A/N: Originally published in Blood Brothers #3, edited by Jeanne R. Gold
Three Dark Days
By Swellison
Sam shifted restlessly in the armless visitor's chair by Dean's bed, on the opposite side from the computerized monitoring system hooked up to his brother's heart. Sam's extra-tall frame wasn't meant to be accommodated by the average-sized cafeteria chair, and he restlessly stretched his cramped legs, locking his knees to keep them straight in front of him, like two long planks. His "freakishly long legs," Dean had called them.
Dean…
His brother lay still in the hospital bed, his latest sleep undisturbed by Sam's movements. Sam sighed. The doctor had explained that chronic, overwhelming fatigue was one of the aftereffects of a massive heart attack, and Sam understood that, really.
He remembered when he was barely into his second month at Stanford, he'd come down with Mono, of all things. It was too soon after his dramatic exit to call his family for help, so he'd toughed it out on his own…and in the process had discovered what a great roommate Zach Warren was. Sam had slept for two solid days, and had been confined to his bed for more than a week after that. Zach had stepped up to the plate, made sure Sam had food and water, and kept track of his classes and homework, too. Zach had asked if he could call anyone for Sam, and if he'd been surprised by Sam's "no," he hadn't let on, just kept watch over his just-over-a-month roommate. So, yes, Sam understood fatigue; he simply couldn't reconcile applying it to Dean.
But he'd have to, because that was the way Dean was…now. It hurt to listen to his croaky voice, at half-speed and half-volume, to see him lying so still on the bed, or twitching restlessly in his sleep as he was doing now. Sam reached for Dean's hand, holding it firmly.
Dean's eyes slowly opened, and he looked dully around the night-darkened room, finally noticing Sam. "You still here?" he croaked.
"Where else would I be?"
"Go home, Sammy. Get some sleep. Don't want you vulturin' over me while I sleep at night."
"Dean—"
"My room. My rules." Dean licked his lips, then continued, "Don't want you in the room when they're examining me, either. Man's gotta have some privacy."
"Dean—"
"C'n talk to the doctors and nurses all you want, just…no peep show, got it?"
About to fling back some witty retort, Sam paused, glancing down at Dean's hospital gown, with the monitoring wires protruding from it, but most of Dean's chest concealed underneath. Dean had been electrocuted; there had to be contact burns all over his body. Dean doesn't want me to see it. He doesn't want to look vulnerable in front of me. Two weeks from dy— hell, half-dead, and he's still protecting me. Ah, Dean, you'll never stop being my big brother.Sam swallowed. "Okay."
"Bring the cribbage board and some M&Ms tomorrow." Dean swallowed, head shifting restlessly. "If you're gonna hang out here all day, you're gonna provide entertainment and presents."
Sam strived for normalcy. "Sure, but remember what they say. 'Beware of geeks bearing gifts.'"
Dean's reaction was pure instinct. He reached for a pillow behind his head, intent on beaning Sam. The pillow fell far short, landing on Dean's upper thighs. Sam saw the look of stunned surprise in his brother's eyes before it was replaced by pain from the motion.
"Dean—"
"I'm all right, Sammy," Dean said tightly. "Just go."
About to object, Sam realized no matter how badly Dean was hurting, he wasn't going to summon a nurse for help or take pain pills in front of his little brother.
Sam sighed.
"See you tomorrow. Bright and early." He reluctantly turned and left his brother's room.
SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN_SPN
Sam closed the door behind him, surveying the motel room they'd checked into shortly before going after the rawhead last night. He plopped his bag on the floor next to the closer of the two beds—Dean's preferred sleeping location. "My room. My rules," Sam muttered, then snatched the laptop and set it gently on the far side of the bed. He reached for the brochures he'd collected on the way out of the hospital, kicked off his shoes, and stretched out on the mattress. Scrunching the pillows behind him, he made himself comfortable, back resting against the pillow-padded headboard and began to read. Everything he'd never wanted to know—but now had to—about heart attacks.
It was grim reading, depressing as hell, and after two hours of poring through the toned-down medicalese, Sam desperately needed a break.
He got up and fetched a bottle of water, then returned to the bed. Settling in, he opened and booted up the laptop, balancing it on his legs. He entered Dean's email password, opened up a new message and clicked on the H group list. Hunters. All the contacts Dean had taken over from Dad or acquired for himself during his years of hunting. Sam took a deep breath and started composing his request. Seeing the words Dean was electrocuted, massive heart attack, and doctors say there's nothing they can do solidified Sam's pain and helplessness. He felt a couple of wet blobs run down his cheeks and knew he was crying, something he swore he was not going to do in front of Dean. Angrily, he scrubbed the tears from his face and hit "Send," hoping to get some good results from his mass mailing.
Something tickled his memory, and he dug through his duffel bag for Dad's journal. He opened the book, flipping through several pages until he found the one he was looking for. There were three names written in Dad's block letters, and the top one included a phone number. He glanced at the clock; it wasn't that late. Besides, Dad's contacts and friends tended to be night owls. Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
"Hello?" a man's voice answered after the fourth ring.
"Ah, Mr. Elkins?"
"Who wants to know?" The voice sharpened with suspicion.
"You don't know me, sir, but my name is Sam Winchester. I found your number in my Dad's journal."
"Sam? You're John Winchester's younger son, right?"
"Yes, sir." Sam took a deep breath, then carefully explained Dean's plight.
The man on the other end of the phone listened intently, then sighed. "Only one kind of immortality that I know about, boy, and you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy, let alone your brother."
"Immortality? But I'm not—"
"I can't help you, Sam. I'm sorry. My advice: let your brother go in peace. I know that's not what you want to hear, but—"
"Thanks for your time, Mr. Elkins," Sam said woodenly, and ended the call. He stared at the lighted display of his cell phone, restlessly paging through his contacts. He got to the page with Dad's number and froze, staring at it. Should he call? They'd had absolutely no success in reaching Dad, despite numerous voice messages. And Dad had told Sam to stop searching for him when he'd called unexpectedly from Sacramento. Still, this was about Dean. While Dad had plenty of reasons to avoid talking to Sam, none of those applied to Dean. But what if he left a message about Dean and Dad still didn't return his call? How could he look Dean in the eye and tell him that? No. There was still time. At least a couple of weeks. Sam could hold off on calling Dad for a little while. If Dean asked him to, well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. Sam closed his cell phone and placed it on the nightstand next to his bed.
Immortality? What the heck did Elkins meant by that? Sam wasn't asking for immortality; he just wanted a way to fix Dean's heart.
Maybe he needed to look at the conventional methods more closely. Sam returned to his laptop and started researching heart transplant information and procedures.
Hours later, he rubbed wearily at his eyes. Heart transplants were expensive, and available organs were few and far between. The wait-list procedures were daunting, to say the least. It wasn't fair; Dean had saved more lives than anyone else Sam could name, but he wasn't a rock star or a billionaire. He didn't have any clout, any way to get to the front of the list while he still had time to wait.
Sam paused, struck by a thought. Becca and Zach's parents, the Warrens, spent half the year living in Paris. They had to be very well-off, right? Maybe they had the clout Sam was desperately seeking. He glanced at the alarm clock. It was well after 4:00 a.m., and he needed to get at least a couple of hours' sleep before starting the new day. That way he wouldn't be lying when he told Dean, yes, he had slept, because he knew Dean would ask. So, first thing tonight, he'd email Becca, detailing what was going on with Dean. She'd help if she could.
He set the alarm for six-thirty and crawled into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, Sam reminded himself that he needed to detour to the drugstore to pick up some peanut M&Ms on the way to the hospital.
tbc
A/N: Hope you find everyone in character, and will stick around for more of the story. Please let me know what you think.