I don't own Dean, Sam, or anything seemingly affiliated with Supernatural, however the story is a product of my own imagination.

Hi guys! I'm baaaack! Here's yet another story that I couldn't get out of my mind, so I wrote it for you guys. Hope you enjoy. And, as usual, don't forget to review. I'm dying to know what you think...good or bad.

A/N: I make up my own names for my monsters and demons because I'm too lazy to search through the droves of supernatural creatures in order to find the "right" one to make a ten second showing in my stories. Therefore, any resemblance to a real anything is purely coincidental and totally unintentional. If any of you know a good cross reference site, I'd happily use it to aptly name my creatures.

Ignoring his pounding headache, Dean sauntered up to the bar, leaning casually against the carved oak as he placed his order for a beer. His eyes scanned the room while he waited for the drink, mentally rating every female he saw before finding the evening's perfect ten. He felt relief noting that he wouldn't need to move very far to be near the petite blonde that he finally set his sights on, and bottle in hand, Dean made his way to the lone girl sipping her Cosmopolitan four stools down from where he stood. A bit cliche, but she's cute enough to pull it off, Dean thought as he put on his best come hither smile.

"Is this seat taken?" Dean asked seductively, not waiting for her reply before sliding onto the vacant stool.

She looked up from her drink, a warm smile glowing over her entire face. "It is now," she replied.

Leaning back against the bar, elbows propped on the platform, Dean eyed the girl with a strong air of confidence. "I'm Dean," he announced, as though that was all she would ever need to know in order to decide she had fallen madly, deeply, in love; or, at the very least, under his spell.

The girl responded exactly as he had hoped she would, practically swooning at the sight of his baby blues and his million dollar smile. "Cassie," she answered, trying desperately to match even a quotient of his confidence. "It's a pleasure, Dean."

Dean reached for the hand she held out to him, closing it gently around her finger tips. "The pleasure is all mine," he crooned, kissing the top of the hand with soft lips.

If Sam had been watching any of the exchange he would have been rolling his eyes before the first words left Dean's mouth. But he was settled into a bench along the far wall of the bar, lost in thought as he did research on their next hunt. As always, it had been Dean's idea, order actually, to drop in on the local nightlife before leaving town the next morning. Sam had protested, claiming exhaustion from fighting their most recent prey, but Dean had insisted. Even when Sam had made a show of pointing out how pale Dean looked, suggesting making it an early night instead of a very late one, Dean had argued against it. And, of course, Dean had won.

Every now and then, Sam did look up, smirking as he watched Dean working his game on the poor, unsuspecting girl. He had to give his brother credit. Sam had seen the way he'd cradled his head after it was used by the Grislock to break down a door, and Sam knew Dean was in pain. But even with a head injury, Dean was still able to perform amazing feats of magic on every girl he set his sights on. Watching him now, Sam had to admit he could barely tell that the boy was suffering from a concussion.

The girl, Cassie, was eating up every word Dean said to her. He'd gone simple this time, deciding for once to just be passing through on a sight-seeing tour of the country instead of one of his over the top stories he usually told. As usual, he'd been right on the money. The girl thought it 'romantic' and 'exciting,' and she'd looked at him with stars in her eyes. She probably would have happily climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala for the remainder of the trip had Dean offered her the opportunity. In her eyes, Dean had seen fascination, bright sparks of eagerness at his every word.

So it worried him when she suddenly started looking at him with confusion, and maybe even a slight tinge of disgust.

"The classic handed it a granted hairpin," Dean slurred, drawing his hand to his temple and rubbing at the pain invading his head.

"What?" Cassie asked, stifling a laugh at the nonsense suddenly coming from Dean's mouth. She didn't know what had prompted it, but she figured it had to be some obscure attempt at a joke.

"Liars don't eat heaven by night," Dean added, his tone desperately trying to re-engage Cassie in their conversation and not understanding why she had so suddenly stopped hanging on his every word.

And then his right arm went numb, dropping limply from his temple to his side. His gaze followed, viewing the action in a blur of slow motion as he attempted to comprehend its meaning.

Suddenly fear encompassed Cassie's face and she leaned in towards Dean. "Are you OK?" She worried. But Dean didn't actually hear what she said; only the echo of sound booming in his ears as she moved choppily in front of his eyes, as though backlit by a strobe light.

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that had suddenly tacked themselves to his brain. Blinking his eyes, Dean looked back at the cute blond sitting in front of him and calling him by name. "Who are you?" he whispered anxiously to the girl before grabbing his head once again with the still working arm. An anguished yowl let loose from the depths of his throat before he collapsed on the floor, deep in the throws of a seizure.

Sam had looked up from the laptop just in time to see Dean drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. He sprang from the booth and was at Dean's side in a second, frantically demanding answers from the shaking girl hovering above his brother and shouting for someone to call an ambulance at the same time. Pulling Dean's head into his lap, Sam had the presence of mind to remove the sweatshirt from around his waist and shove the sleeve between the man's teeth, a meager effort to keep Dean from biting his tongue.

"I don't know what happened," the girl stammered, flopping her hands up and down in a desperate attempt to slow their shaking. "One minute we were having a conversation and the next thing I know he was still talking but he wasn't making any sense. And then his hand went limp, and he seemed to forget who I was, and then he went down. That's all I know." Tears streamed from the girl's eyes and she sank heavily onto the stool, bracing herself against the bar. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

Leave it to Dean to find a chick totally involved in herself. If he wasn't so preoccupied with his brother, Sam would have made a snide comment to the girl who seemed more concerned with her own feelings than those of the man who'd been talking her up for the past half hour. But Sam ignored the comment and continued to focus on Dean. He'd finally stopped writhing on the floor, but was now unresponsive.

"Dean, come on Dean, wake up," Sam pleaded, rocking his brother's body back and forth. "You have to be OK. Come on, Dean. You're gonna be fine."

A crowd had gathered, the action by the bar decidedly more exciting than any game of pool or darts they had been involved with seconds before. The medics had to shove their way though the throng of half drunk oglers in order to get to their charge, and one of the three remained standing until the police arrived in order to do crowd control.

Strong hands grasped Sam's arms, forcefully prying him off his unconscious brother as a soothing voice whispered in his ear. "It's OK, son. We're here to help," the warm, fatherly voice assured Sam when he noticed Sam pulling tighter against Dean's shirt. "You need to let him go. You need to let us help him."

Sam finally allowed himself to be pried free and he watched, shell shocked, as the medics went to work on Dean. They stabilized him, immobilizing his head and strapping him tightly onto the backboard. Oxygen was applied to Dean's nose and mouth by means of a mask, and Sam found himself mesmerized by the breath fog that materialized and disappeared to the beat of Dean's breathing, silently thankful for that small bit of fortune.

Somewhere within his haze, Sam heard another voice ask if his brother was allergic to any medications, and he shook his head automatically. "Not that I know of," Sam answered in hushed tones. "Is he going to be OK?"

The voice was quick to reply, but didn't give Sam the answer he wanted. "He's in good hands, son. We're going to do everything in our power."

"But I don't understand. What's wrong with him? What's happened to my brother?" Panic and frustration rose in Sam's tone, and the paramedics did little to alleviate his fears.

"We don't know yet. The doctor's need to be able to check him out before we can make any speculation. He just needs to get to the hospital. Will you be riding with us?"

Sam's thoughts immediately went to the Impala, sitting idly in the parking lot. If Dean woke up to find that Sam had dared leave it behind Dean would make sure Sam's unconscious body saw the inside of an OR. The decision tormented him; ensure Dean's well-being or save his own ass. Dean won out. "Yeah, I'm coming with you," he announced, already chasing after Dean and the stretcher he was being wheeled out on. I'll deal with the car once I know Dean's gonna be OK.

They wasted no time on the ride to the hospital, but to Sam it seemed to take years. Dean remained stable in the ambulance, but never regained consciousness, and Sam practically drove the medics crazy asking what was wrong and when would his brother wake up.

When the ambulance jolted to a stop in front of the ER, Sam jumped to his feet and prepared, once again, to chase after Dean as he was wheeled down the corridor and into the off limits area. He made it less than half way before he felt his arm jerked back roughly by an orderly.

"You can't go in there," the young man ordered, puffing out his chest to make himself appear more intimidating.

If Sam had been in a better mood, he probably would have laughed at the sight. The orderly couldn't have been more than nineteen, and from the looks of him still had yet to fully achieve puberty. His spindly arms and legs seemed too long for his five-foot-six frame, and the acne littering his face made him seem more like a little boy trying on daddy's work uniform than a man supposedly in charge of keeping people from unauthorized locations. For a second, Sam contemplated simply shoving the boy out of the way and running after Dean, but a nurse put a stop to that idea.

"I need you to fill out some papers for your brother," the plump, mid-forties woman insisted, tugging at his arm and leading him to the waiting area.

Surprising even himself, Sam allowed the woman to plant him into a seat and plop the stack of papers onto his lap without so much as a 'not until you tell me about my brother.' He stared in bewilderment at the pile before him, suddenly forgetting everything he'd ever learned about fudging insurance papers. His hands shook as he lifted the pen to the first line: patient's name.

Wracking his brain for the appropriate answer took time; he needed to remember what ID Dean had last had in his pocket when they entered the bar. His mind spun. This had all been so sudden. There were times when he expected to make a detour to the hospital; times when they'd been on a hunt and one or both of them had been too hurt to perform their own limited medical expertise. He prepared himself when they were on the hunt. But when the job was over, he let his guard down. Never in a million years had he ever expected Dean to go down in a bar in front of a beautiful woman, especially without a pool stick or deck of cards in his hands.

Name. Patient's name. His memory finally returned and Sam was able to fill in the empty space. Dean...O'Malley. As he regained his senses, little by little, Sam was able to fill in the remainder of the lines with relative ease and then pass it back to the nurse, grinning almost triumphantly.

"Has there been any news on my brother yet?" Sam asked anxiously after he'd given the nurse ample time to read over the chart and ensure that everything was filled in. She tightened her lips and fed Sam a pitying look. "I'm sorry, dear. There's nothing yet."

Sam nodded, offering her a reserved half smile, appreciative of that fact that she, at the very least, appeared to care. "I'll be right over there," he pointed to the cluster of chairs closest to the hallway Dean had disappeared down. "Will you please let me know as soon as you hear anything?"

The woman nodded again, and Sam actually felt somewhat reassured. "Of course, honey. I'll let you know first thing."

It was several hours before Sam noticed a doctor emerge from the double doors at the end of the hallway. He watched in desperate curiosity as the man approached the nurses desk, speak with the woman for a few seconds, and then saw her point in his direction. Sam rose immediately, closing most of the distance between himself and the doctor before the man had even had a chance to fully turn around.

"Do you have information on my brother?" Sam demanded anxiously, bouncing on his toes in his nervousness.

The doctor looked distinguished; early fifties with salt and pepper hair and a very professional demeanor. Sam immediately felt at ease, deciding just by looking, that he trusted the man to care for his brother. Nodding, the doctor motioned back toward the chairs. "I do. Why don't we have a seat and talk."

Sam spastically bobbed his head up and down, practically sprinting to take a seat in order to bridge the time before he received word on Dean's condition. "My name's Sam," he added.

"And I'm Dr. Northrop," the man offered. "I have a few questions for you about your brother."

Focus was paid entirely to the doctor as Sam waited for information. Leaning forward intently, he set his elbows on his knees and folded his hands tightly. "So how is he? Is Dean going to be OK?"

Dr. Northrop sighed, mimicking Sam's posture. "Sam, can you tell me...has your brother received any head injuries recently?"

It was all he could do to keep from snorting. What do you consider recently? he scoffed to himself. There was the Grislock throwing him into the door just last night. And then the Minlaur using his head as a punching bag a week ago. And let's not forget the bar fight he got into two weeks back. Sam looked at the doctor sheepishly. "He definitely gets hit in the head more than your average person," Sam offered, dredging up the first verbal white lie of the ordeal. "My brother's kinda an extreme sport buff. You know...he likes the danger. The rush."

Tightening his mouth, the doctor looked at Sam with worry. "Sam, I'm afraid your brother's love for 'the rush' as you put it has caused tonight's incident. I'm still waiting on some test results to be certain, but from what I've already noted it appears Dean suffered a stroke tonight. And it seems to have been aggravated by a seizure."

Sam's snickered reply bordered on hysterics, and he blinked several times as he waited for the doctor's mouth to turn into a smile and for Dean to emerge unscathed from the ER, slipping the doctor a twenty and a high five before leading a bewildered Sam from the hospital. But that didn't happen, and the doctor continued to stare at Sam, waiting for a response; at the very least, recognition of the fact he had spoken. "There...there must be some kind of mistake," Sam stammered, nervously wringing his sweating hands. "I don't think we're talking about the same man. My...my brother's only twenty-six; he can't have had a stroke."

"Sam, I'm so sorry. You are half correct; the majority of stroke victims are older. But sometimes, as in your brother's case, they can be caused by severe head trauma."

Sam nodded, deadly serious now as he realized this was far from a joke. "So what does this mean, doctor? I mean - for him. How is this going to affect him?"

"It's too early to tell," Dr. Northrop replied apologetically. "We won't know a whole lot until he actually wakes up. The clot occurred in the left side of his brain, so he'll likely be affected on the right side of the body. There could be weakness or paralysis on that side, he could have difficulty with speech, trouble with memory... and of course, you need to be prepared for the emotional side of all this. This is a difficult thing to deal with in the best of situations, but with your brother being so young, he's bound to have trouble accepting this."

"You have no idea," Sam muttered. Lowering his head into his outstretched hands, Sam tried desperately to ward off the onslaught of tears that were mere nanoseconds from attacking him. But he wasn't about to let his emotions get the better of him. What would Dean think? He wiped at his eyes as he lifted his face to the doctor again. "I need to see my brother."