#22 Prosperity

Once again,  Sam found himself in the family room at salvation hospital. He held his hands to his mouth , nipping at his nails.

Dean was down the hall behind a large blue curtain being treated for minor burns, a few bruised ribs and a fractured forearm.

John, how ever, had been out cold since he had fallen through the floor. Doctors had him hooked up to a heart monitor, fixed five broken ribs, 3rd degree burns to his left bicep and bandaged a dislocated shoulder. But the fact that he still wasn't awake was the only thing that really hit Sam.

What if he didn't wake up? He would be alone with his screwed up brother, no one to be angry at but himself. No one he could blame but himself. Somehow, in all of this it was his fault; it did happen because of him. 22 Years ago.

And if Dean killed himself, Sam wouldn't be strong enough. He would end up one of the yellow eyed demons soldiers for sure. There was nothing he could do about it.

Sam buried his head in his hands, trying to stop himself crying, shaking, over stupid negative thoughts. But they weren't just thoughts; even he knew that.

What had Dean said? 'He was home'? It was all too much for him to deal with right now. Why hadn't Dean and John gotten out faster? Why had they stalled? Why had they stayed? To get the Demon?

Too many questions and not one answer.

He felt so disheartened, so depressed. So alone.

"Mr Harvel. Your arm is all bandaged, you're ribs are fine for now and you're burns are all covered. I think you're free to go see your father or, if you want, you're brother." A young and beautiful nurse smiled as she spoke," your brother is in the family room down the hall."

"How's my Dad?" He asked sitting with his feet planted to the floor.

"I'm afraid your father isn't too great. Not at the moment anyway, and its hard to tell if he'll get better or not."

Dean swallowed against the urge to curse. He knew that screaming and shouting like a five year old would get him no where. It never did. He simply smiled, thanked the young-hot- nurse and took to the hall.

He had his stride back, his posture restored, clean cut and confidence oozed from him. He felt better than he could ever remember; despite his burns, cuts and fractures.

Even as his father was lying in a hospital bed, a little voice, a nice little voice, told him everything was going to be okay.

He felt like prosperity was finally on his side. Until he saw his little brother, hunched over with his head in his hands. He looked weak.

"Sammy?" Dean edged into the room, watching his little brother all the while.

"Dean...I...I..." he stammered.

"You what Sam? It's okay."

"I can't do this anymore. I can't stop this demon; I can't stop your demon."

"My demon is your demon, Sam. He's controlling both of us. But it's over now, I'm fine Sammy. It's okay."

Sam looked up at his brother. His  blue eyes where red and swollen.

"What?" he asked.

"The yellowed eyed demon, he was controlling the sandman. He wanted to get rid of me so that he was free to take you."

"So, again, you could have died for me? Because of me! Some one else could have been dead!"

Sam got to his feet, distraught with grief. He hammered the wall with his fist. Tears stained his cheeks.

"Again, you make this about you. I'm telling you, I'm better and it's not about you! Dads in a hospital bed unconscious, can you make that about you too?" Dean snapped.

 It really was Sam's fault. Sam had just hit the nail on the head.

"I have to get out of here." Sam whispered," I have to go."

He was out of there before Dean could protest. Maybe he should just let him cool off.

Prosperity was a strange thing.