Authors note: I wrote this one late afternoon. I realise it's still a rough draft, but those are all right in my book. Sorry about the false warning, everything got highlighted in bold somehow, and I freaked out and deleted the whole thing. Sorry! x)
Warnings: This story contains descriptions of seizures, language and general sappy H/C. If any of those rub you the wrong way, move along nicely. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used in this story (just borrowing, thank you), and I'm not making any money on this, but the plot is my own.
Twitch.
The first time Sam watches Dean have a seizure, he's twelve. He's twelve years old, it's the middle of the winter, and they're in a tiny little town in South Eastern Nebraska.
Middle of fucking nowhere.
Dean is sixteen, and Sam has nearly caught up with him in height. He's growing like a weed, and he's stretched thin, skin burning and legs aching and cramping, eye-foot coordination at an all time low.
They're on a bus. It's around lunchtime on a Saturday. The roads are slippery, sloshy with wet snow, coloured grey from the dirt. It's a miserable, cold but muggy sort of day.
Sam remembers, because the snow melts completely when people get on the bus, leaving a soaking wet floor, brown and grey with dirty rain water.
Dean falls down in it.
Dad left that morning, and Sam knows he'll be back in a week. They just finished up a case with an angry spirit the night before. Sam wasn't there, but he was standing in the doorway when Dad helped Dean into the house, pupils uneven and vomit down his sweater.
And today, the day started out fine. Dean seemed set on keeping his promise to Sam to take him to the library, and with no Dad to tell him to stay in bed, and Sam's nagging only doing so much ("We'll leave early, Sammy. Don't worry 'bout it") they go to the library.
They leave the library early because Dean is spazzing out completely, eyes focusing on things only he can see. Sam nudges him when it's time to pay the bus driver. Nudges him when the librarian wants to see his card. Nudges him when it's their time to get off the bus.
Dean doesn't move. His eyes are firmly fixed on something in the mid distance, and Sam looks to see if there's something there.
Then he starts screaming. Loudly, throaty and uncontrolled. He's jerking to his feet, and Sam feels confused. Dean sounds and looks terrified, the sounds guttural and his eyes wide open.
Sam looks around, wonders if there are rats around, because he knows Dean is scared of them, and Dean looks scared.
Then he shakes himself, because there are no rats on the bus, but he's twelve years old, and his brother is doing something he doesn't even know the name of, and has no way of expecting.
Dean falls over to his side, slumps to the floor, his limbs stretching like he does when he does a dance he calles the "shrimp dance", which basically involves laying on your side on the floor and squirming forth and back. The difference is that that's fun. Sam doesn't know what the hell this is, but fun isn't it.
Then the shaking starts. Sam is vaguely aware that he's crying, and that he's huddling in a corner of the seat he's in, his legs too long and his hands trembling as strangers lean down towards Dean, making sure his head doesn't hit anything.
"Is your brother epileptic?" they ask, but from the panic on his face they seem to gather that this isn't something Sam has seen before, and nothing he saw coming. Something new, then, and an ambulance is called with no more fuss.
Dean makes it to his feet when the paramedics arrive. They don't hook him up to anything, don't make him lie down, because Dean refuses to let them. He seems firm on it.
"What's your name?" they ask him, when they get into the ambulance and he's sitting down. His eyes are empty, there's drool on his cheek, mud streaking his hair and his jeans are soaked, not only with melted snow. Sam looks away.
"Do you know who that is?" they ask, pointing at Sam.
Dean doesn't respond. Not in words, not in gestures. He doesn't even blink. Sam pretends it's all normal.
Someone presses tissues into his hands even though he said he doesn't need them. His face is soaked with snot and tears, but he doesn't want to be there. Maybe if they don't help him he doesn't really have to be there.
"What's your father's telephone number?" a male nurse asks him as they've settled him on a couch in what Sam suspects is a room specially kept for little brothers who are freaking out when their big brothers are taken away and doesn't know who Sammy is anymore. He rattles it off, voice hitching and chest heaving. Tears are still leaking out. Sam doesn't know what's wrong with him, why he can't stop crying like a baby.
"He'll be here in an hour" the nurse tells him, one hand on his knee, and Sam realises with a start that this nurse has been assigned to him. Because he's freaking out.
"You're feeling a little bit of shock right now. That's normal. They're taking good care of Dean, I promise. He'll be just fine, all right? And your dad will be here soon."
Sam nods, thinking to himself that he couldn't have been more lucky. Dad could've been anywhere by now, and not just the next town over.
Time passes, Sam doesn't notice. No one talks to him about Dean, apart from telling him that they've got him settled and that he's asleep now.
Sam doesn't want to see him.
Dad arrives, and the nurses lead him to Sam. Tells him that Dean is asleep, and that Sam is freaking out, probably.
Dad sees to Sam first, and Sam doesn't know what to say about that apart from burying his face in his father's leather jacket, smelling cigarettes and wax and car on him. Feels young, small and stupid for having cried for the better part of two hours, but can't stop. Not now, and Dad's hand comes up around the back of his head.
"It's all right" he whispers. "It's okay, let's go see to Dean, hm?"
They do, and Dean is still sleeping. Sam is grateful, terrified and jittery all at once, and when Dean opens his eyes he starts running from the cubicle.
"Wait!" His dad shouts, but Sam shakes his head.
"He's.. He's doing it again. Look. Look! No, he's doing it again!" he shrieks, hears his voice go panicky and feels the tears start up again as his dad takes his hand calmly, and leads him out to the larger room. Like he acknowledges that Sam has some kind of experience in this. That Sam saw the newest seizure before even he did.
"We need some help in here" he tells a nurse calmly, so calm, and leads Sam away while they tend to Dean.
"I'm sorry you had to be there, Sammy" he mumbles, settling Sam close to him on the chair next to his.
"That's not something you should have had to go through alone.", and Sam knows he means it, because even if he does go away a lot, John does care about his boys.
"What happened?" Sam manages to ask.
"He had a seizure, because he hit his head last night. The doctor said it might have been a one time thing, and asked if he's had them before. We'll see what they say after this."
Dean is rushed off for more tests, and yet more tests. Dad calls Bobby to come stay with Sam while he shuttles forth and back to the hospital. Bobby's there within hours, his face worried and angry all at once.
Sam visits Dean the next day, almost unwilling to enter any room with Dean in it, the shock of yesterday fresh and painful. Safety has been taken away, because Dean has always been safe. He doesn't trust that anymore, doesn't trust Dean not to scare the shit out of him, fragile and human and he liked his powerful older brother, who didn't succumb to anything.
Dean is drugged, and he's embarrassed to see Sam. He's not hooked up to anything.
"They're just running tests" he mumbles. "Then I can leave, when they figure out what'll stop the se-seizures."
Sam's breath hitches as Dean stumbles on the word, scared it'll happen again.
He'll freak out whenever someone coughs or sneezes for the next few months, be afraid to take his eyes off people in case they stand up, scream, fall down and froth at the mouth while they twitch and pee themselves.
In time, he'll stop feeling dizzy and weird when it happens; coughs, unexpected noises, sneezes. At college he'll get to know a guy with epilepsy, and it'll stop freaking him out. In time.
Dean doesn't remember at all, but he's been told what happened.
"What did we get? Any movies?" He asks, in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Sam frowns. "You know what we got."
"Sam, your brother.. He doesn't remember yesterday too well. You might have to remind him." Dad says, and Sam doesn't want to.
Wants to go away and not see this dopey, slow and sleepy version of his brother that might fall over and twitch at any second, who takes his medication religiously because he doesn't want to scare his little brother more than he already has.
Years later, he wonders if it was him or Dean who was hurt worse that weekend.
Ten years later
Sam knows he's not a person who freaks out very easily. He's only freaked out once, but to his credit, he did it properly. Snot, tears, the whole nine yards.
So when Dean goes still next to him in the grocery shop, looks up at Sam with a helpless face, eyes large and searching him out to handle this, Sam knows what to do. Knows it well, and puts down his basket, then leads Dean carefully to the grassy patch out front. Removes obstacles, knows they can't reach the car, knows they don't have anywhere to hide. He sits down, legs gathered, holding Dean to his side as he stiffens. Then sharpens his gaze, pays attention as Dean starts seizing. The medical bracelet on his arm gleams, makes little noises as his arm twitches.
People stop, shocked and scared. He almost smiles, remembers what he did himself. Feels calm, collected. Strong.
Dean is keening now, and people want to call an ambulance.
2:58
"No." he says. "I've got it under control, it's all right. Just move on, please."
Dean stills at 4:21, and Sam is still considering taking him to a doctor, even after Dean falls soundly asleep.
Decides against it, decides to take him to his regular doctor in Sioux Falls to adjust his medication or whatever as soon as he can instead.
Waits for Dean to open his eyes. It takes 40 minutes, he doesn't mind. Just waits.
Dean is always confused, doesn't recognise him for a while. Sometimes hours, sometimes minutes, but it doesn't pull on Sam's heart anymore. He knows why now. Knows it's not really Dean.
His pants are wet, and Sam knows they're not in the clear yet. Expects those large, tired eyes to widen into a new fit any moment. So he spreads out a towel over the passenger seat, helps Dean in, loose limbs and wobbly head ("Sit down, Dean." "..kay."). Confused, with those large, unguarded eyes. He'll be achy when he wakes up, from muscles trembling and cramping for too long. He'll have a headache, and he'll be worried about having a new seizure, that people stared, that he bit his tongue or banged his head. Sam had to stitch him up, once, after Dean had a seizure on his own and cracked his head open against a chair leg.
These seizures don't scare him anymore, because he has them down. Patterned, knows what to do. But Dean does other things, too. Doesn't just get the grand mal seizures. He doesn't drive anymore, because midway through a conversation he'll freeze up, stand there for a second or two, then pick up again. It's annoying, but it doesn't scare Sam. Unless Dean is driving.
And sometimes, Dean will just drop. Bam. His head will hit the floor, hard, and he'll hurt himself. Pavement is hard. Table corners are hard, and those attacks come with no warning. No smells, big eyes begging for someone ("Sam-my") to take charge.
Sam once tried to make Dean wear a helmet, but Dean will only agree to wear a knitted, thick hat when he feels bad ("Dude, I'm not a gimp!"). And Sam sees the embarrassment in Dean's eyes that Sam even has to suggest such a thing, and mentally hits himself over the head for ever wondering who came the worst out of this back when he was twelve and Dean was still invincible.
Dean knows which days to wear the hat. Sam knows which days are bad, because Dean will wear the hat, and Sam knows that he has to nudge, poke and prod his brother to do the things that would be normal to him on all other days. Because he'll stiffen up, space out, forget or just faint.
Dean knows Sam keeps changes of clothes in his car for him. Knows Sam will make sure he gets enough sleep even if he himself wasn't so fussy about it. Knows he's got extras of his medication, and that Sam has an alarm on his phone for when it's time to take them as well, even though Dean never ever forgets. Unless he's already under.
It works.
Most of the time.