A/N: For Sam Winchester's birthday. A little different from my usual birthday fic. Set in season 11, any time following Cas' possession. I don't own Supernatural, just playing in the sandbox.

Have Faith

This song and dance feels like it is getting very old, very fast.

Sitting on the horribly uncomfortable hospital chairs (which he has sat in on so many occasions, he's actually used to the discomfort), Sam keeps vigil as his brother fights for survival. Dean has been in a coma for over a week now, with what seems like little to no signs of waking. The ghost of Simon Murphy had seen to that. The spirit of Murphy, a fisherman whose neglectful captain had steered his vessel into a storm and ultimately causing the young seaman to be thrown overboard, had been dispatched, but not before dragging Dean with him. Images of his drowning brother flash before his eyes and he closes them, despite all efforts to supress them.

Sam finally finds his brother, body limp in the murky darkness. He pulls him close, breathing for him before swimming to the surface, stopping only to provide more (hopefully) lifesaving breaths. Dean is too still, face ashen, lips blue. As Sam desperately performs chest compressions, he begins to fear that he is too late, that after almost forty years, the hunt has finally claimed a Winchester.

The relief that Sam's efforts at resuscitation had succeeded had been short lived, his brother still unconscious. Dean had been without oxygen for too long, the doctor had told him later that night, after he had slipped into a coma. There was a very real possibility of brain damage, and that was if his brother even woke up. And so now Sam finds himself once again at his brother's bedside, watching him as machines breathe for him, head buried in his hands.

"Goddam it, Dean, why do you always have to be the hero?" Sam's eyes grow misty, and he wipes the tears with the back of one hand. He had objected from the start Dean's kamikaze plan to be bait, especially with Cas under Lucifer's control and unable to save his friend. Looking skyward, Sam throws off yet another prayer, the umpteenth of God knows how many: "God, if you're up there, I know you've probably hear this more times than you really care to, but please, help my brother. Please…" The prayer trails off, and Sam sighs brokenly. Rising slowly, he stretches his aching muscles and makes his way to the coffee machine down the hall. From the looks of things it's going to be another long night.

XXX

"Mr. Harrison?"

Sam begins to stir, the sudden noise awakening him. He had just fallen asleep less than an hour earlier, and he feels grouchiness added to the list of emotions fighting to take over his mind. "Yes," he answers groggily, fighting to keep from snapping at the kindly nurse standing over him, a package in his hands. "I'm sorry to wake you, Sam," he continues and hands him a small package with a smile. "The gentleman at the desk asked me to give this to you today. Said it was a gift. I hope this isn't inappropriate, but happy birthday."

"What?" Sam accepts the package in slight confusion, brain still foggy from sleep. "It's the 2nd today?" Sam pulls out his phone, checking the date showing on the screen saver. Sure enough, it says May 2nd on the top of the screen. "I forgot about that, with…" The young hunter trails off, eyes landing on his ever unconscious brother. The nurse smiles sympathetically, patting Sam gently on the shoulder. "I can take this back if you'd rather not open it," he suggests, but Sam shakes his head. "No, it's fine, thanks Zach." Zach nods his head in understanding. "Let me know if you need anything, ok?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Once alone, Sam finds himself once more plopped in his usual chair, the package still in his grasp. The gift bothers him; everyone the Winchesters had known well enough to not only know their birthdays, but be willing to buy presents, are gone. And even if he were no longer possessed by Lucifer, even socially awkward Castiel would know better than to give Sam a gift with Dean in a coma, for goddsake. And then there was the return address: not to Sam Winchester, but Sam Harrison, the fake name he had assigned himself upon arriving in Oregon. Perhaps it was a trap, a hex bag or some other supernatural trinket with the power to kill or curse. For a moment, Sam debates tossing the package: even goes as far as tossing it into the waste basket nearby. But something in Sam's gut tells him that there is something meaningful about the gesture and he gets retrieves it. Carefully he peels away the tape and neatly opens the gift, hands shaking slightly.

In his hands is a copy of one of the Supernatural books by Chuck Shurley. On the cover is an artist's depiction of the Impala in the moonlight, a crumpled heap of chrome and metal. In My Time of Dying, reads the title and for a moment, Sam feels like he is about to vomit. He remembers this one all too well. It's the night the semi plowed into the Impala, injuring him and his father, and sending Dean into a coma, one the doctors were certain he would never recover from.

Why would anyone send this?! Jesus! What kind of fucking heartless asshole…? In anger, Sam hurls the book across the room, the volume hitting the wall with a rather satisfying thud. And then, to Sam's surprise, a sheet of paper tucked beneath the pages slips out, fluttering gently to the floor. Curious, Sam reaches for it, surprised to find a note, typed not from a word processor, but an old fashioned typewriter. Two words:

Have faith.

"Have faith," Sam reads and he feels a lump forming beneath his throat. Paper still in hand he bends down and picks up the discarded book, flipping to the final chapter. He remembers that night all too well, and doesn't need Chuck Shurley to remind him, but he finds himself reading nevertheless. A few pages in, Sam finds his vision blurred, and the tears fall softly. Another bedside vigil. The words he had spoken to his brother as he lay dying come back as naturally as breathing.

"Dean? Are you here?" Sam hesitated for a moment, feeling suddenly rather awkward at his brother's bedside. Drawing a shaky breath, the hunter continued. He would tell his brother how he felt if it killed him.

"I couldn't find anything in the book. I don't know how to help you. But I'll keep trying, all right? As long as you keep fighting. I mean, come on, you can't leave me here alone with Dad. We'll kill each other, you know that." Sam chuckled faintly, and paused. For a moment, he almost slipped out the dreaded words that neither father nor sons had ever gathered the courage to say. Why was it so hard to tell his brother that he loved him? For all Sam knew, he would never have the chance. But instead, that damned Winchester pride ultimately got the better of him.

"Dean, you gotta hold on. You can't go man, not now. We were just starting to be brothers again."

The room was still, the only noises the steady hum and beep of the machines keeping Dean alive. Sam's heartfelt confession to his brother seemed to have fallen on deaf ears: his brother couldn't have been there. Not sure whether to be hurt or relieved that his brother had missed the mother of all chick flick moments, Sam cried silently, unaware that at that very moment, Dean Winchester was about to make his choice.

"I meant every word of that, Dean," Sam tells his unresponsive brother, the tears now freely running. "And still do now." He continues to read, the words blurry from crying, until he finds another passage, this one highlighted in fluorescent yellow. It is the scene when Dean miraculously awakens, gasping for breath while Sam yells for help. His brother had been on death's door, likely to never recover; and in seconds was awake and practically symptom free. On the bottom of the paragraph, in pencil, someone had written the same words from the sheet: "have faith." Beside that was the date of Dean's recovery.

"May 2nd, 2006," Sam reads. He'd forgotten that the accident which had nearly taken his brother's life had happened near the end of April, and that Dean had awakened on his birthday. But the odds of his brother being comatose, and regaining consciousness on his birthday twice in a lifetime seem to be astronomical. But then again, since then, both brothers had died and resurrected on multiple occasions.

"Have faith," Sam whispers to himself. Grasping his brother's hand, Sam settles for another long vigil. It was only one in the morning. "Ok, buddy," he mutters, "you still have twenty-three hours."

XXX

Sam hasn't realized he has fallen asleep until he feeels the warmth of morning sunshine on his face. Blinking, he sits up, stretching his neck. Almost immediately he picks up his phone and checks the time. It is well past eight in the morning, and no response from Dean yet. "Give it time," he tells himself. "You gotta have faith." For a moment, he closes his eyes in prayer: perhaps the extra help from God would work. He mutters a few words and then falls silent. God had done nothing to help in their fight against the Darkness. What is the point? If He wouldn't show to face off against His own sister, there is no way he will show up now. Have faith. Those two words, seemingly set on repeat, an endless loop of optimism, remind him of his mysterious gift.

"This is crazy," Sam sighs, massaging his aching shoulders. "Even for us. You won't believe this, but I got this birthday present. A copy of those god awful Supernatural books. Just when I think I'd forgotten about them, there's somebody reading about us like we're on HBO or something." Can he even hear me? This is a waste of time. It can't work.

Have faith.

"So anyway, some secret Santa type buys me this Supernatural book. The one from the car accident. Where, well, you know…Anyway, there's this piece of paper that came with it, says 'have faith'. And the guy who got me this underlined the part where the reaper brought you back. Says 'have faith'again and the date. You know, Tessa brought you back on my birthday. I'd forgotten about that until just now. Ten years ago today."

Sam drew a shaky breath, and continued. "So it'd be great if you'd just wake up, man. I mean, come on, we all know a Winchester can't stay dead. So please man, if you can hear me, I'm really clinging on to this whole faith thing. Please don't make me look like an idiot in front of these people. We need you, Dean…I need you."

At first, the touch was is faint, he almost misses it. And then, a gentle squeeze.

"Dean?"

Another squeeze, firmer this time, and Sam lets out the breath he had no idea he is holding. For a moment, that pressure is the only sign his brother is waking up. And then green eyes look up at him, confused but aware. Beside him, Sam is crying again, trying in vain to keep from breaking down in front of Dean. He remains an emotional wreck while the doctors check his vitals, determine that he is breathing well on his own and within twenty-four hours he can be taken off life support. He calms only when his brother remains awake for more than a few minutes at a time and is up and talking. There is no mention of the gift, or the anonymous sender, the book carefully hidden in the inside pocket of Sam's jacket. But the volume and its note never leave Sam's possession again. Alone in his room in the bunker, he pulls it out and slides it in his dresser drawer. On the front cover, in pencil, Sam has written two words:

Have faith.