Summary: What if Sam had a heart problem that didn't surface until now?
Disclaimer: I'll have them home by curfew!
A/N: My other fics have been abandoned. The only one I plan on working on is 'Let it Burn' and this. I think every writer is allowed to go on hiatus for a bit, eh? I'm sorry, but I'm stumped.
Also, I plan on making these chapters fuller and more in-depth. I'm sick of having a million 1000 word chapters. It's lame, and it's not fair to the readers. So, if they take a day or two longer to get done, I hope you understand.
While We Can
A/N: Oh, before we get into the story. I just want to apologize for any possible medical term errors. I've surfed the web for information, and picked up some stuff from E.R., but it may not all be correct. Thanks for bearing with me!
Dean was drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, AC/DC screaming in the background. As usual, Dean was hungry, and Sam offered-okay, Dean forced him-to pick up some food. They had been eager to get away from the chaos in the town that they had recently left, because the townspeople weren't too keen on their reasoning behind burning down their church. This only left Dean cranky, tired, and hungry. The latter of the three making his stomach grumble obnoxiously.
Sam had been really on-edge lately, and obviously, Dean noticed. It had started very recently, when they had finished a hunt about a month ago. Dean had just assumed it was related to his visions, because more often than not, he got those freaky migraines which made him irritable.
It didn't bother Dean too much, because, even if he didn't show it, he completely understood why Sam would be so strung out. On top of that, Sam was worrying himself sick over the deal Dean had made with the Crossroads Demon to save Sam's life. He was so intent on finding a way to help Dean that he wasn't doing much to help himself. Dean didn't want Sam to kill himself regardless by constantly working all the time.
As the minutes ticked by, Dean was becoming profusely agitated. All he wanted was some food, and now he had to wait because Princess Sammy had to take his good ol' time.
"Hey bitch, you can walk a little faster, you know!" Dean called out the window to his brother. Sam was stumbling noticeably to the car with a styrofoam container gripped in his left hand. For a moment, Dean shrugged it off, eager to get back on the road and the hell outta dodge. But, Sam was acting differently, and it stirred up a bit of concern.
"Are you drunk?" Dean pressed. Sam swayed a bit on his feet, and furrowed his brow, shaking his head as if it were a really stupid question.
"Line." Sam mumbled, pulling the door closed once he got into the passenger seat.
"Jerk." He muttered under his breath. His breathing was shallower than normal, and his face was pale. His features seemed stretched over bone-like they were out of place and molded.
"You gonna be sick?" Dean asked. He glanced over at his brother's hands, which were actually trembling against his thighs. It sent a little chill down Dean's spine.
"No, man, I'm okay." Sam clenched his hands together and pressed one against his chest, clearing his throat so Dean wouldn't think it was anything major. Sam could feel the muscles beneath his chest constricting tightly, and it was harder to catch the air he needed. Maybe he was just experiencing a different symptom associated with his visions. He only hoped it wouldn't get as bad as his migraines.
"Sam." Dean repeated. Sam turned to look at his brother, where concern was noticeable behind his eyes. He didn't even know Dean had said his name. In fact, he wasn't even sure how much time had passed since he had gotten into the Impala.
"What?" Sam panted, swallowing thickly. He tried lifting his other arm to his chest, but it felt detached, like it simply wasn't there. He looked down at it, and could see it moving, he just couldn't feel it. It was like an out-of-body experience, and it stunned him momentarily.
"What's wrong with you, man?" Dean spat out, watching Sam's movements like a hawk. He looked panicky, and there was fear behind his eyes.
"I-I don't know." Sam shook his head and winced as white-hot pains started to pulsate through his chest. He saw darkness dance before his eyes and then the light came back suddenly. It was as if someone were pulling a curtain up and down over his eyes. His heart started to slow and oxygen became limited.
"Can't...breathe..." Sam wheezed suddenly, but no air was coming.
Dean needed to react quickly. He wanted to have been helping Sam already, but it was as if he was watching a movie, everything splaying out in slow motion. This seemed nothing too out of the ordinary, and to be honest, the Winchesters weren't too great with dealing with normal occurrences. Dean's thoughts snapped back to Sam. His brother wasn't breathing and he was in pain. Dean tugged the seatbelt off and ran around to Sam's side. He brought his arms under his brother's and gently lowered him to the ground, propping Sam's head against his thigh.
"Alright, Sammy. Hang in there." Dean pulled out his cell phone and called 9-1-1. He wouldn't have called for an ambulance under normal circumstances, seeing as how he was a wanted man, but the entire atmosphere felt darker. He wasn't going to risk Sam's life. He threaded his fingers through his brother's hair and talked to him the entire time, eager to keep him conscious until help arrived.
"Remember that time I met that chick at the bar?" Dean tried to smile, thinking about what Sam would say.
"That narrows it down to, what, 200?" And he wouldn't grin yet, because Dean would always have a killer comeback and Sam would only laugh at Dean's jokes. That's why Dean joked all the time. Even as a kid, he'd loved watching Sam get a kick out of him.
"And she didn't give me her number?" He paused, reminiscing. "That was the only chick that turned me down, man. Only chick."
Sam's eyes opened slightly, and he took in a shaky breath. "Liar."
...Supernatural...
"I'm sorry, Sir, but you're going to have to follow us. There's no room." The paramedic said in a rushed tone. Dean stepped towards the ambulance and squeezed himself inside.
"Then I'll make my fatass fit. I'm going with my brother." Dean ignored the woman's open mouth and laid his hand over his brother's. He was still conscious, but there was an oxygen mask over his mouth and Dean was glad to see it steam up every few seconds.
It seemed like an eternity until they arrived at the hospital. It was big, and looked to be fairly new. They pulled Sam out of the ambulance and wheeled him into the E.R. as the nurses and paramedics shouted doctor mumbo jumbo. Dean didn't understand a word of it. He felt like he wasn't supposed to be here. Everything was so rushed, scrambled, chaotic. It was amazing to him that people actually fell into this process as routine. Nothing made sense to him. The only thing he cared about was that Sam was alright.
Everything suddenly became clear to Dean. He rushed past hospital rooms and saw older men and women, close to their parting time, a young woman ready to give birth, and another emergency case in the room next to Sam's. There was a young woman, and two young boys with her. One of the young boys was on the stretcher. His face was bloodied and he didn't seem to be breathing. The other little boy, close to his mother, reminded Dean of himself in so many ways. But, there was no parent for him. It was Dean and Sam. That was it. They only had each other. One of the paramedics brushed past Dean roughly and he followed eagerly behind them, tearing his gaze from the young boy.
"Is he okay?" Dean shouted above the noise. Let him be okay.
"BP's 147 over 95." That better not be bad.
"1-2-3 lift."
"Let's do a chest x-ray." That doesn't sound good.
"He's tachy."
Again, Dean understood none of this. All he caught was the bit about the chest x-ray. There couldn't be anything that wrong with Sam that they had to do an x-ray, right?
"Sir, you're going to have to wait outside." Dean opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut off. "I understand that he's your brother, but if you really want to help, you'll go to the waiting room." She paused and sent him a sympathetic, but stern look. "Down the hall to your left."
And just like that, Dean stomped out of the ER, speechless.
...Supernatural...
The little boy's name was Carter, and his baby brother's name was Jack. Jack is 4 years old and he fell down a small flight of steps as he tried to chase their dog, Scout. Carter was a small boy with inquisitive eyes and a lopsided grin that was only present when Dean cracked jokes to him.
Carter rested his hands on his knees and continually looked down the hallway, waiting for his mother to show up with news. Good news.
A doctor came down the hall just then, but turned to Dean instead, apprehension dawned on his features.
"How's Sam?" Dean pressed, his eyes alight with nervous anticipation.
The doctor took a deep breath and folded his arms against his chest.
"Your brother had a stroke."
Dean's head was spinning, thoughts circling around his brain like a tornado. This couldn't be happening. Not now.
"A stroke?" Dean gawked, his heart thrumming psychotically against his chest. "He's 24. Doesn't that happen to old folks?"
The doctor pressed his lips into a tight smile, ready to arm Dean with the knowledge he needed.
"In most cases, yes. Your brother has what we call a congenital valve defect. Most cases like these surface before the child is born, but in Sam's case, it was presented later in life."
Dean absorbed the information impatiently, eager to see how he could actually help his brother.
"So what are you going to do?" Fix Sammy, or so help me God, I'll kill you.
"Well, we're going to have him undergo a surgery so that we can surgically repair his aortic valve. The surgery is going to take about 4 hours, and then we'll move him to recovery. His chances are good. He's lucky to have gotten here so soon. You saved his life. "
Dean shut his eyes and let out a sigh, running his hands over his tired features.
"Can I see him?"
The doctor shook his head, and patted Dean's shoulder. "We're moving him to the O.R. as we speak. You should get some rest. Your brother's going to need you to be strong for him."
And it was what Dean Winchester did best. In fact, it was what he lived for. He lived for Sammy.
The doctor trotted down the hallway and Carter turned back to face him.
"You're an older brother, too?" The question made Dean sound like a hero, made him feel proud.
"Yup. He's a pain in my rear end sometimes, but I've gotta take care of him." Dean grinned.
"Yeah. Jack's always getting into trouble. Mom says he's just curious." Carter paused and hung his head. "I wish he wasn't so curious all the time."
Dean's grin fell, because he could see Sam in Jack. The curious little boy, eager to get the answers he wanted. Always so full of questions, but so innocent. Vulnerable.
Dean thought back to a few years ago, when Sam had left for Stanford. It was what Sam had wanted, and he could have gotten himself into trouble, hell, he could have gotten himself killed by the things they hunted, but in the end, Sam knew that Dean would always have his back. The same was true, even now. Sam was torn over the deal, but Dean was going to be there. Dean was always going to be there, whether he had one year to live, or eternity.
"Sometimes, even if you don't want them to, people do what they want. But, you're still gonna be Jack's older brother." Dean paused and realized he was addressing not only Carter, but himself. "And if he scrapes his knees because he was going too fast on his new bike, you're the one who's gonna say, 'I've got you, little brother.'" I've got you, Sammy.
Carter watched Dean with big eyes, knew it was true that he was going through the same thing Dean was. Carter was silent for a few moments, and when he pulled his eyes away from Dean, he sighed. "The doctor's right. You should get some sleep."
Dean rubbed a hand over his chin and then stood up, ruffling Carter's hair. "Your brother's gonna be fine, little man."
...Supernatural...
Dean walked away from Carter and turned down the hallway where Sam was going to have his surgery. He paused in front of the doors and clenched his jaw tightly. Sam was all he had left, and he'd be damned if he lost him again.
Trying to pry his eyes away from the room that would determine Sam's condition, he kept walking, out the doors and down the street, calling for a cab so he could get the Impala. He was honestly surprised that it hadn't been towed. When he got inside, he took in a shaky breath and covered his eyes with his hand. Had it really only been an hour or two since Sam was in the passenger seat with him? Dean picked up the styrofoam container that had still been in the car and threw it angrily out the window.
"Damnit, Sam." Dean shouted, pounding his fist against the steering wheel. He remembered practically destroying the Impala in anger over his father's death. If Sam was taken away from him, he'd never look at anything with wheels again.
He had about 3 hours to kill until he'd be returning to the hospital. He wanted to sleep, knew he had to, but also knew that if he even shut his eyes, he'd replay that afternoon's events over and over again until it hurt. He had to pass time another way. Maybe he'd do some research, check up on old family friends.
3 hours.
Tick.
Tock.
I'll be there when you wake up, Sammy.
...To Be Continued...
