AN: I published this way before as "It has nothing to do with luck - it's just reality" as a way to cope with this thing that had suddenly turned my family's world upside down. I wrote another two chapters to the story but shelved it until now. Three one-shots at most with no clear timeline. I will delete the original posting and include it later so it reads sequentially.
WAR ZONE
Sam knows something isn't right when the room tilts slightly to the left and Jess becomes nothing more than a blurry figure dancing in and out of his vision. He shakes his head but the world begins to spin and he feels his body pitch forward...
Jess hovers over him. "Sam, honey can you hear me?!" The body cradled in her arms moves and moans in pain. "Sam, c'mon," she whispers.
Vision clearing, Sam comes to noticing how high above him the kitchen table is. He sits up, putting a hand to his head and turns to Jess who hugs him tightly and tries to move him to the couch.
"Jess...i-it's okay. I'm fine." He's deposited on the couch and Jess sits on the coffee table.
"You fainted," she states. "You haven't been eating properly. I've told you Sam. You should know better. Honestly? Sleep wouldn't kill you either!"
Sam blinks. Of course I've been eating properly, he thinks. He's eaten a little less than usual but he's not really hungry these days and he seems to last fine skipping a few meals here or there. Sleep? That one's new, he sleeps a lot. More than he likes to admit. It sounds stupid, he realises but really he's fine...
...until he collapses at the end of a class. The professor calls for an ambulance when he notices dark bruising on Sam's forearms and the pallid colour of his cheeks. His eyes have sunken into his sockets and the only reason he's allowed it to get this far is that Jess isn't there -she's visiting family - to force him into bed, demanding that he eat or lose his coffee for the week.
He comes to in the ambulance where he's asked a series of questions just like Jess has asked him in the past. He answers truthfully because now he's scared.
"Would you like me to call anyone for you?" the paramedic offers.
Dean. "Uh, my girlfriend Jessica," he manages.
Test after test plots his journey through different wards and different doctors.
It makes him feel like a shitty little pin cushion.
When Jess finally gets to him all he hears is 'thank God you're alright' over and over again until he just wants to sleep. Unconsciousness is almost in his grasp when he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Sam, doc's here."
He sits patiently watching the man in front spiel about his tests - he's halfway in through the process of tuning out when a word pulls him back into the clutches of the medical world and he wants to laugh. He really does because it's impossible, it's impossible...him, Mr Eat-right, act-right, exercise-fanatic cannot be sick. He wants to laugh because laughing is better than the alternatives: crying, yelling, silence - they aren't viable options because he isn't sick.
He cannot have-
"Sam did you hear me?" The doctor puts the chart on the bed and looks at Jess. "Sam, I understand it's a lot to take in at the moment..."
Sam grinds his jaw. I want Dean! Shit, where is he? Dean...Dean, I want Dean. "Get out."
The doctor looks flustered for a moment.
"Sam." Jess is looking at him, panic evident behind her eyes. "Listen to him-"
"No. I want you out." He's trying not to cry...trying not to sound like his life is going down the fucking drain, but he can't deny it. Not when he's in a hospital bed. Not when Jess looks at him like that. Not when a doctor wants to talk to him about surgeries and chemotherapy and radiation...PET scans, CT scans, injections, dyes.
"Sam-" Jess cries, "Listen, I know you're hurting..." She's clutching his hand, lips on the crown of his head.
He shrugs her off, pointedly looking at the doctor. "Out."
The doctor nods, eyes sympathetic, taking the clipboard and checking Sam's vitals. Once he's out of the door Jess follows, no doubt asking what she can do to help; leaving Sam in the cold empty room.
Everything is going to waste. Law school, studying. Leaving his dad...Dean. Nights of tossing and turning in dingy dorm rooms wondering if he did the right thing - crying out in his sleep for a family that could've been anywhere. Wondering if it's not too late to call Dean. Knowing that he'd leave the job again as soon as he got sick of watching Dean getting flung through the air like a lifeless rag doll. He could be dead in months – hell, weeks even.
Sam curls in on himself, facing the window. He wants to call Dean. He wants to feel his brother's arms around him, the steady thumping of Dean's heart beating in his chest. He wants to hear that it'll be okay.
Sam's not going to call though.
He's 'staying gone'. His father's words, not his - but this time he's worried
Staying gone could be permanent.
