealth of course, and by noon the next day, they were already out of Illinois and driving west as fast as the back roads of America would take them.

He felt a little woozy, admittedly, but Dean had swiped some of the good meds, the ones that kept his side from becoming too prominent of a problem, and was sure to feed Sam his antibiotics to keep him on the mend.

Dean had made him eat lunch, which Sam had reluctantly agreed to. If nothing else, at least it wasn't hospital food, and Sam was ready to get back to normal--for what that was worth.

The afternoon had them back on the road, driving just like always, as though nothing were any different.

And nothing was any different, Sam reminded himself. The hunt had been a little sloppy, maybe, a little more dicey than usual, but that just came with the territory.

But that didn't explain why Sam felt different about this one--why this one was just harder to leave behind.

He sighed, feeling his side tentatively. It had been a few hours since his last set of pills and it was beginning to ache a little.

"You okay?" Dean asked, glancing over from the driver's seat.

Sam jumped slightly, wondering how Dean had even noticed. The man had eyes in the back of his head--or the side, as it were. "I'm fine," he said. "A little sore."

Dean scoffed. "You took a spear in the side," he retorted. "I think sore is an understatement."

Sam looked at him, perturbed.

Dean just grinned. "You want some more painkillers?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Sam said shortly, crossing his arms and sinking sulkily into his seat.

The countryside was long and flat and the sun was hot through the windows. The steady thrum of the road eased into Sam's body and he almost shut his eyes to it when his brother shifted next to him.

Sam cast a look his way and noticed Dean rubbing at his nose absently. Sam recognized that look--Dean's look of random conversation starters. Only this one wasn't goofy--wasn't one of those would-you-rather kind of things. No, Dean had something else, something more serious on his mind, from the look of it.

"Do you ever think about it? Having kids?" Dean asked.

Of all the things Sam had considered, that hadn't even been close.

Sam looked at his brother and weighed his words. Something inside of him screamed yes, yearned for it, wanted it. He smiled, slightly. But he remembered his own childhood, losing Jessica, killing Madison.

"There's not room for it in this life," Sam admitted finally, knowing it was true, even if it did avoid the question.

"I mean, someday," Dean amended. "Maybe."

Sam shrugged at this. "Do you?"

At this, Dean actually laughed. "Dude, I already have one."

Sam raised his eyebrows, shocked. What exactly had Dean been doing those years he was at college?

Dean looked at him, a sly grin forming. "I practically raised you, Sammy. There's nothing about you that I don't know. I changed your diapers, gave you baths. I know about that birthmark on your--"

Sam flushed, his mouth gaping a few times before he spluttered, "Dude!"

Dean grinned wickedly. "I definitely don't think I could handle more than one."

This left Sam sulking, sinking deeper into the passenger's seat of the Impala. "No wonder I'm so screwed up," he muttered.

"Aw, Sammy," Dean said with mock sympathy. "I was good for you. Can you imagine Dad trying to tell you about the birds and the bees?"

Sam considered the image and had to admit, it was pretty terrifying no matter how he looked at it. He shook his head. "Maybe it's best if neither of us reproduces," he said finally. "I'd hate to think of the ways we could contaminate children if we were actually responsible for them for more than two days."

Sam was joking, sort of, but Dean seemed to sense the heaviness in his voice. "You'd be good at it, you know," he said, surprisingly serious.

"What?"

Dean shrugged, trying to downplay it. "You'd be a natural. That's why the kids trusted you like they did. I mean, they adored you, Sammy."

"It was a tense situation," Sam reasoned clinically. "Trauma binds people together. You know that."

"Not like that." Dean shook his head. "I'm just saying."

Dean's sincerity made Sam's heart rise into his throat. He clenched his teeth and tried to smile through it. "So would you."

"Maybe someday," Dean said, his voice quiet in the rhythm of the wheels on the road.

A silence followed, and Sam felt suddenly awkward. He kept his gaze steady on the landscape slipping by his window.

Dean sniffled loudly, and Sam considered reaching for the stereo.

"Maybe you just need the right girl," Dean said with a sudden airiness. He glanced suggestively at Sam. "You know, if we stayed, you could hook up with Grace," Dean said, waggling his eyebrows at him.

"Grace? I thought you liked her," Sam said, genuinely surprised.

Dean shrugged, feigning indifference. "Turns out she has a thing for geeks," Dean said.

Sam glared. "You were the one doing the research on this one, man. The geekboy title is yours."

Dean just shook his head. "You can take the geek away from the computer--"

"Ha ha," Sam interrupted. "Just keep driving."

"Although," Dean said. "Maybe I should try the fatherhood thing."

Sam waited for Dean to continue, and finally took the bait. "Why's that?"

"Seems like a shame to let these good genes go to waste, you know? A crime against society," Dean said with an emphatic nod before turning and flashing a winning smile to Sam.

Sam couldn't even manage an eye roll. His face split into a smile. "Yeah," he said. "A real crime."

"You know it, little brother."

There was no promise in that, no guarantee, and Sam couldn't deny that there was an ache someplace deep inside of him that no painkiller could ever touch.

They couldn't stay in Springfield. Sam didn't want to stay in Springfield, no matter what Dean thought. He wasn't even sure he'd ever be ready for a family--not with all he'd lost.

But Sam knew he'd miss it--he'd miss the kids, the idea of being stationary, the idea of home. He had given it up when their dad had died, given it up to stay here with Dean, to figure things out with his destiny, with his brother. He had to come to terms with the family he had now before he could ever dream for more.

But looking again at his brother, smiling and smooth, Sam wondered if he could learn to hope again for dreams that he thought had died.

He shook his head a little, letting it fall back against the seat.

Who knew--with Dean, almost anything was possible.

He heard the music switch on, and he smiled as his mind drifted away to sleep.

end