WARNING: No spoilers, actually!

Author's Note: Here is it, my final scheduled post in this series. This one isn't based on any requests, because I thought it would be unfair to pick just one person's request for the last scheduled chapter. However, this one is loosely connected to the very first chapter of this series as a way to honor where this series all began. (Hence this chapter's title.) It could technically take place any time in the show, but I prefer to imagine it's in the later seasons. I want to sincerely thank NerdAngel, ImpalaLove, Colby's girl, roslyngrl, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, bagelcat1, Imtheonewhofeelinglost, waitingforAslan, GuestJ, Jenjoremy, freetobescary, dg . sangita, zz5, mb64, and TG for their recent reviews and support. And thanks so very, very much again to every reader! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

The white light directly above the bed overwhelms Sam's sense of vision, causing his barely-opened eyes to feel assaulted by smears of fuzzy color and brightness.

The smell of clean air – not fresh air, but clean like chemicals have been scrubbing at each molecule in the room– is familiar in a way Sam can't fully process, not yet returned to consciousness completely, but which makes his gaze skirt all the edges of his bed looking for something.

Someone.

Dean.

The name is the first concrete thought Sam's managed since coming awake, and almost like it holds some magical power over him, the wobbly edges of his vision begin to solidify, too.

The light on the ceiling is no longer a smear, but a rectangle. The edges of the bed are neatly separated from the rest of the room, white sheets distinguishable from the pale-blue-and-white linoleum flooring and the thick, off-white plastic bed railings. And Sam's eyes are searching still, taking in the unobstructed view of a wall and I.V. stand to his left, as well as the empty, bare-bones chair on his right. The foot of his bed provides him an open view of a different hospital bed across from his, occupied by a man in his mid-to-late fifties, sleeping.

Where is Dean?

Sam can't help wondering why his brother isn't right there beside him, can't help worrying.

There was a time Sam might've thought nothing could keep Dean from parking himself bedside if Sam were hospitalized, but enough years and traumas have transpired for the younger Winchester to know better; Dean would be there if he could, and if he couldn't then it only meant Sam needed to get out of this place quickly and go find him. If he wasn't here then he was hurt or… No, hurt was the worst Sam would allow himself believe.

The plastic railings on the hospital bed presented an obstacle, and in Sam's bleary and undoubtedly medicated state of mind he couldn't ascertain how to lower them without outright breaking them. Wishing to avoid making such a commotion as to wake his sleeping roommate and draw attention to his escape attempt, Sam opted for scooting in an ungainly manner to the end of the bed where there was a gap between the side railings and the foot guard.

The movement caused a tug and a sting in his left arm, reminding him of the I.V. stand he'd spotted next to him earlier. He absently reached his right arm up to where the thin tubing was still attached to his flesh and yanked himself free.

Just when Sam managed to get himself to the end of the bed, swing his legs over, and touch his bare feet to chilly linoleum, a nurse appeared in the room's doorway. She looked startled to find him mid-break-out.

"What are you doing? You need to stay in your bed. Your head is still-" the nurse babbled about his condition and other things Sam didn't consider presently important as she rushed forward, attempting to gently man-handle Sam in that way only nurses can manage, back into a laying-down position.

"Gotta find my brother," Sam objected, voice raspy.

"No, you need to lie back and stay still while I fix your I.V.," the nurse instructed as if scolding a child.

"I've got to," Sam tried again, louder despite the way it made his throat feel like a cactus was tickling it, "find Dean." He was trying to sit back up after somehow having been fully pushed back onto the thin hospital mattress. The nurse was calling for backup, Sam's roommate was now awake and eyeing the unfolding situation with mild irritation, and Sam was still struggling as best he could against arms firmly preventing him from going to his brother.

OoO

Sammy.

Dean wakes up like dough rises, slow and warm.

The air feels stifling, or perhaps it's only the blankets he gradually realizes his limbs are all tucked under. All but the right leg, he observes once his eyes finish opening up, which is free of linens but boasts an impressive knee brace.

There's a tube coming out of his right arm, an I.V. likely filling him up on pain killers, and there's a fan mounted on the wall directly across from him, disappointingly still and silent.

Dean looks to the chair beside his bed, where no shaggy-haired, puppy-eyed being sits.

Once upon a time this might have made Dean think he'd come to the hospital alone, but enough years with his brother have passed to leave him convinced otherwise; Sammy should be there, and if he wasn't, then no matter what Dean would soon be wherever Sammy was.

The meds are still doing their thing, muddying Dean's memories and making the ordeal that had stuck him in the knee brace a foggy, intangible thing for the time being.

It's not helping him figure out where his brother is, either.

He sits up, glaring down at his I.V. when the motion causes it to tug at him from under his skin. He wraps his left hand around the offending item, ripping it out with practiced resentment. Doing so probably would've stung more if the morphine hadn't had anything to say about it.

Dean fumbles with the plastic railing to the side of his bed, the side closest to the room's exit. After a few clumsy attempts to shove the plastic bar down, and just as he's concluded breaking it may be his only bet, he discovers a button that lowers the barrier. He swings his legs off the side of the bed, feeling a slight twinge at the motion of the brace-wrapped-knee. He reckons it'll hurt like a beast later, but that isn't as important as locating his sibling.

The partially-stoned man balances awkwardly for a moment, upright but far from stable. Another visual sweep of the room reveals no helpful crutches or canes, and so he begins a sort of shuffle across the room towards the hallway beside it, his damaged leg not fully cooperating, and he has to pause to lean heavily on the doorframe when he gets to it.

He peeks out of his room, seeing a nursing station down the hall to his left, and a family waiting in seats outside a room a few doors down on his right.

Dean pulls himself together and heads away from the nurses, trying not to draw unwanted attention, all the while keeping up a mantra in his mind:

Gotta find Sammy. Gotta find Sammy. Gotta find Sammy.

Dean's brain is still too cloudy to allow him full access to his memories of how he'd gotten to this hospital, but he could at least recall dialing for an ambulance for himself and an unconscious Sam in its aftermath. And Sam's head had been...bleeding? Yeah, he'd gotten knocked upside the noggin' badly enough to draw blood, badly enough that Dean had known a hospital trip would be non-negotiable. That's when he'd called 911. But where would that leave Sam now?

Head scan room? Dean considers the option, still slowly making his way down the hallway.

The family he'd headed towards gives him suspicious looks as he meanders by them, like they're considering telling someone about the strange, limping guy who won't make eye contact for fear they'll see how much morphine is still there. He quickly flashes his best charming smile and hopes they keep their own lips sealed.

There's a board at the end of the hallway providing a map of the hospital and its amenities, and Dean is just about to start reading for the location of Radiology when a sound grabs his attention.

It's soft, and most other people would've tuned it out as background noise in a hospital, but Dean could zero-in on his brother's voice anywhere.

"I've got to find Dean," Sam's voice asserted, though to Dean it sounded quite strained.

Also nearby.

The older brother turned to his right, spotting an open hospital room door. The sounds of a small scuffle drifted from within, and Dean waddled his way over to it.

Using the doorframe for support again, Dean poked his head into the room and felt his whole world sort itself out in an instant.

Sam was there, resisting a nurse who was trying to coerce him back into his bed. The kid was too weak to put up a real fight, but the success he'd managed thus far was still impressive given his condition. There was gauze taped to the left side of his noticably-bruised forehead and his eyes looked a tad unfocused.

Until they locked onto Dean's, that is.

In an breath the fight seemed to leave the younger patient, a smile replacing the scowl that had contorted his face moments before.

"Dean," the kid said, voice hoarse but steady as could be.

"Sammy," Dean replied, returning his smile.

Two more nurses came rushing in then, one going to help the first reinsert Sam's disconnected I.V., and the other pausing to rebuke Dean for being up and about.

The brothers finally allowed themselves to be tended to, sharing understanding nods as Dean was ushered into a wheelchair one nurse had conjured up from someplace and carted back to his own room, because they now knew where their brother was.

Now they could truly recover.

Secondary Author's Note: Thank you all so much for everything. This series has been a joy for me to work on, and I'm so grateful I got to do so over the past four years. I owe it all to you lovely readers/reviewers/requesters, so please know that you have my deepest, truest gratitude. Please know that I do intend to continue writing, both fanfic (though admittedly less frequently than in the past, of course) and my own original works, and my experience with writing this series has played a huge role in convincing me to do so. Thank you all again, and if you have a moment please do feel free to leave feedback. It is greatly appreciated, as always. :D

TO GUESTJ AND TG: If ever I am lucky enough to publish any of my original works, please look for your names in my dedications. But for now... If you look at the main summary for What Family Is For, you'll see I've made a change to it at the end. ;) I couldn't think of any better way of showing you how much your support (support which I am fully aware you have both maintained without the prompting of email reminders, since neither of you has an actual account on this site) has meant to me than to dedicate What Family Is For, my proudest written accomplishment so far, to the both of you. And although these words can't do my gratitude justice, I will still say thank you again for everything. *Winchester-style hugs*

Special Note To GuestJ: You have stuck by my writing for...well forever, it feels like! I couldn't possibly be more grateful to you for the amazing encouragement you have given to me, and the faith you have placed in my writing with each offering of a request. I wish I could do some amazing thing for you in return, but for now please just know that I genuinely wouldn't have gotten this far without you, and that I will never forget that as I continue working on writing original works, my dear friend. :D (P.S. If ever you do make an account on here, feel more than welcome to PM me!)

Special Note To TG: Thank you so much for having encouraged me in my writing through the years with all your feedback (and for putting me in contact with that wonderful tissue company lol). I most definitely intend to continue writing, mainly working on original works now, and I want you to know your support has very much contributed to my desire to do so. If ever you decide you want to make an account, please don't hesitate to PM me. I'm always here for you if you want to chat, just as you've been here for me through so much of my writing. Truly, thank you!