So, last chapter, yay! Trying to decide what I'm going to do next with this series... Give me suggestions, if you want! Enjoy :)

July 19th, 2006

The two of them – Adam and Clint – stayed with Dean in his room. Clint talked softly to the prone form of his younger brother, telling him stories of things he'd done while at S.H.I.E.L.D with Natasha, and Adam simply stared at the young man who was his brother.

When Clint left to call Laura back at the motel, Adam pulled his chair closer to Dean's bedside and began to speak to him.

"I'm sorry that we didn't get to meet sooner," he said. "And, I'm sorry that you're not even awake. I wish Dad had told me about you guys, and about all that paranormal stuff, because then maybe my mom would still be alive, and you'd be awake, and-" he sniffed a little, feeling the sting of unshed tears in his eyes. He gave a short laugh. "Wow. I'm crying over a dude I've barely known about for three days." The young teenager rubbed furiously at his eyes. "And you're probably laughing at me."

Sam walked in the room then, looking a little flustered, and he was carrying an old, leather-bound journal in his hands. He stopped short as soon as he passed through the doorway, looking awkwardly at his little brother. Adam offered him a small smile.

"Hey, Sam." He said to him, and Sam smiled back.

"Uh, hey," he replied, looking around the room. He still seemed slightly uncomfortable with being alone with Adam, not that the young blond could blame him. After all, he was the bastard son of their father. "Where's Clint?"

Adam shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Dunno," he said with a slight yawn. "He stepped outside to call Laura, I think."

Sam nodded, and he seemed slightly unfocused.

"So, Dad wasn't in his room," he said after a few moments of slightly uneasy silence.

"Where'd he go?" Adam asked his older brother curiously, and Sam shrugged (the blond noticed how much their gestures and body language were the same, and he wondered in what other ways they were similar).

"I don't know." He answered. "But I got Dad's journal, so who knows? Maybe there's something here."

He flipped open the journal and began to leaf through it, glancing at both of his brothers occasionally. Adam got the feeling that if it were himself or Clint lying in that bed, Sam would be just as gung-ho to bring them back. It made him feel good to know just how highly the Winchester's valued family.

Sam finally settled upon a page on Reapers, and he motioned for the youngest Winchester brother to come look at it with him.

"D'you see anything that might help?" he asked the younger boy, and Adam scanned the page for a moment before he shook his head ruefully.

"Sorry, man," he said apologetically, and Sam shook his head.

"No," he said, "It's not your fault. Thanks for trying."

Adam nodded at him and hesitantly patted his older brother on the shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Sam didn't acknowledge it, but he didn't shrug off his brother's hand, either.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, "Are you here?" He cast his gaze around the room, as if Dean's spirit (or ghost or whatever) would make itself known. "We couldn't find anything in the book." He continued. "I don't know how to help you. But we'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting. I mean, come on, you can't… you can't leave me with Dad. Clint's gone, and-" he looked to his younger brother "-Adam will probably go with him. We'll kill each other, you know that."

If Dean did die, Adam wouldn't leave Sam with their father. He didn't doubt for one moment that the two would be at each other's throats constantly.

"Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go, man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again." Sam's voice cracked. "Can you hear me?"

"Sam," Adam said softly. "I won't leave you if… if something happens. I won't."

Sam stared at him, and after a moment, the barest of smiles graced his lips. He put an arm around the teenager, drawing him close.

"Thanks," he said, and Adam had never felt more included in the Winchester family then in that moment.

Sam settled himself on the foot of the bed, Adam sitting in the armchair across from him, when Dean made a noise.

Adam and Sam rushed to him as soon as the older man's eyes opened and he choked on the tube that had been placed in his throat.

"You stay with him, calm him down," Adam instructed Sam. "I'll get help."

Sam nodded, his focus entirely on Dean as he tried to calm his brother so that he did not hyperventilate and cause himself further harm.

"It's okay, Dean, it's okay," he heard Sam murmur to their brother as Adam burst into the hallway.

"Help!" he cried out to anyone who would listen. "I need help!"

Clint had come charging into the room not to long after Dean had woken himself up and the doctor had come to examine him for any lasting damage.

"He's okay," he breathed as his eyes landed on his little brother sitting up in his hospital bed. Adam came to stand by his side, a grin on his face.

Sam never left Dean's side.

"I can't explain it," the doctor said after a while, a look of befuddlement on his face. "The edema's vanished. The internal contusions are healed. Your vitals are good. You have some kind of angel watching over you."

Clint snorted a bit at that – no way angels were real.

"Thanks, doc," Dean said, and he sounded genuinely grateful.

The doctor nodded at them all, and he left the room, leaving the four brothers to themselves. Dean turned to look at his brothers, a look of concentration crossing his face.

"So," he began. "You said a Reaper was after me?"

Sam nodded at his older brother.

"Yeah," he answered.

Dean's eyes drifted over to where Adam stood by Clint.

"And who's the kid?"

Clint realized that if Dean did not remember his little stint as a spirit, he had no idea who Adam actually was. He glanced down at his youngest brother before looking to Dean.

"Well," he said. "This is Adam. Let's just say Dad couldn't keep it in his pants, and leave it at that."

Adam flushed cherry red, and Dean gave a snicker of amusement.

"So, how'd I ditch the Reaper?" Dean asked Sam, getting the conversation back on topic now that he'd received his answer.

Sam shook his head and Clint shrugged.

"You got me." Sam said. "Dean, you really don't remember anything?"

Dean looked troubled as he spoke.

"No." he replied, frowning as he did so. "Except this pit in my stomach. Sam, something's wrong."

Their conversation was halted by a sudden knock on the door, and all four heads turned to the open door where their father hovered in the hallway. He looked utterly relieved to see his son awake, and he shot his youngest a small smile.

"How you feeling, dude?" John asked Dean, who gave a small shrug.

"Fine, I guess." He replied. "I'm alive."

John smiled fondly at him.

"That's what matters," he said to his son.

Sam, however, wasn't eager to forget his father's disappearing act earlier before.

"Where were you last night?" he asked John angrily. His father turned to face him

"Oh, boy," Clint muttered, clapping a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Let's go get some snacks from the vending machine, kid." He led his youngest brother out of the room, ignoring his annoyed comment of, "I'm not a kid!"

Not too long after Clint and Adam left, Sam joined them, grabbing a cup of coffee from the machine.

"Did Dad yell at you?" Clint asked Sam conversationally, not facing him.

"No, actually." Sam admitted. "Nice change, I guess. I'm gonna give him his caffeine, and hopefully we'll all be on the road in a couple of hours."

Clint nodded absently. Adam grabbed a bag of Cheetos for each of them out of the vending machine, handing one to his oldest brother, which he accepted with a "Thanks".

Sam walked back to their father in Dean's room, and that was when Adam and Clint heard him yell for help.

The four of them hovered in the doorway to the room where a crowd of doctors and nurses attempted resuscitation on John Winchester, and a nurse attempted to push the four brothers back out into the hallway.

"No," Dean was saying desperately as she pushed him away. "No, no, it's our dad, it's our dad!" he pleaded with the nurse. "Come on."

"Okay, stop compressions," the doctor said, and Clint felt his insides turn to ice.

"Still no pulse," one of the nurses announced.

Time seemed to stop as the next words were spoken.

"I'll call it. Time of death, ten forty-one a.m."

END

Word Count: 1,495 without A/N