Sam stepped into the room and stopped. The scene was all too familiar; Dean laying on the white bed, blankets tucked under his arms and tubes running from machines to his motionless body. The room even smelled the same.

"There's a chair over there," the nurse said, pointing to a thinly padded chair on the opposite side of the room beside Dean's bed. Sam nodded his thanks and crossed the small room, thankful for it not being a shared room. "Talk to him, maybe you can calm him down." Her voice was respectfully quiet and the smile she gave was comforting. Sam smiled in return and watched her leave.

When she closed the door behind her, he sighed loudly, hand dragging over his unshaven jawline. He stared at Dean for a long moment then looked at the quick beeping monitor. Dean's heartbeat was in the low hundreds, he noted with a wince. His brother's face was flushed and slick with sweat, hair gleaming under the florescent lighting. And though he was unconscious, Dean's brow seemed furrowed.

Sam stood, pulled the chair closer to Dean's bed, and sat back down, adjusting in the uncomfortable seat for a moment before settling. "Hey, Dean," he began, feeling a little silly. If Dean really could hear him, he was probably making fun of him. "I know you probably think this is stupid but I don't know if you're in there or around or what but… I'm just gonna talk for a little while cause now you can't butt in." His lips curved in a half-hearted smile. "Uh…" He didn't know where to begin.

Sometimes he still had to look at Dean - really look at him - to make sure he wasn't just imagining him. Dean had been gone for a year and Sam had very slowly begun to adjust to being without him. It was painful; agonizing, really. He remembered the same feeling as when Dean had gone to hell for him. But that had been worse. Every day Sam woke up during the four months he was without Dean to the knowledge that Dean was in Hell for him. That he was in the worst place a mind can think of because of him.

At least this time Dean hadn't gone to Purgatory for any reason besides wrong place, wrong time.

Sam sighed and sat forward, both hands combing through his hair. He could almost hear his brother asking 'Well if you say you're gonna talk are you gonna talk or just sit there like a monk in a strip club?' Resting his elbows on his knees and chin on his folded hands, Sam smiled. "Kinda funny, isn't it? You, here again. And me just sittin' here like before." He glanced away. "Doesn't feel like all that long ago but man… a lot's changed, hasn't it? I mean Dad and you and me and," he stopped, breathing a barely amused chuckle. Taking stock of the times they'd come face to face with death wasn't really funny.

"Alright, first thing's first. Uh, Garth called and he said that Chester, the guy that had been possessed before you, had a heart attack because the ghost left him in some sort of panic, kinda like you. Started with pain and moved to a heart attack. But don't worry, I mean you're here, the Doctors are gonna take care of you, so you know… don't worry." Feeling a little stupid for telling someone who was most likely not listening to him not to worry, Sam scrubbed his eyes with his palms. He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed again. Three o'clock in the morning, and he was definitely feeling it.

"And secondly," he began, shifting. "You were right. About everything you said when you were possessed. But I meant what I said too. You have a right to be angry at me but I had a right to try for something different, Dean. I mean you were gone, you just… you disappeared, man, how the hell was I supposed to know where to even start looking? For all I knew you were in Heaven with Mom and Ellen and Jo and Bobby." That thought had occurred to him several times in the long hours he'd been working on the car and it gave him an odd sort of comfort; odd because there was no way to know for sure and there was as good a chance that he was in hell.

But he hadn't let himself consider that.

"So yeah, I ran. You'd have done the same thing if I just evaporated into thin air." He paused. "Or maybe you wouldn't have." Considering the time that he'd been dumped in that town by Yellow Eyes and how Dean had used all of his effort to find him, Same felt an edge of guilt creep in. He couldn't properly put into words the panic he'd felt when Dean disappeared or the absolute shock he felt stumbling out of the large building. Or that sick feeling when he saw bodies strewn across the ground and the Impala crashed into the sign.

Sam vividly remembered stopping before getting into the car and retching. He slowly slid under the wheel, the leather seats feeling so much more comfortable after not sitting on them for many months, got her unstuck, and pulled out of the lot. And drove for as long as the car would go. It jerked and heaved and whined and grumbled from its own injuries and when it finally stopped, Sam found an abandoned tool shed, piled the necessary tools into his bag, walked back to the Impala, and began the tedious task of fixing her.

He slept in the shed - or rather laid in the shed. His mind had somehow kicked into survival mode where the only thing he could focus on, the only thing that kept him from screaming at the heavens every night, was fixing the car. Because its what Dean would have wanted.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam whispered, his voice grating against the growing emotions inside. "You were always so good to me. And I'm not trying to be a chick here or anything, but I mean it. After everything we went through, after everything I threw at you and no matter how hard I pushed you away when I wanted to be a jerk, you were always there for me. And… really… thanks." Tears burned his eyes and he blinked them back. "I didn't forget that. I didn't forget you last year. I just didn't know what to do. I was totally lost. I mean it was the first time in my life that I was totally and completely alone."

He stood, thinking maybe he would be better in control of his emotions if he looked out the window and not at his unconscious brother. "And do you wanna know why I stopped using my phones? Because I kept calling yours. Or I would hear one of 'em ring and the only thing I'd think was that it was you. It almost made me crazy so finally I just dumped them all in a box and I put them away." Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he leaned against the wall, eyes taking in the dark landscape, street lights dotting the unfamiliar city with a warm glow.

"Part of me thought that was it, that was my life. And I couldn't hunt alone. I couldn't. I read the obituaries for a while and I caught wind of a few cases as I drove but I just couldn't… I couldn't imagine doing any of it without you. So… I stopped. I found a new life and it kept me busy."

"Busy."

Sam turned quickly, eyes wide. Dean's lids were still closed but his brows had unfurrowed; in fact he looked relaxed. "Dean?" He hurried back to the chair.

"Busy."

"What? What about it?"

"You said your new life kept you busy."

Still, Dean didn't open his eyes. "Yeah?" Sam couldn't keep from smiling when he looked at the monitor and saw Dean's heart beat slowly descending.

"You didn't say it made you happy. Just that it kept you busy."

"Okay?"

"So does that mean you were happier huntin' with me then with this girl? I mean if you were bu-"

"Dean, stop, I get it." Sam's smile expanded when Dean's eyes finally opened and met him. "I don't have to answer that question," He said with a broad shrug.

"Why not?" Dean's voice was still hoarse from sleep.

Sam's brows rose quickly, accompanied by a dimpled grin. "Because you're awake. I just said that stuff to wake you up."

A flicker of disappointment crossed Dean's expression but was immediately gone, eclipsed by a boyish smile. "That is good to know, Sammy." His eyes closed and he began to snore. Loudly. In between a snorted breath, he whispered, "Alright continue."

"How long were you awake?" Sam asked over the obnoxious noise but Dean just continued, his lips curving seemingly against his will. "Alright, shut up." Sam laughed as he gave Dean's arm a gentle shove before walking to the table at the end of his bed.

Dean stopped snoring and lifted his head. "What're you doin'?"

Sam pulled out two cups from the pile of clear plastic cups and set them on the tray, pouring ice cold water into them evenly. Lifting them, he walked back to Dean and held one out. "Here."

"What's this for?" Dean asked, taking it hesitantly.

"I'm good, you're good," Sam said with a smile. "What's not to celebrate, huh?"

Dean sat up, careful of the things he was hooked up to, and gently knocked his cup against Sam's. "Here here."

End