Title: Missing Moments
Author: Snarkymuch
Rating: PG
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Sam, Dean
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Season 8
Summary: Written for Pennies_4_Eyes on the Oh Sam Comment Meme. Prompt: So I'd like a fic, Season 8, where Sam has developed epilepsy from the repeated head trauma. Many epileptics don't realize at first what is going on, because to them they just experience lost time, waking up on the ground, feeling like shite, etc. And I'd like Sam not to know what is happening to him, only that something is wrong. It started a while back, while Dean was in Purgatory, and Sam knows something is wrong, just not what. It's not happened while Dean was there, to date, and Sam isn't opening up about there being a problem because Dean is being...well...Dean. And Sam fears it's something supernatural. Then Dean is at ground zero for a seizure. Maybe in the middle of chasing or even fighting a winter monster/demon/spirit thing.
Total Word Count: 1,800
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and no copyright infringement intended.
Missing Moments
It started before Dean came back, or maybe it was even before Dean got sucked into purgatory. Sam wasn't sure anymore. He just knew that something wasn't right and hadn't been for a while.
Little pieces of time seemed to dissolve around him, leaving tiny gaps in his day, ones that he would miss had he not been such a keen hunter. He hadn't thought too much about it at first. He chalked it up to too little sleep the night before or one too many beers. He had no reason to worry. His life was finally going good, and he wasn't going to go looking in corners for things that could change that.
It all seemed manageable until he woke one Thursday morning.
"Sam, where are you?" a voice called through the house. Her voice sounded distant, but a different kind of distant, not like someone calling from across the room. It was like he was under water, hearing garbled words. His mind tried to reach out to sound, to answer her, but the words wouldn't come.
Slowly the fog began to lift, and he could feel the cold floor under his skin. It felt good. His body ached, and his mind wanted to let him drift back off but there was a niggling of concern in the back of his mind. Why was he on the floor?
"Sam!" The voice of someone female, of Amelia, echoed in the background. He heard banging coming from the door.
Knowing something was very wrong and worried for Amelia's safety, Sam forced back the heavy feeling in his body and pushed himself up to sit. Blinking, he looked around. He was on the floor of the bathroom. After a quick cursory exam, he found no blood and no weapons in the room. The last thing he remembered was going in to take a shower.
There was another bang at the door and Sam's head snapped a bit too fast in that direction, sending a jolt of pain through him.
"Sam, you in there?" Amelia said, voice strained with concern.
Sam raked a hand over his face and then pushed himself to his feet. He wavered for a moment but then steadied himself on the counter.
"Yeah," he croaked, surprised by the harshness of his voice. He cleared it and spoke up. "I'm fine. Be right out."
xXx
Sam tried to blow off the bathroom incident, and for a while it was working, but then it happened again, and Sam knew something was wrong and it scared him to think of what. Immediately, his thoughts went to causes of supernatural origin. He hunted the house for hex bags, he researched late into the night, but found nothing. He had no idea what was happening, and it worried him. What if Something happened to Amelia and he had to be there to protect but couldn't?
The morning sun shone through the window, waking Sam. He raked a hand over his face and pushed himself out of bed. He padded his way down to the kitchen in his boxers and tee. Sam had plans for a picnic with Amelia. It was going to be a great day. He lazily made breakfast then went off to get dressed and then prep the food. He was all ready to head out when suddenly he found himself on the kitchen floor, Riot whimpering and licking his face.
Just like before, he his whole body ached, and his head felt heavy. Just raising his arm to brush Riot off made him gasp. It was like he had gone ten rounds with a prize fighter. Riot lay down beside him, pressing his nose against his neck. His warm breath comforting Sam.
They stayed like that for a while as Sam let his body rest. Every now and then Riot would nudge him gently and whimper and Sam would shush him, telling him that he was fine even though he knew he was far from it. Something was very wrong. His mind flashed back to when his powers used to leave him with the same drained feeling. He wondered if this was somehow similar. It worried him to think of what could be happening to him.
He would have to figure this out. Maybe it was time to see a doctor. He would, he told himself, soon. He just wanted to enjoy his life a little more first. He had a bad feeling about what was to come, and he wasn't ready to face it.
It was exactly two weeks later that a phone call would make him forget about it all, that a phone call would make him lose all touch with reality. Amelia's husband was alive. It was like a sucker to Sam's gut. Any thought about the episodes were gone. The only thing he cared about was the vice around his heart. In the end, Sam packed his things and moved out with few words.
When it didn't seem possible for things to get worse, Sam got a call from the person he least expected. Dean. He struggled through the call and hung up the phone with a mixed sense of relief and dread. Dean was back. His brother was alive, and he was going to have to face him again, knowing he was going to have to lie and hide whatever supernatural thing was happening to him now.
It didn't take long for life with dean was beginning to settle into some semblance normalcy again. They weren't as close as before though. Dean kept his distance, and Sam was all right with that. Sam just hoped he could keep his episodes a secret for now. He didn't want his brother judging him for something he couldn't control.
December rolled around, and things weren't any better.
"Sam, you all right?" Dean asked as he tossed the duffel onto the bed as he studied Sam.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said. "Just tired."
Dean stared at him for a moment longer, biting at the inside of his cheek. Finally, he nodded and went back to unpacking their things.
Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His head was pounding. He walked over to the table and sat down. He kicked off his boots and grabbed the paper, rubbing his forehead as he did.
He could feel Dean's eyes on him and it was unnerving.
They spent the next few days in the motel, just catching up on sleep when Bobby called with a case. There was haunting, and it seemed straight forward. A simple salt and burn. It was in upstate New York and it was cold. It was mid-December. It took a few days to reach the town. Sam quietly thankful that he made it through with none of his strange episodes.
Once they got unpacked and settled, they headed out on the hunt. It didn't take long to find the guy they were after. Sam easily tracked down the cemetery he was in with a few clicks of his mouse.
It was snowing when they headed to the cemetery. The ground was slick. It all happened so quickly. The spirit charged him causing him to fall back, knocking his head against the headstone as the spirit clawed a hand into his chest.
Sam wasn't afraid as the ghost tightened its icy fingers around his heart. He welcomed the darkness. It was a break from the harsh reality of a world where nothing ever worked out for him, but then Dean arrived, just in the nick of time. Sam saw him from the corner of his eye. He shot the spirit full of rock salt and smirking triumphantly as he did.
Dean's smile disappeared as he looked over Sam. Concern flashed over his features and he rushed to Sam's side, a hand brushing over the blood that Sam could feel trickling down the back of his neck.
"Shit, seems your head isn't as hard as I thought," Dean said, ducking his head to at Sam's eyes, checking his pupils.
Sam had brushed him off, trying to see through the spots in his vision. He pushed himself to his feet, steadying himself on the headstone. The ground felt like it was shifting under his feet and he groaned.
"Sam?"
Sam swallowed and closed his eyes.
"Sam, talk to me, bro," Dean said, panic lacing his tone.
"I'm all right," Sam said. "Just dizzy."
Dean seemed to relax a little. "Okay, just go find something to lean on while I finish this up."
Dean salted and burned the bones while Sam blearily watched. He was beginning to feel nauseous and he knew that wasn't good. Another concussion. He'd probably had fifty in his life. It was just part of the job. Someone or something was always throwing you against a wall.
When Dean was done, they made their way back to the car. Sam struggling to maintain a straight line. He knew where he wanted to place his feet, one foot in front of the other, but since the ground was swaying, it was becoming increasing impossible.
The whole ride back to the motel, Dean kept glancing over at Sam. Sam noticed how concerned he looked. Each bump in the road caused a shot of pain to shoot through Sam and he winced. Thankfully it didn't take long to reach the motel. Once there, Dean came around and opened the door for Sam.
"Come on, I think that might need stitches," Dean said.
Sam's hand was still on the back of his head, he could feel the blood seeping from the wound.
Once inside Sam walked over and sat at the table. Footsteps came up beside him and he looked over his shoulder. Dean was standing there, med kit in hand.
"I think it's okay," Sam said. "It's not bleeding anymore."
Dean sighed. "Sam."
"The bleeding stopped. I think it's okay, not as bad as I thought."
"Fine, it's your head. What do I know?" Dean walked over to the bed and flopped down.
Sam gathered his supplies and went into the bathroom. He was about strip out of his clothes when he felt that familiar sensation that preceded an attack. His vision got blurry and he could almost hear his pulse rushing in his ears.
He grabbed the counter for support, but he was too late to stop his fall. He hit the floor with a thud and the world went black.
xXx
Dean was flicked through the channels, trying to find something to watch, but there was little on. He was just settling in with an episode of The Housewives of New York when he heard the crash.
He jumped to his feet and ran toward the bathrooms.
"Sam," Dean said. "You all right?"
There was no response. He pressed his ear to the door while at the same time his hand went to the doorknob. He jiggled it. It was locked.
"Sammy?" Dean put his hand against the door. "Answer me, dammit."
Dean could hear a sound close to a groan. Unsure what could be happening with his brother on the other side of the door, Dean stepped back and threw his shoulder into the door.
It gave way with a crack, splintering the frame around the lock.
What Dean saw on the floor was something he was unlikely to ever forget. Sam was laying prone on the floor, neck corded with strain, arms and legs twitching, hands fisted and bent around his chest in an unnatural way.
Dean immediately fell to his knees at his side, his hands going to Sam's face and hair, unsure of what to do.
There was a choking sound and Dean's eyes widened even further. Sam was vomiting. He was choking. Quickly, Dean moved to action. He slid his hands under his brother's and rolled him so was on his side. His body was still twitching and shaking. It was terrifying Dean.
And then it just stopped. Sam's body began to relax, and he seemed to pull his knees up into his chest and moan. Dean grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed 911.
"Hang on, Sam," Dean said. "The ambulance is on the way."
Sam blinked wearily and tried to push himself up, but Dean pressed his hands to his shoulders and held him down.
"Easy, you've just had a seizure."
Sam's brow furrowed. "A what?"
"Just relax. The ambulance will be here any minute."
Sam looked like he wanted to protest but relaxed, closing his eyes. Dean ran a hand through his hair and tried to collect himself. Sammy was sick. It was the one thing that had the power to break Dean.
xXx
The hospital was busy, but the doctors and nurses were pleasant enough. Dean watched as Sam answered their questions and he followed along with Sam as they took him for scans. After hours of waiting and a visit by a specialist, they got a diagnosis. It wasn't something supernatural. It was something very human. He had epilepsy. The doctor explained that it was likely a result repeated head trauma.
"So, it's permanent?" Sam asked.
Dean stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed over his chest, a serious expression on his face. He was as anxious for the answer to the question as Sam was.
"I'm afraid this is something you're going to have to live with," the doctor explained. "But it is something that can be managed with the right medications."
"So, what happens now?" Sam asked.
"Well, I am going to start you on a treatment plan and set you up with a referral to a neurologist."
Dean stepped forward, facing the doctor with an expression that could kill. The doctor instinctively took a step back. "He's going to be all right," Dean said. It wasn't really a question.
"Yes, like I said, it's manageable," the doctor said.
Dean relaxed a little and looked over at Sam. He knew Sam was a grown adult, but since the day of the fire as children, Sam was Dean's responsibility and that wasn't going to change. Dean would be here for Sam. He would help him get through this. No matter what. They were brothers.