2.
Dean wakes up with the mother of all headaches and with a sweaty hand clamped to his. He grimaces as he blinks awake, wishing that the lights were off. His face feels tight with the tell tale sign of stitches, and as he becomes more aware, he can feel the uncomfortable itch of bandages strapped to the left side of his face. He glances down to his compromised hand. Sam's attached to it like an octopus with both hands wrapped around his and clenched tight. Sam's head is buried in the bed sheets right next to Dean's forearm; Dean can actually feel the soft hair of his brother's head tickling his wrist. He shakes his arm lightly, jostling Sam.
"Sammy," He croaks, and then coughs dryly, which sends burning agony through his entire body, his head especially.
Sam is awake in an instant, "Dean! " Sam stands and manages to keep Dean's hand wrapped in his. "Are you ok?" He asks as he hovers, searching every inch of Dean's face for signs on distress.
"Feels like my face was introduced to a brick a few hundred times," Dean says, wincing as the rough words pull on his injuries, "And my hand's all gross, thanks to you."
"God, Dean. You've been out for days," Sam says as he reaches over Dean and presses the nurse button, "I've been calling dad but he's not answerin' and I wanted to call Bobby but then I decided that'd be stupid, because what's Bobby gonna do? He's half way across the country. But I figured I should tell someone and the only reason they did the surgery without dad was because your face was so bad, and…" Sam's breath catches but he keeps rambling, "And the cops keep coming by and I didn't want to tell them anything without talking to you first, but holding them off is getting harder and we can't stay here much longer because of the insurance…"
"Sam, hey, slow down before your head explodes," Dean says slowly, working hard not to pull too much on his injuries.
Dean's getting the feeling he really missed something. Sam doesn't get babbly unless something's really rattled him, and judging by Sam's mile-a-minute-talking, something really shook him up. Dean's just not quite sure what. He knows he's hurt, that much is obvious, but the details are gone and the big picture is sketchy at best. He's just about to ask Sam what exactly happened to him, but a knock on the door cuts him off.
A man pokes his head in. When he sees that Dean's awake his eyes widen slightly and he comes bustling in.
"It's good to see you awake, Mr. Birchman. You took quite the beating," The man says as he shuffles over to the side of Dean's bed, "I'm Dr. Warner, I've been keeping an eye on you. I bet you're ready for some answers, huh son?"
Dean blinks. Dr. Warner reminds him of a mad scientist with his short stature, glasses, and gray bird's nest hair. But the tone in his voice is friendly and gentle, and a quick glance towards Sam tells Dean that his brother is comfortable with the man, so he gives the doctor the benefit of the doubt.
"Yeah, answers would be good."
But it's not the doctor who offers them.
"We were jumped outside of a bar." Sam's voice is small, and Dean recognizes it from when Sam was younger and just waking up from a nightmare. It immediately puts him on edge.
"You ok?" he asks and sweeps his gaze over Sam, looking for signs of injuries. Now that he's looking he can see the fading bruise on Sam's chin and the almost healed cut on his lower lip. It looks like there's also a mark on Sam's temple but his emo hair is making it impossible to get a clear look at it.
"Nothing some Tylenol and a band-aid didn't fix."
"That's up for debate," Dr. Warner chimes in and fixes Sam with a knowing look. Sam glares back.
Dean looks between them, feeling frustration and annoyance well up in him. It feels like he's missing years worth of information and now the doctor knows something he doesn't about Sam, something that Sam's failed to mention.
"But why don't we get back to filling in those gaps, hm? The reason you're missing so much is because of the severe concussion you suffered. It's impossible to tell if you'll get the memories back but from what I gather, that may not be such a bad thing." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam flinch, "Aside from the concussion you came in with a broken nose and a facial fracture, and we repaired both. Of course we tried to minimize the scarring as much as possible but there are no guarantees. Honestly our main priority was and still is the concussion. You got your skull rattled good and that's not to be messed around with. We'll be watching you for the next day or two to be on the safe side."
Sam and Dean share a glance, knowing that it's highly unlikely that they'll be sticking around that long.
" I'm sure your brother can fill you in on the rest. The police will want to speak with you, they've been waiting for you to wake up. I'll be able to hold them off for a few hours, though. You still need to rest."
Sam throws the doctor a small grateful smile but doesn't say anything. Dr. Warner looks between them once more before he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. The silence that follows is heavy.
"Dean…"
"What happened, Sam? And no bullshit this time, I mean it." His glare is less effective with the bandages and a swollen eye, but his big brother voice is working in full force. Sam sighs and falls into the chair next to the bed. He keeps his eyes directed to the right on some spot between the wall and the floor.
"We were jumped outside a bar," Sam says flatly.
"Yeah, I got that much, so what aren't you telling me?"
Sam swallows. How's he supposed to explain this? How's he supposed to tell Dean that he almost got the life beaten out of him by one guy, while Sam stood by helpless to do anything? What can he say to even begin to describe how terrible it was, or how sorry Sam is that he didn't do anything to help?
"Sammy?"
Dean's starting to freak out. Sam's silent and not looking at him, but even from this angle he can see how shiny his brother's eyes are getting. He may make fun of Sam for being the girl in the family but Sam's still a Winchester through and through, and it takes a lot to get the waterworks going. Dread curls up in Dean's stomach.
"You were hustling pool, everything was going fine," Sam says, "I don't know what happened but something pissed off the mark. He broke a bottle and was ready to use you as a pin cushion. That's when I jumped in."
Sam pauses and Dean can see him working through the memories, playing them out in his head like a movie reel.
"And?"
Sam shrugs, "Bartender busted out the 12 gauge, we left."
"That doesn't sound like the beat down of the century to me."
"The guys you were hustling followed us out," Sam stops and smiles ruefully as he shakes his head, "We made it all the way to the car. Hell, I was in the car. One more minute and we would've been home free."
Sam stops talking and Dean forces himself to let Sam do this at his own pace. He wants to know what the hell happened now but something about this really got under his brother's skin, which means he just needs to sit tight for the moment.
"There were three of them. One pulled me out of the car and I guess the other two were distracting you, I don't really know. By the time they had me out of the car you were already fighting the leader. Cops said his name's Randy. Anyway, he uh, tackled you, you went down pretty hard," Sam swallows and his eyes get a bit brighter, "Then he just started hitting you and he didn't stop."
Dean processes that for a minute. "How'd we get out?"
"The bartender. He shot off the 12 gauge, scared em' off. He called 911."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
Dean looks annoyed and concerned in a way that only a big brother can. Sam's seen the expression a thousand times before and it never bodes well for him.
"Where were you when I was getting my ass handed to me?"
There's no accusation or implication in the question, only worry and genuine curiosity. It still steals the breath right out of Sam, filling him with shame and guilt and panic.
"After they backhanded me they just…pinned me. That's all," Sam murmurs and gives a half shrug, "I'm fine."
Dean's eyes are boring holes through him, Sam can feel it. He knows from years of experience that it's the stare Dean gives when he's figuring something out – pursed lips, squinted eyes, tense jaw. He also knows it's only a matter of time before he puts it together and suddenly, Sam just wants to bolt.
"They made you watch, didn't they?"
Breathing suddenly seems harder than it should be and tears sting at the back of Sam's eyes, "It was kind of hard to miss."
"That's not what I mean and you know it."
Sam shrugs again, looking anywhere but at Dean.
"Sam…"
"You should get more rest. You were really hurt," Sam says as he stands up, still not meeting Dean's eyes, "I'm going to try calling dad again. He should know you're awake."
"Sammy wait, damnit…"
But Sam's already out the door.
"This is John Winchester, leave a message."
Beep.
Sam holds back a scream of rage as his dad's gruff voice echoes back to him, and he grits his teeth until his jaw hurts.
"Dad. I don't know where the hell you are or why you can't find two god damn minutes to call me back, but I thought you'd like to know that Dean's awake. The cops are asking questions and the insurance isn't going to hold, so we're not staying here more than another day. Between the 5-0 and the guys who jumped us, we can't stay in town any longer than that. We'll head north. Call if you find enough time to give a damn."
It takes every bit of restraint Sam has not to hurl his phone at the hospital wall. He's not mad at his dad, not really (ok, maybe a little) but he is furious with himself, and scared as hell that the reason his dad isn't answering is because the hunt went fatally wrong. And Sam just can't deal with that right now.
He sinks into one of the waiting room chairs and cradles his head in his hands. He figures it won't take long for Dean to fall back asleep, so all he has to do is wait him out. He knows it's not fair to Dean and it's plain cowardice, but he just can't face Dean right now and talk about what it was like watching his brother get beaten. He can't face Dean knowing he let him down in the worst way.
Sam sighs and looks at his watch. It's been fifteen minutes since he left Dean's room. He hopes it's been enough time and that Dean's dozed off again. He walks back to the room and peers in through the door's window. Dean's out again, breathing deeply and peaceful. Sam hates how relieved he feels.
He walks back in and takes up his seat next to Dean's bed again, the same seat he's been planted in for the past two and a half days. Twelve more hours won't kill him.
