The doctors called it the Christmas disease but it had absolutely nothing to do with the holiday, Sam learned that quickly. As a baby, his frantic parents rushed little Sammy to the hospital because Mary had discovered an alarming amount of blood in her youngest son's diaper.
After a test to check how much clotting factor was present in the infant's blood, the parents were given the bad news.
That had been nearly fifteen years ago. Fifteen years of having his brother and father watching Sam like hawks. Fifteen years of having to explain why he couldn't participate in gym class and ending up in study hall instead. Fifteen years of having to wait in the Impala or in the motel room while John and Dean went on hunts.
They tried to make Sam feel included; bestowing upon him the noble task of 'researcher' but it just wasn't the same to the youngest Winchester. He never really felt as though he was making a difference to people's lives when he never got to meet the people he helped save.
W
"White male, aged fourteen, abdominal lacerations resulting in severe blood loss," the nurse barked as she ran alongside the gurney the youngest Winchester lay on, the starched white sheets beneath him rapidly turning crimson.
"He's got hemophilia!" Dean shouted over the nurse before he was pushed away and his brother disappeared behind a set of swinging doors that led to the operating rooms.
Standing in the middle of the hospital hallway, the front of his shirt dripping with his younger brother's blood, Dean wanted to do nothing more than to cry.
But he couldn't. He needed to be strong. He needed to be strong for Sam. He needed to be strong for their Dad.
"Damn it, Sam," Dean swore and raked a bloodstained hand through his hair.
SPN
Sam had had enough of siting around and waiting. He wanted to be part of the action. He wanted to feel as though he were actually doing something.
Carefully, quietly, while John and Dean were distracted, standing at the trunk of the Impala, making sure they had everything they needed, Sam crept towards the vehicle, opened the rear door and slid inside. Small for his age, the fourteen-year old squeezed in behind the front passenger's seat and covered himself with the woolen blanket that always lay across the seats in the back.
The motel parking lot was dark- it wasn't in the best part of town and all the lights in the lamps along its edge were broken- and his family members' one-track minds made it extremely easy to hide in the backseat.
The drive wasn't long, ten minutes or so, and then the Impala came to a halt.
"Remember Dean," Sam heard his father speak before exiting the car, "This is the last day we have to get the bastard. If we fuck this up tonight we have to wait another month."
"I know, Dad," Dean grumbled, clearly irritated at having to be reminded about how serious the situation was.
Sam held his breath as he listened to his father and brother climb from the car and walk to the trunk to get what they needed.
He waited another few minutes until he could no longer hear them as they walked away, deep into the forest to hunt their prey.
Slowly, Sam pushed open the rear door and peered out. It was very dark, only the glow of the full moon gave a meager silver light to the woods, and unusually quiet. Not even the sound of crickets broke the silence.
The fourteen-year old was prepared though, and pulled a flashlight from the pocket of his blue jeans and turned it on. He wasn't sure exactly where his father and brother had gone but he was sure he could find them.
Closing the car door softly, Sam smiled to himself. They wouldn't be able to force him to go back when he found them. His Dad would have to give him a gun and let him hunt with them.
Sam started into the woods, unaware that he was being watched with interest, and it wasn't by his father or brother.
W
Sam tried to step carefully, but in the dark forest, with only a small flashlight to see by, it wasn't easy. Branches reached out and scratched his face and hands and on more than one occasion he nearly twisted his ankles on exposed tree roots.
He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking for but he felt as though he should have run into his family by now. Pausing, Sam took a breath and wiped his sleeve across his face, barely noticing the blood smeared across the fabric.
"Where are they?" he muttered irritably, wondering if he'd made a mistake and should turn back, just wait in the car.
A low growling sound from behind him caused Sam to jump and cry out in surprise. Turning quickly, swinging his flashlight, the teen caught sight of yellow eyes, a foaming muzzle and a row of sharp teeth dripping with saliva before the werewolf attacked.
The beast leaped at Sam so fast he didn't have time to react. One second he was on his feet and the next he was laying on his back, his middle flaring with a burning pain.
"NO!" Sam cried as the monster lowered its jaws towards his throat to take the killing bite.
BANG!
A shot rang out suddenly in the quiet of the night and the werewolf collapsed across the boy, its tongue lolling.
"SAMMY!" Dean's voice cried and Sam felt strong hands grip him beneath his shoulders and pull him out from under the dead werewolf.
"What the hell are you doing out here?!" Dean demanded, trying to stand his brother on his feet.
Sam hunched over in pain, arms wrapped around his midsection.
"D-Dean," he whimpered.
His brother flashed his light on him and gasped.
"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered.
Sam swayed for a moment where he stood and Dean reached out, picking him up and cradling the smaller boy to his chest like an infant.
Without another word Dean ran towards the Impala, all too aware of the warmth of his brother's blood soaking into his shirt.
SPN
Dean paced the Emergency waiting room anxiously, waiting for John or word on Sam's condition, whichever arrived first.
The eldest Winchester entered the waiting room looking irate, a taxi speeding off behind him, and stalked towards his oldest son, clearly ready to tear a strip off him.
"What happened out there, Dean?!" John snapped, earning himself some stares from the other people waiting on news of their family members or waiting to see a doctor, "You just drive off and leave me stranded with a… well, what the hell were you thinking?"
Dean didn't say anything for a moment and in that time John tore his gaze away from his son's face- so pale and blank- to take in the rest of him.
"Whose blood is that? Are you hurt?" John's demenour instantly changed.
He reached out to his son but Dean took a step back.
"It's not my blood."
"Is it the-" John began but his son interrupted.
"It's Sammy's blood."
"What? How?" John stammered, his face losing its colour.
"He was out in the woods with us," Dean whispered, "And he got attacked. I- I killed it- but it hurt Sammy."
John looked as though he'd been punched in the gut. He staggered to a row of chairs upholstered in garish orange pleather and sank into one.
"How did he get out there? We just saw him before he left?" John asked.
"I think…" Dean began, "I think he snuck into the car while we were loading the trunk."
"Damn it!" John growled, "He knows how dangerous hunting is!"
Dean didn't say anything for a moment.
"He hated being left behind," he muttered, "And I don't blame him."
"It's for his own good," John argued, "It's to keep him safe."
"I know, Dad," Dean replied.
W
"Family of Samuel Winchester?" a nurse called out a few hours later, just as the night sky was lightening to grey.
Dean and John stood, looking at the nurse anxiously.
"Is Sammy okay?" the younger Winchester asked.
The nurse nodded, "He's out of surgery now. The doctor had to give him blood, as well as a clotting agent. He will need to remain here for a few days, maybe as long as two weeks, but he should make a full recovery."
"Can we see him?" John asked and the nurse nodded, "This way."
They followed her down the twisting and turning hallways until they came to a door at the end of a long corridor.
The nurse pushed it open and the hunters stepped inside.
Sam lay on clean white bed sheets, his face pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, but very much alive. He looked up as his father and brother entered and his cheeks suddenly reddened with shame.
"If you need anything, just press the call bell beside the bed," the nurse told them before leaving.
"I'm sorry," Sam muttered into his chest as his father and brother approached.
"Why in God's name would you ever think it was okay to wander into the woods with a werewolf on the loose? Without a weapon?" John asked, his tone sharp but not unkind.
"I just… I just…" Sam stammered, his eyes filling with tears, "I'm tired of being left out."
"Sam," John replied, "You're not being left out, you help with a lot of research."
"I know but… its not the same," the young teen muttered, "I don't get to see the people we save."
"Is that what this is about? You don't get a pat on the back every time we save a life?" John asked, his tone irritated now.
"No!" Sam argued, "It's… hard to explain…"
"Try," Dean offered.
"I just… I want to be normal," Sam admitted, "I just want to feel like I'm normal and not sick."
"You think what we do is normal?" Dean smirked.
"Dean," John said warningly, "This isn't funny."
"I know it's not," the eighteen-year old muttered, chagrinned.
"We don't let you hunt with us to be mean, Sam," John told him, "We don't want you to get hurt like you did tonight."
Sam's gaze fell, "I know."
"You know it's dangerous for you to do certain things," John continued, his tone softer, "Things I wish you could do but we just can't risk it."
"If you want," he said slowly, "you can come with us when we have our next interview. How does that sound? I think you're old enough to handle something like that?"
"Yeah!" Dean piped up, "We could say it's Take-Your-Kid-To-Work-Day at Quantico."
John cut eyes at his eldest son but his youngest smiled.
"I'd like that," he told his dad.
"Good," John nodded, unable to return his son's smile.
"We'll let you get some rest," he told the teen, "Dean and I are going to get something to eat. I saw a cafeteria on our way down here."
Sam nodded and obediently closed his eyes.
The two elder Winchesters left the room quietly.
"You really think it'd be okay to do an interview with Sam with us?" Dean asked as he and John wandered down the hallways, searching for the cafeteria.
John shrugged, "I know he's young but I don't want a repeat of last night."
Dean nodded.
"Sorry about leaving you stranded," he muttered, looking sheepish, "I didn't have time to try and find you with Sammy… well, you know."
John shook his head, "What's important is that you got Sam to the hospital quickly."
Dean smiled relieved.
"But don't ever do that again."
W
Sam slurped away at the bowl of corn flakes a nurse had brought as part of his breakfast. He'd already wolfed down the toast and grape jelly and was halfway finished his glass of orange juice when Dean and John entered the room with cups of coffee.
"You didn't bring one for me," Sam pointed out.
"Sorry Sammy," Dean smirked, "Not while you're on the mend."
The younger teen pouted a little bit until Dean produced a rather squished cinnamon roll from the pocket of his jacket.
"Thanks, Dean," Sam took the roll, grinning.
As his brother finished his breakfast, Dean flipped through a magazine that had been left on the dresser beside the bed, sipping his coffee.
"Oh, Sam," Dean suddenly looked up, "You'll find this interesting."
"What?" the teen asked, picking pieces off of his cinnamon roll and cramming them into his mouth.
"This hospital was built for soldiers returning from World War II. There was a plaque in the lobby; it says that at one point this place had as many as two thousand soldiers in it."
"Cool," Sam agreed.
"They even have some old photographs of the staff and patients in the lobby too," Dean told him, "Once you're feeling up to it we could walk down and look at them."
Sam nodded, "I'd like that."
W
Sam opened his eyes slowly. He'd thought he'd heard someone open the door to his room.
It was the middle of the night. His brother and father had stayed for as long as they could before retiring to a motel across the street, secure in the fact that their youngest family member was safe and sound in the capable hands of the hospital staff.
Wondering if the nurse or doctor had come to check on him, Sam slid his gaze to the door and saw that it was closed tightly.
Maybe it had been a dream; Sam thought and prepared to settle himself for sleep once again.
His gaze traveling away from the door to his room, he jumped in surprise at the figure that stood over his bed.
It was a nurse!
She had a pale face, and dark eyes; her colourless hair was pulled up into a tight bun beneath a white peaked cap. She wore a modest white dress that was cinched at the waist, with cuffed sleeves and a black or navy blue cape over her shoulders.
"You scared me," Sam calmed down and smiled at the woman.
"I'm the night nurse," she replied tonelessly.
"Oh," Sam muttered, "I'm okay. I'm just going back to sleep."
"I'm sorry," the woman told him, peering at him with her dark eyes.
A shiver crept down Sam's spine but he ignored it, "That's okay. I'm going to go back to sleep."
Before he could close his eyes, the nurse lifted her hands and wrapped them around his throat in a powerful grip.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, deadpan.
Sam bucked, grasping at the woman's ice-cold hands and tried to pry them away from his neck.
With surprising strength the nurse hung on, tightening her grip the more Sam struggled.
Pain seared across the teen's abdomen and a dark stain began to spread across the sheets.
Panicking, struggling to breathe, Sam reached out and clawed at the call button beside the bed, unable to pry his attacker's hands away.
Moment's later he was able to breathe, the horrible pressure on his throat lifting and the killer nurse vanishing as a second nurse, dressed in scrubs printed with cartoon owls ran into the room.
SPN
"What the hell happened?!" John snapped at Sam's doctor when he and Dean arrived to find that his youngest had had to go into surgery again to repair several torn stitches.
"We don't really know," the doctor explained apologetically, "It seems your son had a nightmare last night and tore out some of his stitches."
John just shook his head.
"Mr. Winchester," the doctor began again, "Is your son prone to night terrors?"
"Night terrors? No," John responded, "Why?"
"Well, the way the nurse on duty found your son flailing around on his bed, it looked to her, she told me, that he was experiencing night terrors."
"Sam can be a bit sensitive," John allowed, "But he's never had bad dreams that would cause him to act like that."
"Perhaps you'll allow me to give him a sedative tonight?" the doctor asked, adding quickly, "Just temporary, just to help him sleep."
John thought about it for a long minute.
"Dad," Dean spoke up, "Sammy needs all the rest he can get. He needs to heal so we can get out of here."
"All right," John muttered, turning his attention to the doctor, "Just for tonight."
SPN
Sam looked up when Dean and John stepped into the room.
"How're you feeling?" his brother asked him, sitting down on the edge of his bed.
"Okay I guess," he muttered, "Sore."
"That'll happen when you rip out stitches," Dean chuckled.
"I didn't do it on purpose!" Sam snapped.
"I'm not saying you did," Dean replied.
"I thought I saw… I thought I was…" Sam stammered and then stopped.
"What?" Dean asked.
"I thought a nurse came into my room last night," Sam told him.
"Yeah, they do that, to check on you," Dean told him.
Sam shook his head, "No, it wasn't like that. She wasn't like the others. She… she said she was sorry and then…"
The teenager's hand went to his throat, "She tried to strangle me."
Dean frowned and peered at his brother's neck.
"I don't see anything," he commented, "No marks."
"It felt so real," Sam muttered.
"Maybe you were having a nightmare," Dean told him.
"Yeah," Sam muttered, that's it.
"What did she look like?" John asked suddenly.
"What?" Sam replied, taken aback by the question.
"What did the nurse who attacked you look like?"
"She… uh… was wearing white?" Sam struggled to recall what the nurse was wearing the night before; he had only gotten a quick glance at her before she attacked.
"And a hat, I think," Sam muttered, "And a blanket over her shoulders."
"A blanket? Are you sure?" Dean asked.
Sam nodded.
"Is that all?" John prompted.
"Yeah," Sam whispered, feeling more and more like maybe he had imagined the entire episode.
SPN
Dean loitered in the lobby, sipping a cup of coffee, checking out the pictures of the old nurses, all smiling and happy as they stood for their photographs in front of the hospital or in the hallways or in the rooms.
There was one nurse however that wasn't smiling. Dean found her in numerous photographs but she was scowling in all of them, a stark contrast to her co-workers.
"I got you ham and cheese," John's voice spoke from behind Dean.
"Huh?" the eighteen-year old muttered, half turning to his father.
"Your sandwich," John replied, "It's ham and cheese."
"Oh, yeah, okay," Dean muttered and took the plastic-wrapped sandwich from hid father.
"What are you looking at?" John asked, tearing off the top portion of plastic from his own sandwich and taking a large bite.
"The nurses are all smiling in these pictures," Dean pointed them out as he spoke, "Except for this chick."
John's gaze met his, "So? It was after the war, maybe she had seen too many maimed soldiers."
"Hm," Dean replied distractedly, "Maybe. But you'd think they'd want her to look happy like the others."
W
"See Sammy, I told you this was cool," Dean grinned as he led his brother around the lobby to look at the old photographs.
"Dean," Sam said suddenly, his grip on his brother's arm tightening painfully.
"What's wrong?" his brother asked, concerned he'd torn his stitches yet again.
"That's her," Sam lifted his hand and pointed to the unsmiling nurse Dean had noticed earlier.
"What? Are you sure?"
Sam nodded, his face drained of colour, "That's her."
How could that be? Dean wondered. There was no way his brother had seen the woman before, unless…
"Oh hell no," Dean growled.
"What?" Sam asked, his eyes wide, still gripping his brother's arm tightly.
"I think this hospital has a ghost problem."
"How do you know?" Sam asked.
Dean turned around and spotted a nurse who looked to be in her sixties.
"Hey, excuse me!" Dean called, catching her attention.
She walked over, "Can I help you?"
"Yes," Dean told her, "We were just looking at these pictures and we wanted to know who this woman was."
He pointed to the unhappy-looking nurse in the black-and-white photographs.
The old nurse frowned, "Why do you want to know about her?"
"She's not smiling like the rest of the nurse," Sam spoke up, "Why?"
Dean nodded, "What's her story?"
The elderly nurse looked around, "I'll tell you but you didn't hear it from me. They don't like us to talk about her; bad for the hospital's reputation."
"If she's bad for your reputation," Dean began, "Why have her pictures out for everyone to see?"
The nurse gave a wry smile.
"Her name was Theodora Blythe," the nurse began, "She was young, just finished nursing school, wanted to help our soldiers like the rest of the girls."
"As far as we know she was a fair nurse, caring for the men returning from Europe, and the director of the hospital at the time," the nurse paused, glancing around as though to make sure no one was listening in, "A man name Elwood Thomas, took notice of her. Apparently they started a relationship even though Thomas was married. I guess this went on for a few months, with the hospital as busy as it was, no one probably noticed when Theodora and Elwood disappeared for a few hours."
"It's said that one day, the two of them were in such a hurry to do the dirty deed that they found themselves in a room that was occupied by an injured soldier. There was no denying it; he had seen them before they'd noticed he was in there.
That night, or so the rumor goes, Elwood told Theodora to get rid of the witness or he'd leave her high and dry. Now, the nurse was stupid and in love and that night, when the hospital was quieter, snuck into the soldier's room and made sure he didn't tell anyone about the affair."
"Holy crap," Dean breathed.
"Is that why she's sad? Because Elwood made her kill the soldier?" Sam asked.
"It would appear so," the nurse nodded, "About a month after the soldier died, Theodora's body was discovered in the very room she'd killed him."
"She killed herself then?" Dean asked.
"The official cause of death was an overdose of morphine," the nurse told them, "Whether Theodora did it to herself or if Elwood helped her along, no one knows."
"So, why can't you get rid of the pictures?" Sam asked.
"Can't get them off the wall," the nurse told the shocked brothers, "My mother used to work here and told me they've been up in the lobby as long as she could remember."
"Well, uh," Dean stammered.
"I better go," the nurse told them, "I shouldn't be telling you ghost stories."
Sam and Dean stared at each other.
"Let's go get Dad," Dean said and the boys quickly returned to Sam's room, where John was waiting for them to come back, flipping through a magazine.
W
"Why me though?" Sam asked after they had told John everything the nurse had told them.
Dean shrugged, "Who knows. Ghosts are funny; you could look like the soldier Theodora killed-"
"Or this could be the room where she killed him," John added.
"And on that pleasant note, what are we going to do? Are we going to wait for her to appear again?" Dean asked.
"No," John replied, "It seems as though this ghost is attached to those photographs in the lobby. I'm going to get rid of them."
"What can I do?" Dean asked.
"You stay here with your brother," John told him.
Dean wanted to argue, wanted to insist he help his Dad but he knew that keeping Sam safe was the priority so he remained silent.
W
Dean stayed with Sam in his room for the rest of the day. John left shortly after their revelation to check out the photographs himself and figure out what his best course of action would be.
SPN
Once the sun had gone down the doctor returned with a needle filled with sedative for the youngest Winchester.
Dean glanced at his Dad, his expression questioning.
John nodded, allowing the doctor to push the needle into the IV.
"This will help you get a good night's rest," the doctor smiled.
Sam tried to smile back but it came out more of a grimace.
Dean sat on the edge of his brother's bed, smoothing Sam's hair back from his brow as the younger teen fell into a drugged slumber.
Hours dragged on until finally John determined the hospital was quiet enough for him to destroy the photographs without being interrupted.
He walked casually down the hallways towards the lobby, cigarette lighter clutched in his fist shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket.
SPN
Dean remained alert for any sign of the murderous nurse. Telling himself he would not let her lay one finger on his little brother again.
SPN
John approached the first photograph, shielded behind a glass case and raised his hand covered by his shirtsleeve. With a light tinkling of glass, the case broke when the hunter punched it. Pausing, hearing no alarm go off, no sound of running footsteps, John shook bits of glass from one hand while he raised his other, flicking the lighter as he did so.
SPN
Dean didn't see the nurse until it was too late. He was peering at his brother's sleeping face when he heard the sound of the door to the room opening.
Glancing over, he saw that he had been mistaken and that the door remained closed.
Returning his gaze to his brother, Dean was startled by the figure of Theodora Blythe standing over his brother.
"Hey!" Dean cried out.
The ghost raised both of her hands and Dean flew backwards, off the bed and slammed into the wall, sliding unconscious to the floor.
Theodora peered sadly at the young man sleeping in the bed, seeing not a fourteen-year old hunter with hemophilia but a twenty-one-year old soldier recovering from the horrific injuries suffered as a result of a German land mine.
"I'm sorry," the ghost whispered, raising her hands to the boy's neck.
SPN
John lifted the flame to the edge of the first photograph and held his breath. For a moment he didn't think it would catch, but then it did, eating up the old paper faster than he had expected. Good, one down, many more to go.
Moving his hand, John let the flames lick at the next picture of Theodora Blythe peering out at him with her strange dark eyes and doughy face.
SPN
Theodora's hands wrapped tightly around Sam's throat and began to squeeze, intent on nothing but choking the life from his body.
On the floor beside the bed, his brother stirred feebly.
SPN
Almost there, John thought, almost done! He skidded to a halt, his gaze raking across the photographs, all of them black and crisp and crumbling.
A high-pitched alarm sounded, sprinklers suddenly turned on and water gushed down over the hunter.
Turning on his heel, slipping and sliding, John ran from the lobby to the room where his sons were.
SPN
Dean pulled himself up to the bed and stared at the ghost of Theodora Blythe as she shrieked and staggered away from his brother, her hands beginning to burn.
"That's right, bitch," Dean snarled as the ghost burned in front of him, "no one messes with the Winchesters."
A siren in the hallway began to sound and water sprayed down on both teens.
"SAM! SAM! DEAN!" John's voice called out from the hallway and he flung open the door to the room.
Hair plastered to his forehead, he nearly barreled over Dean as he scooped his youngest into his arms and started for the door, leaving his eldest to steer the IV stand.
A nurse was standing in the hallway, guiding patients towards the nearest exits.
Stepping outside, John shook his head like a dog, splashing water as he did so.
In the distance they could already hear the approach of sirens.
"Is he okay?" Dean asked, peering at his younger brother cradled in their Dad's arms.
As though responding to his brother's voice, Sam stirred, peering blearily at his father.
"Did you get it?" he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.
"Yes son," John smiled, "We got her."
Dean raked a hand through his soaking hair and grinned at his felt himself smiling too.
Author's Note:
Story title comes from a song by Shawn Mendes.
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