Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural do not belong to me. The original character of Evelyn Winchester does.
Three Weeks After Admission
The brain is a fragile thing.
I've always been told I was smart. I never really felt smart, but I guess I am. School was never hard, even when I was taken out of elementary school and put into a gifted high school. When I started hunting with my brothers, they kept telling me I was smart too. Every time I heard it, I just blushed and brushed it off. But eventually, I learned to love my brain and the way it worked.
What I didn't realize was how closely the brain and the heart worked together. When I was with Sam and Dean, even when things were going bad, there was a part of me that felt unstoppable. But, when things weren't good, and we were apart, my brain didn't want to work.
Sammy's been gone for a month and two weeks now, and I've been in this hospital for three weeks. The only reason I know for sure is because I ask the orderly who brings my medication in the morning what day it is. Because, as Dean put it when he told me I would have to stay here, "you're having a hard time figuring out what's real and what's not." There's days when I think that everything's fine, that Sam is alive, and that I'll see him again soon. Then there's days where I have no idea where he is, and I'm asking for him.
The doctors don't know what exactly is wrong with me. I don't always remember where Sam is, or where Dean is, or the fact that my father's dead and he's been dead for years. I remember my name, their names, and the basic details of everything that's happened to us, most of which I can't tell the doctors. I can't tell whether or not I'm getting better. Dr. Kennedy says that it usually takes a long while before any noticeable change starts to happen.
I miss Sam. I miss Daddy. I miss Bobby. I miss my life. This crap hurts.
Two Months After Admission
It's been a rough few weeks.
Dean's been by to see me every day, just like he promised he would. I tried to tell him I would be okay if he skipped a day or two here and there, but he wouldn't have it. Lisa's been a few times, and Ben's been once. I think the poor kid's scared of the place. I don't blame him. I feel guilty taking away from his time with the real family one of us finally has. But, when I told Dean how I felt, he got mad at me for the first time that I ever really remember.
"You are my real family. Don't ever, ever forget that."
Dr. K's been 'adjusting' my medication, a kind word for making me sick as a dog while he shoves a different pill down my throat every few days. After four different cycles of this, with me getting different side effects each time, he finally started weaning me off a few of them, and things slowly started to get better. The headaches went away, I could keep food down, I didn't feel shaky inside. I was on four different meds, went up to six, and now I'm down to three. Dr. K said there's a good chance that I'll be on meds for the rest of my life.
I went a whole week without having what Dr. K calls a 'lucid moment'. That's the only thing weirder than the fact that my brain works like a pasta strainer, keeping some pieces in and some out. Waking up and finding out that a week has passed without me knowing it. Dean said that I was talking as if everything were normal, but I was asking him about hunts I thought he was on. He said I asked for Dad a few times. He finally admitted that he just started humoring me, that it was easier doing that than telling me over and over the truth about where I was. I told him, and I meant it, that if I was that out of it, it was okay to go along with it if that made it easier for him.
I'm glad Dean didn't listen to me about not coming every day. He's my only tether to reality, the only assurance I have that my life before actually was real. He's loving his job, which is weird to me. I never thought he'd be happy working a normal, apple pie, nine-to-five job, but I'm glad he is. He catches me up on what Lisa and Ben are up to. Those days that I feel like crap, he'll sit there and hold me for a few minutes, no matter how many times I try to tell him I'm an adult now and I don't need it.
I think someone's been sitting in the room with me at night. I don't know for sure, and maybe it's just a symptom of my swiss cheese brain. I never see them, but I catch glimpses. When I wake up sometimes, my face is wet like I've been crying. I don't remember having any nightmares, but I wouldn't be surprised if I am. Whoever it is sits with me and holds my hand. I wish I could tell them thank you. I've thought about asking Dr. K if he knows who it is, but I'm afraid that if it is a figment of my imagination, it could put me further behind from being able to go home.
I've caught myself, even in lucid moments, wanting to talk to Sammy. Not just a wish to see him, but I'll think of something random and turn to tell him and he's not there. I miss him. I miss him all the time. There's a big, gaping, hurting hole where he's supposed to be and he's not.
Something just occurred to me. Maybe it's Sammy that's here at night. It would make this a little better.
Three Months After Admission
I. Hate. This.
The days are so freaking repetitive. I get up in the morning, take my meds, Dean comes to see me, I fake it and tell him I'm feeling fine, I go to therapy, I take meds again, I go to lunch, I have some free time that I usually spend sleeping because the meds have made me so nauseated and exhausted, Dean comes again, I spend time with him making him feel okay again, and then I go to bed.
I. Hate, This.
I feel sick all the time. And I'm angry. So damn angry. Angry at Sam for leaving me and causing this in the first place. Angry at Dean for leaving me here. Angry at Dad for not being here. Angry at Lisa for not coming as much as Dean. Angry at Ben for staying away. Angry at the staff for just being.
Why the hell can't my brain work right? I can't even do simple things. I tried to read my favorite book. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. I've loved it. Loved it for years, ever since the first time Sammy found it for me in a used bookstore and bought it for me so I could keep working on the series. But I couldn't understand it. I could read the words, and I knew what they meant, but as soon as I turned the page, I'd forget what I just read. I wish I could explain how heartbreaking it is not to be able to do something that used to come so easily. Dr. K says it's because of one of the meds I'm on. It seems to be affecting my short-term memory. He promised he'd talk about taking me off of it tomorrow.
I definitely remember the nightmares now. I can't get them out of my head. I'll be reliving some good memory I have of Sammy. He'll be holding my hand and talking to me, or playing with me, and suddenly he tosses me to the ground and tells me to go away. Or, and these are the ones that scare me the worst, he'll be holding me on his lap. He's the age he was when he jumped in the hole, but I'm no older than three or four. I'm crying, crying hard, begging him not to go. He keeps telling me that he has to, that he's sorry, and that he loves me. Then, out of nowhere, two hands come out and snatch Sam away from me. Sam tries hard to hold on to me, but we're pulled apart while I'm screaming and Sam is gone.
I. Hate. This.
Five Months After Admission
I'm getting worse.
I got pneumonia last month, and I'm still fighting it. The pneumonia meds mixed with the meds I have to take here is killing my stomach. There's days I can't eat, can't sleep, and it sucks. Dean wanted to pull me out of here but I wouldn't let him. I wouldn't let him take me home and have to take care of me. Again.
The memory problems are getting worse too. I couldn't even remember who Dr. K was when he came in yesterday. It was only for a second that I forgot, but it was long enough to freak me out. And it was enough for him to send me into the hospital for a brain scan. The brain scan came back with nothing medically wrong. Which only confirms the worst.
I'm crazy.
Six Months After Admission
I'm getting better.
Things really are starting to turn around. The pneumonia's gone. I'm having longer and longer lucid moments. I don't think so much about Sammy anymore. Dr. K's got me doing a few more activities during the day, so time seems to not be the enemy anymore. I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, I'll be back to normal soon.
Ben surprised me by coming to see me yesterday. He admitted to me that he stopped coming because he was getting picked on at school for having a 'crazy sister'. He apologized, but I told him not to. I told him I got it, and I meant it. I told him how I fought a bully at ten years old, and he was impressed. He ended up leaving having to promise me that he wouldn't fight the bullies at school.
Maybe everything's going to turn around. Maybe. Just maybe.
Seven Months After Admission
I keep getting better. I'm out of here soon.
I remember every waking minute of the last six weeks. That feels amazing. I can remember what I ate three days ago. What Dean and I talked about a week ago. When Ben came to see me. I feel like my old self again.
Dr. K doesn't know why I'm getting better, but he has no doubt that I am. My meds are finally stabilized, and, more importantly, they're working. They're working without side effects, and I actually feel great too. I've been home with Dean and Ben and Lisa a few times. It's weird. I've really only spent a few days with Ben and Lisa, but I miss them as much as I do Dean. I'm so ready to go home.
Nine Months After Admission
I had a setback. A big one.
I fell back into that pattern of waking up and not knowing where I was. But I came out of it a lot quicker than before. What the hell? I thought I was getting better. Dr. K says I am, that there's a possibility of that happening even after I'm released. I guess it's a good sign that he's still talking about releasing me.
I miss Sammy more than ever. I think about him all the time. I actually miss the nightmares now; at least then I could hear him talking to me. It still feels so wrong that he's not here. Sometimes I think I see him out the window. Then I get to thinking about where he really is, and I have to shake my head. I can't think about that. It'll put me back to where I was when I get here.
Ten Months After Admission
I'm leaving tomorrow!
I can't get over the look on Dean's face when I told him. For whatever reason, I thought he'd hate the idea. I thought he'd want me to stay longer, that he'd think I wasn't ready. But when Dean found out, he smiled, really smiled, for the first time since we lost Sammy. He started talking about how great it would be to have me back. And finally, I got to dare to dream about the thing I've wanted all year. I just hope I can sleep tonight.
Time to go home.