Just like Nick had said, the EMTs were completely unfazed by the guy with a broken back in the cemetery at dawn, and with the light and the distance they were from the grave he was pretty sure they hadn't noticed anything amiss. The hospital was a bit of a blur, he had a bunch of X-rays done and several doctors examined his back very carefully. Sam was there for most of it, though the doctors shooed him away a couple of times.
He was glad he didn't have any other conspicuous bruises or cuts that might have raised questions. Someone might ask about the scars, he did have rather more than most people his age to say the least, but he was old enough now that no one was going to insist he had been abused if he denied it. He could vividly remember one incident when the only way he'd been able to get the doctor to drop it was to say that he was into hardcore S&M. Thankfully said doctor had then dropped it like a hot coal, gone very red in the face and never mentioned it again.
A few hours later he was lying in a bed on one of the wards, his back immobilised with a temporary brace. The brace was somewhat uncomfortable, but they'd put him on pretty strong painkillers so he wasn't really noticing it. Besides, while he might hate hospitals he wasn't an idiot and knew that it was necessary.
Sam was sitting nearby in one of those cheap, plastic hospital chairs that looked entirely unlike it was supposed to hold someone as big as his sasquatch of a little brother. Nick had taken him back to the cemetery briefly so that Sam could pick up the Impala, and then Nick had driven back down to Stanford. He'd offered to come back the next day and bring some clothes for Sam.
"He's a good friend you know," offered Dean.
"What?"
"Nick, he's a good friend."
"Yeah. Yeah, he is, I think I didn't know quite how good until today."
Dean found himself wishing he knew Sam's friends better. He sighed, he'd been putting this off long enough.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"We're going to need to call Dad."
"Yeah, I know." Sam cast his eyes down toward the floor.
"Look, um, if you'd rather not be here when he gets here, I understand."
Sam shot him a look that very much conveyed the impression, 'are you sure it isn't your head that got broken?', and said, "I'm not going anywhere."
Dean smiled at that, knowing that Sam was there for him no matter what really helped.
"Thanks, Sammy"
"I do think we should wait until you've had the MRI this afternoon though. We'll have a better idea what to tell him then."
When Sam didn't complain about being called Sammy he knew just how worried his brother was about him. Dean looked over at the phone sitting on the small table next his bed. He was terrified of making that call, telling his Dad that he'd failed in the worst way. He had thought about leaving it a few days, until he could be sure Dad was done with his hunt, but he knew that would just make it worse when the time came. He sighed and pulled his gaze away from it and back to Sam. "Yeah, you're probably right."
Later that afternoon they took Dean down to the MRI machine. Dean was not usually claustrophobic, but looking at that narrow tube in the huge, humming machine, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get out if he wanted to was almost enough to tip him over the edge. He was incredibly grateful that the nurse had noticed how apprehensive he was, without drawing too much attention to it, and suggested they could play some music. He was sure Sam had probably noticed his apprehensiveness too, but there wasn't much he could do about that, however much he hated even the slightest appearance of weakness in front of his little brother. He guessed the doctors were probably expecting something calm and relaxing, but he couldn't help grinning when Sam came back from the Impala and Metallica started playing over the speakers in the room. Sam grinned back and the doctors just shrugged, they were happy with whatever would keep the patient calm, plus he could have sworn he saw the nurse tapping their foot when they thought no one was looking.
Having a nurse who liked Metallica cheered him up a bit and by the time there were back up on the ward he had got Sam talking about Stanford and his friends. Dean's head wasn't entirely in it, but it was good to see Sam happily chatting about his life. In any case they didn't see the doctor walk in until she coughed and said, "Mr Winchester?"
She was probably a bit older than their Dad, a few grey streaks in her chocolate brown hair, short, probably no more than 5 foot 4, but carried herself in a way that suggested she didn't take any nonsense from anyone, especially bull-headed 22 year olds.
"Please, call me Dean. Mr Winchester is my father."
The doctor smiled. "Very well, Dean. I'm doctor McKinley. I'm glad to see you in good spirits. I have the results of your MRI, and I wanted to discuss your condition with you," she glanced over at Sam, then back at Dean, "do you want your brother to stay?"
"I'm staying" Sam said firmly before Dean could answer.
Doctor McKinley just raised an eyebrow at Dean.
"Yeah, he can stay."
Doctor McKinley nodded. "Well, you already know about the fractured vertebrae. Now that we have the MRI results we can be more certain about the condition of your spinal cord, and the good news is that it isn't completely severed, so we expect that you will regain some sensation over time."
Sam brightened up a bit at that and he squeezed Dean's arm, but Dean wanted to make sure he had all the details before he got his hopes up.
"I'm guessing the 'not completely' and 'some' is the bad news, right?" he interjected, taking his arm back from Sam.
Doctor McKinley pursed her lips slightly as she gave Dean a thorough appraisal. Dean could tell she was deciding how much of the truth he could handle.
"Please, I need to know, you don't need to try and sugar coat it for me"
She looked him over once more briefly before nodding to herself. "Yes, although your spinal cord isn't severed, it has sustained quite a bit of damage and there will be significant scarring. We can't know precisely how much mobility and sensation will return, we will have a better idea once we get the vertebrae stabilised permanently and the swelling has gone down, but only time will tell. You are however correct that 'some' means not all. In terms of walking, which I presume is what you are most concerned about?"
Dean nodded his agreement, not trusting himself to say anything at the moment.
"As I say, it is difficult to be completely certain at the moment, but I think there is a reasonable chance that you will eventually be able to manage short distances on crutches or with a stick."
God, a reasonable chance that he could walk short distances with crutches or a walking stick. Dean's face fell and he suddenly found his hands and the pale blue hospital blanket very interesting. Still, he was sure Sam would say that he should look on the bright side, at least he wasn't definitely going to be confined to a wheelchair at all times. He supposed that was better than nothing.
"Can't say I thought I'd be using a cane for another few decades, but I'll take what I can get. Thanks, doc," he said as cheerfully as could.
Doctor McKinley smiled slightly sadly. "I know that this must be very difficult for a fit young man like yourself to hear, but we'll do everything we can."
He and Sam sat in silence for a little while after Doctor McKinley left. It was better than the worst-case scenario, but Dean still felt like crap. How was he supposed to be any use to anyone when at best he'd always be unsteady enough to need crutches or a cane? He wouldn't be able to hunt, he wouldn't be able to keep Sam safe, he was worthless.
Eventually Sam broke the silence. "I guess we should call Dad now."
"Yeah, yeah we should," Dean said morosely.
"I can do it if you want," Sam offered quietly.
Dean knew Sam hadn't spoken to Dad at all since the big fight and was sure that he really wouldn't be relishing the thought of calling him now, but the thought warmed Dean slightly.
"No, I'll do it."
He stared at the phone on the table for a long minute before picking it up and finding the number.
"He might not have cell reception, he was going to a pretty rural place," he said to Sam as he pressed dial, not sure whether or not he wanted that to be true. Sam simply nodded in acknowledgement.
Apparently Dad did have reception because it started ringing, and it didn't take long before he heard Dad's gruff voice come on. "Dean?" Dad sounded exhausted, probably he'd just finished with his hunt then.
"Hi Dad."
"How did the hunt go?"
"Well, um, it's finished I guess," Dean answered, dancing around why he had made this call.
"Good, where can I meet you then?" Dad evidently hadn't picked up on Dean's hedging.
"Um, Mercy hospital in Redding."
"Mercy hospit… Dean? What happened?"
"Uh, Dad, I don't think I'm going to be hunting anymore."
Dean could almost hear his father freeze, and did just catch a very muffled, 'Oh, God'.
"Dean, what happened?" he said more forcefully.
"The spirit threw me into a tree. My back's broken."
This time Dean heard his Dad say, 'Oh, God', loud and clear but if he stopped now he wouldn't be able to carry on, so he just robotically repeated what the doctors had said.
"Three broken lumbar vertebrae, one badly. Pressure on the spinal cord. Not severed, but badly damaged and scarred. Tomorrow they're going to do surgery to stabilise the vertebrae," he swallowed, "Once they've done that and the swelling has gone down they'll have a better idea how permanent the damage is."
"You're…" the question was implicit. Dad sounded as broken as he felt.
Dean gulped. "From the waist down."
"And you're at Mercy hospital in Redding?"
"Yeah. Sammy's with me. He cleaned up and then came with me to the hospital."
"That's good, can you put him on?"
Dean held the phone out to Sam. "He wants to talk to you."
Sam was a little hesitant at first, this would be the first time they had spoken in months, and they hadn't exactly parted on the best terms, but he did take the phone. Of course, Dean could only hear Sam's side of the conversation.
"Dad?"
"It's fine, Dean was in trouble."
"I will Dad. Um, I had to tell my roommate Nick, about the, um, family business. He drove me up to help Dean."
Dean could tell Sam was bracing himself for the blowback from that, but it never came and he saw some of the tension leave the muscles in Sam's neck.
"He was freaked out at first, but he helped clean up. He's a good friend, he won't tell anyone."
"Ok Dad, I will, see you soon."
Sam hung up and handed the phone back to Dean.
"He handled the Nick thing better than I thought," Dean said, forcing a small smile.
"I think he was too out of it to really take it in." Sam gave Dean a small, sad smile of his own. "He said he'll be here as soon as he can, either late tomorrow evening, or early the morning after. Told me to look after you."
Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Dad told Sam to look after him. Somehow that role reversal brought the situation home more than anything else. Dean didn't cry, but right now he really felt like he wanted to, or scream, or punch something, or preferably all three simultaneously. In a strange way, he thought he might have been able to cope with dying, but the prospect of being left vulnerable for the rest of his life was too much. What use would he be like this? He couldn't help Dad, he couldn't look after Sammy, he was useless now, a burden, just a worthless sack of meat.
Sam must have picked up on at least some of how he was feeling and took hold of Dean's arm. "We'll get through this," he said quietly, squeezing tight.
Dean didn't think he could risk saying anything so he just did his best to keep the turmoil he was feeling from his face and smiled a thank you at Sam.
