"Let's get him in the bus and hooked up!"
Dean felt a bit lost being left in the wake of this. All he could think about was that it had finally happened—Sam was broken, lost for good. He knew it was just a matter of time after the wall fell. Sam had been overtaken by his own mind. Sammy… Only the nurse's prompting galvanized him back to the Impala. The EMT was right, of course. No point leaving themselves stranded by not taking the car to the hospital. Besides, his steel-framed baby was the next most important thing after Sam.
He used the ambulance's speed as a reason to ignore most traffic laws, not that he gave them extreme thought anyway. In no time, they pulled into the bright complex of the hospital. But by the time Dean parked the car and ran inside, Sam had disappeared behind that impenetrable fortress of the trauma unit. Nothing else to do but wait in the stifling, cheap-furnished outer space of the emergency room. A desk clerk brought him the necessary forms, which Dean completed numbly. He asked the clerk how long a wait to expect, only to have her shrug. "Depends on the nature of the emergency."
Dean fidgeted, poked through magazines, paced. Other patients and families filed in and out. The clock inched toward eleven. A car crash victim was rushed through. Dean was exhausted, and yet so adrenaline-driven that rest was impossible.
"Mr. Rose?"
A weary-looking doctor approached Dean at last, the first person since the desk clerk to actually speak to him. They shook hands. "I'm Dr. Harvey, the one heading up your brother's case. First, do you need anything? Coffee?"
"Coffee would be great," sighed Dean. The situation couldn't be good if the doctor was already buttering him up like this.
"This way. There are also vending machines if you need something to eat. We could be here awhile," the doctor continued as they walked.
"Just lay it on me, Doc. What's wrong with Sam?"
Dr. Harvey took a deep breath. "He's stabilized for now. We were able to end the seizure without lasting difficulties, as far as we can tell right now. However, a preliminary MRI picked up a mass in Sam's brain."
"You mean he's got a brain tumor?"
"In many cases, it turns out to be benign, though we're awaiting biopsy results to make sure. But it's started putting pressure on his brain, especially the sensory perception areas. Has Sam been complaining of headaches, trouble sleeping?"
"A little, but it's never been out of line with our jobs. I didn't think it was any different," Dean brushed off. This is going to be tricky.
"Any mention of hallucinations?"
Dean bit his lip. "He's been sleeping—or trying to, anyway—more than usual. I thought he was just having weird dreams, and he wouldn't go into detail."
The doctor nodded as he took all this in. "Well, I have to say at this point the best option is surgery. If the tumor continues to grow, it could start causing real damage to the brain tissue. Of course, no procedure like this is without risks." He fixed Dean with a steady, concerned gaze. Dean felt his heart clench.
"What kind of risks are we looking at?"
"Sometimes tumors, even benign ones, become entangled as they grow. We might not be able to remove the entire mass, in which case the situation is likely to repeat itself over time. There is a chance of sensory damage as we try to maneuver during surgery. Brain swelling is always a side effect to monitor. Those are the most common."
"Oh God, Sammy…" Dean put a hand to the wall to steady himself.
"He'll also need cognitive therapy afterwards, so I suggest an extended leave from work, at least for Sam. Reduced stress and simple mental exercises will help him recover as fully as possible."
After everything they had been through, fought off, survived, Dean never expected to face this. And yet, the effects of hunting, of being to Hell AND back, had to take a physical toll sooner or later. He just hadn't considered this as a possible outcome.
"I understand this is a sudden and difficult decision. I encourage you to take the proper time to consider what you and your brother want to do. However I will say, in his case, the sooner we act, the better chance we have."
Dean nodded, only half listening now. "Can…can I see him?"
"Of course." Dr. Harvey handed him a piping cup of black coffee. "We put him under mild sedation for initial treatment, but he should be waking up from that any moment." He led Dean through the pristine halls to the observation ward. They found Sam at the end of a series of curtained partitions, comfortably situated though still out cold. Aside from the ambulance IV and a monitor for his vitals, he looked normal. "I'll leave you to it. Use the call button if you need anything."
"Thanks." The doctor took his leave, and Dean sank into the chair by Sam's bed. First Bobby, then this. Ever since the leviathans escaped, their lives had been constant, full-tilt running. Sam's recovery put them at great risk, having to stay put for awhile. At the same time, he couldn't continue hunting in his condition. Sam's life depended on his being fully functional. Shit…why did this have to happen? Sam battling Lucifer, getting trapped in Hell with the bastard, only to be pulled back out without his soul. Then I put him through Hell again by having his soul retrieved. Cass breaking the wall and letting Hell get at Sam with full force. Dammit!
Dean punched the wall in frustration. He only got a sore fist for his troubles, and someone down the ward complained, "Hey, keep it down, will ya?"
He was spared the need to try to respond as Sam stirred. His little brother groaned softly, immediately reaching for the foreign sensation of a needle in his left hand. Dean stopped him.
"Cut that out. Don't give them a reason to drug you again."
"Wha…?" Sam apparently had trouble muddling into consciousness. His eyes took too long to focus on Dean. Yep, this was serious. "Where are we?"
"Nearest hospital from the diner. You had a seizure, Sammy. You're uh…you're having some complications with that grapefruit of yours…"
When Sam woke up the next morning, the dread still weighed in his stomach. A brain tumor. All the supernatural crap that had messed with his head in the past year was manifesting in real, physical consequences. Now the headaches, the extra problems getting rid of his hallucinations, everything started to make sense. Hell, it could all be a product of an unwanted mass causing pressure in his head! He had no way of telling the difference.
Neither Winchester could deny the catch-22 this put them in. No way could Sam hunt like this, nor did he feel comfortable hunting when he could flip out without warning. On the other hand, the longer they stayed put, the more likely leviathans could track them down. And Sam would be unable to fight anyway. Not to mention how they were going to afford the procedures and treatments.
"I don't see how we're going to get around this," Dean concluded while Sam picked at his hospital lunch. "Doc said if we leave this alone, you're not just going to be handicapped. It's going to get worse. I can't watch you go through that, Sammy. Not when I can do something about it. We're sure as hell not being offered help from anyone with the mojo to zap you back to normal."
"I know. Trust me, I don't feel any better about this than you do. But you think you can hold down the fort by yourself long enough for me to pull out of this? I'm a sitting duck like this." Sam dropped his fork to massage his temples.
"Hey, you okay? You need anything?"
"It's going away. Just a quick throb," Sam tried to reassure his brother. Unexpectedly, it made him chuckle. "Kinda reminds me of back when I would get those premonitions."
"Yeah, that was all kinds of laughs. Dude, take it easy. We'll get through this, just like everything else. And the sooner we get this over with, the sooner you're better and we can get out of here."
"If I get better, Dean. There's a real chance that I won't come out of this perfectly normal again."
"Don't talk like that," snapped Dean. "Anyway, you were never normal, face it. Both of us have been karma's bitches form the start." He paused to regain composure, clapping a hand to Sam's shoulder protectively. "I'll tell the Doc we want to go ahead with the surgery. You take it easy. Finish your lunch."
"Whatever. I'm not five anymore." They shared a lighthearted grin just because they could.