The steady rhythm of your heart monitor should've been comforting, but it wasn't. It signified that you were alive, just barely, but what should've been a beacon of hope only brought Sam dread. This whole situation was awful. Dean was fighting for his life, you weren't much better, and John? Well, he hardly seemed to care. His injuries were minor compared to what you and Dean had gone through, and Sam considered himself to be very lucky to be standing.

He took a slow, deep breath, eyes trained on your peaceful face. The air smelt sterile, and it was far too cold in your hospital room for his liking. He'd already bothered the nurses enough, he didn't want to ask to bump up the heat.

It was strange how you could look so calm as you slept, even after everything you'd just been through — the collision with the possessed driver, and the airlift to the hospital. Sometime between the accident and now, you'd slipped unconscious, but the doctor was confident you'd wake. Sam couldn't fix what had happened, but he was determined to be there when you came to. He was your brother, he needed to be there for you.

The tick of the clock above the door was almost synchronized with the gentle beeping of your heart monitor, and Sam's foot rapidly tapping against the tile floor blended with the noises to build up a symphony. Seeing his younger sibling in such a state was harrowing. His heart stuttered as your fingers twitched, his larger hand wrapped around your own. He was suddenly sitting up a hell of a lot straighter, on the edge of his seat by your bed.

"{{user}}?" Sam spoke, voice cracking as he tried to rouse you back to reality by gently squeezing your hand.