A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! Remind me to never again say I can post quickly – everyone in my house has had this ridiculous flu. I'm so sorry for the wait….

Chapter 9

Three weeks later…

Buttons. I hate buttons. Sam leaned a streamlined hip against the scratchy mattress, sighing at the amount of weight he'd dropped since the shooting. Shooting. Huh, still don't remember that…

He'd panted his way into the deep green sweatshirt Jess had brought for him to change into, finding the color strangely appropriate. After all whomever she'd borrowed it from could pass for the jolly green giant if it was this much too large on him. Still, the expanse of cotton was welcome as he eased it over the bandaged chest and shoulder, struggling around the sling as best he could. The jeans were almost as baggy as the shirt and sadly they were his. Oh well. A few weeks, a few pizzas and he could put that part of this behind him, assuming Jess would let him off the rabbit food. I can put off telling her I'm finally starting to like the stuff…wonder how we put the rest of this behind us…I killed a man….you'd think I'd remember that at least…

The meandering stream of thought was interrupted as Sam heard footsteps in the corridor. Jessica would be here any second, ready to drive him home, not that he wasn't facing another two to three months of outpatient physical therapy. Which brought him back to the button. How the hell do I protect Jess when I can't button my own pants?

"Sam?" Jess smiled as entered the hospital room, eager to draw him away from the faint whirring of equipment, the whispered voices of strangers, and the lingering traces of antiseptic. Away from everything that reminded her of how near she'd come to leaving here alone. "You ready?"

"Yeah, almost." He ducked his head, managing a grin up through long bangs. "Maybe you could, ah, I can't seem to, um…"

She cut him off with a quick kiss, buttoning the jeans before he could actually ask. "We're gonna be ok, Sam, you know that, right?"

.

A month later and he believed her.

Therapy today had gone better than usual, the range of motion in the arm almost back to normal. Shortness of breath with exercise continued to plague him to the point that he'd seen the pulmonologist a week early, but Dr Blinnis had chuckled once he found out that Sam's breathing problems with activity stemmed from an attempt at kick boxing.

Sam forced out a laugh as well, insisting the doctor not tell Jess he was overdoing it. He couldn't explain to either of them why getting back to what the medic had jokingly called fighting trim was paramount. Heck, he couldn't even explain the urgency to himself; he just knew it was there. Isn't safe to let your guard down, kiddo, not ever…. Where'd that come from? Even so, Blinnis's reassurance that his body would compensate for the missing lung section given some time was comforting.

He had about an hour before Jess made it home from her last class, his gaze wandering over the apartment. The pile of paperwork he'd brought home from the hospital covered the edge of the desk, along with a few newspaper clippings of the attempted rape, the shooting and the police search for the suspect. Time to put that away and move on. Sam carefully lowered himself to the floor, cautious now more out of habit than physical infirmity, and pulled his footlocker from under the bed. He could store the articles in there, a genetic bent toward revenge making him unable to throw them away altogether.

His fingers brushed across the rubber banded packet of receipts as soon as he opened the locker, his dimples making an instant appearance at the find. The final receipt met his eyes, charmingly stamped paid only yesterday. A black velvet box nestled inside the bundle, concealing the diamond within. All he had to do was choose a day. Not today though. Today was getting rid of the hospital reminders.

Articles successfully buried below the exorcism text, Sam dumped the contents of the manila envelope from the hospital. Most of it was expected, copies of follow up instructions, information on how hospital billing worked. A rattle caught his attention, momentarily surprising him until Sam remembered emptying his pockets when they'd arrived home the first day, too exhausted then to be interested in whatever remained in his jeans. Vaguely curious, he counted out two dollars and fourteen cents in change, uncrumpled a voucher for the hospital cafeteria, and retrieved the copper key ring he'd assumed was lost. Nothing important there.

Suddenly a wave of vertigo flowed over him as he took another look at the change. At one particular quarter. A 1962 quarter with a subtle notch at four o'clock. Sam ran a hand through his hair and looked at it again, certain that his eyes were playing tricks. They weren't.

"Look, Sammy, just keep it in your shoe, ok?" Dean handed him a 1960 dime, a tiny nick in the edge at four o'clock. "I have a quarter like it, and it's not going to hurt you to humor me."

Nine year old Sam fingered the dime, then shrugged and tucked it inside the slit Dean made in the lining of his sneaker. "Is yours in your shoe?"

"Um, actually no Sam, it's in my pocket, but I need to make sure you don't spend it, or…"

An exasperated huff escaped the younger boy. "One time, Dean. One time I let that Cooper punk take my money, and it's been two years. It's not going to happen again."

Dean recalled how quickly Sam had taken to the self defense lessons John had instituted after that and chuckled. "No, I guess not. Ok kiddo, shoe, pocket, whatever you want. Just keep the thing."

"Fine." He shifted the coin to his pocket. "What's it for?"

"What happened to coins in 1964 Sam?"

"It was the last year dimes and quarters were silver…Oh."

"You got it. You always want to have a silver blade with you if you can, but teachers have the strangest hang ups about that in school. Ms. Miller last year? Acted like I was some sort of juvenile delinquent when she spotted the knife I had, and you practically needed a magnifying glass to find the thing; I mean come on… Anyway, the coins are a good compromise. Small, easy to carry, not valuable enough to steal. The notch in them isn't much, but you could scratch something with it if you had to, I filed it down. Don't lose it."

Sam rolled the dime inside his pocket, intentionally nicking his finger. Could work…

He shifted the knife set in the footlocker aside, spotting the dime he'd left there two years ago. He'd given up carrying it when he'd arrived at Stanford, shutting it away with the remnants of the life he'd left behind. The quarter he hadn't seen in a slightly longer time frame. Before that though, he'd caught glimpses of it frequently; every time Dean counted change for anything the quarter was always carefully replaced in his pocket. His brother kept it with him all the time, so if it was here, then…..nah……maybe??

Dean was here. Not sure how, but he was here. No other explanation. Did he sneak in? How'd he know? Wonder if he saw Jessica? Wonder if Dad knows? If he cares?.... I could call…. 'If you go, stay gone'…. So, no, can't call……..still…..Dean was here…..

Sam sighed, torn between an aching resurgent need for his brother and the need to keep Jess safe. He'd thought leaving the hunt would do that, yet she'd been attacked. Somehow finding that quarter made everything less clear. He slid the quarter in his pocket and selected a knife from the hunting set in the locker, deciding to replace the one he'd lost in the fight outside the bar. His boot sheath had been empty long enough. Finally he lifted the ring box, tracing his finger over the top without opening it.

I lie to her everyday about who I am, about what's really in the world, about what I think may be following me in more than my nightmares. And now I've killed someone along with all the somethings. How could she want that? The Sam she wants doesn't even exist…. I love you, Jess, and someday I'll find a way to tell you. To take the risk, and then I can ask. But not today, and not soon.

He shoved the velvet box to the bottom of the trunk, covering it over with the newspapers as the front door lock turned, wishing desperately he could cover over the hole in his heart as quickly.

Epilogue

Dean pulled the impala back into parking space outside Sam's apartment. It had been fourteen months since he'd been here. He'd intended to stay away, let Sam live the life he deserved. A life Dean knew was going well. It was the last Friday of the month, so only a few days now since he'd last spoken to Jessica. At first he'd tried to ignore the scrap of paper he'd found in his jacket. It was a simple enough note.

"Sam has pre-law journal club last Tuesday of the month, eight to ten p.m. Never misses. I'll be home, call me, Jess."

By the second month after the shooting, the need to check up on his little brother was palpable. So he decided to call her. Just the once, of course, to make sure he recuperated ok. The next month it took even less time to convince himself to dial. Over a year later and he found he arranged and rearranged his work and everything else to get in the two hour phone call with the girl he was fairly sure would become his sister-in-law. She was his lifeline to Sam, a hope that someday he'd reconnect with his brother. And if that didn't happen? Well, at least someone would tell him the kids' names when that rolled around.

He'd been a little surprised at first to find the paper there. After all, he never looked back after walking out of the waiting room that day. She had to have put it there earlier, before he said he was leaving. Was he that predictable? Didn't matter. He was sure Sam was thriving at Stanford and Jessica kept their secret.

Except that now he was back to rain on Sam's parade. Dad was missing, and he needed Sam's help to find him. Would Sam help though? He certainly remembered trying to get his Dad to come help Sam right after the shooting. A point blank refusal to get in the car. Still, maybe John was the one who beat him to Pullman? He'd thought so until he got back to St. Louis. He'd expected at least a question about whether Sam had lived or died. Instead a bellowed "You're late!" had assaulted him through the door, followed by the dressing down of a lifetime. Not a weekend he particularly wanted to rehash.

Guess that didn't matter either. He was still their Dad and Dean still had to go find him. Preferably with Sam's help. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Sliding out of the car, he pulled a set of lock picks from his pocket and let himself into the apartment. As expected it only took a few seconds to hear Sam's footfalls coming toward him in the dark. The fight between them was quick, but it still took Dean longer to pin Sam to the floor than he had expected. He'd definitely healed from that hospital stay. Somehow Dean hadn't envisioned starting this adventure with bruises.

"Easy tiger." ***

Sam finally focused on the figure on top of him. "Dean?... You scared the crap out of me."

"That's cause you're outta practice." Dean smiled down at his brother. Right up until he got flipped over and pinned himself. "Or not. Get off me."

Panting, Sam stood and offered a hand, pulling Dean to his feet.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for a beer."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean didn't miss the change in Sam's tone of voice. So, not in the mood for fooling around. "Ok. We've gotta talk."

Sam shot him an incredulous look. "Ah, the phone?"

"If I'd have called would you have picked up?"

Dean's question went unanswered as Jessica entered the room, flipping on the light switch.

"Sam?"

"Jess."

"Hey." Dean smiled at her with the smirk she remembered so well, eyes frankly appreciative of the tight smurfs T shirt and shorts. She never wore anything like that to the hospital.

"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica."

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Her voice was suitably surprised. After all, she was legitimately surprised to be talking to Dean in person. …in the middle of the night. ….in her underwear.

Dean smile widened as he walked toward her. "I love the smurfs. I gotta tell you, you are completely out of my brother's league."

"Wait a second while I put something on."

He walked toward her, oblivious to Sam's exasperated reaction behind him. "No, no. No, I wouldn't dream of it, seriously." He gave her his very best pick up line look, the kind you'd never use on someone you actually knew, followed that with a flirtatious gesture, then backed up to talk to Sam. He finished it off with a wink, cementing this as a 'Dean chasing blondes first meeting moment' in Sam's mind. Jess had pulled it off. More than a year and she hadn't told Sam that his brother still felt the need to keep tabs on him. She still hadn't asked Sam just what it was his brother was protecting him from. If she could keep secrets that well… well she was going to make one hell of a Winchester. "Anyway, I've got to borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some kind of family business. Nice meeting you."

xxxxxxxx

Sam slid into the impala, not quite believing he was driving off with Dean to look for their father or that he was layering on yet another secret with Jess. At least he'd be back Monday for his interview. One Winchester secret, though, he could clear up right now. Slipping a hand into his pocket, he pulled out a notched 1962 quarter, silently handing it to his brother.

Finis.

.

A/N : Dialogue from **** to the end is quoted from the pilot episode of Supernatural and should be properly credited to the authors of that episode.

I know there are a few of you that wanted this to completely leave canon, but I just couldn't do it. Hope you liked it anyway.

Thanks so much to everyone for reading! Please let me know what you think.

I'm posting the first chapter of my next fic here tonight as well for anyone who may be interested; it is also pre series but earlier. It is more action oriented and less, ah, sweet than this, although once an angst junky, always an angst junky, so that common factor remains.

Thanks again.