Part 4

Sam turned his attention back to Dean and couldn't help the expletive that dropped from his lips. There was no way he was going to be able to get Dean past that truck not on his own, let alone back to the car, which meant the only option was to get help, and not the type of help he could wait for. Dean was disoriented and confused, on top of the many other injuries, which meant he had a concussion or was going into shock, probably both. He needed more than just patching up with the first aid kit this time.

"Sam?" Dean asked again as though he'd only just realised his brother was there.

"Yeah Dean I'm here and I'm not hurt OK?" Sam gripped his brother's hand and gave it a squeeze of reassurance.

"'K" Dean managed before he started coughing, rasping and wet and pitifully weak.

Sam felt Dean's grip tighten around his own, his face contorted with pain as torn skin was forced to move.

Sam held on, riding out the coughing fit with him, unable to touch his brother anywhere else unable to offer further comfort for fear of causing more damage. It was rare that he felt this helpless, rare that he saw his brother injured in a way where he couldn't hide it, and the vulnerability was still startling. Even now, even after he'd seen his brother close to death more than once. Dean's normal casual air of strength was so much a part of him that having it dropped still had the power to shock. Sam swallowed, grateful as the coughing eased. "Just hang in there," he soothed, "Help's coming."

Sam flipped open his cell

"Help's coming?" Dean repeated, meeting Sam's gaze. He gave a slight shake of his head. "Help's here," he stated confidently.

Sam met his brother's gaze swallowing back the lump in his throat. Yeah help was here but not enough, not this time. There was just too much. Their dad had taught them well, field medicine for everything from a knife wound to a gunshot, but he'd also taught them the point at which they needed to rely on others, to get to hospital. There was a line and Dean was well across it. "Yeah Dean, I'm here." Sam stated, pushing the buttons on his cell, his hand squeezing closed as he hit dial and waited for an answer.

The fire department arrived first, they usually did, a good thing in this case because it meant that by the time the ambulance got there the truck had already been towed back out of the way. Sam stayed close, not close enough to get in the way but close enough to respond if his brother began to fight the help, but he wasn't needed, despite Sam's best efforts to keep him awake, Dean had lost consciousness about five minutes before the paramedics arrived.

It had been a long five minutes. Talking to a Dean who couldn't keep track of the conversation had been painful enough. Sitting there holding on to your brother's hand while he slowly bled to death through wounds that you couldn't press on for fear of crushing glass into them was almost unbearable. When the paramedics did finally arrive they found him concentrating on pulling small pieces of glass free with shaky hands because he couldn't just do nothing.

He wasn't quite sure how he made it to the hospital. He couldn't fit in the ambulance with his brother and the paramedic and he remembered the wrench of watching it drive off without him. He thought maybe someone had given him a lift? Didn't matter because what mattered was Dean. He told the receptionist who he was, why he was there and she handed him some forms to fill in for his brother.

He'd been here before, not this place, not this exact injury but he'd been here nonetheless. He knew they wouldn't let him through to be with Dean, to see his brother, but familiarity didn't make it hurt any less, didn't make him regret for just a moment getting the help, because he could have run the two miles and got the Impala, dragged his brother under the truck while more glass cut into him, taken Dean back to the motel and spent the next ten hours pulling the glass out himself with tweezers, never sure without X-rays whether he'd got it all, because his hand would have been steady enough even with Dean in excrutiating pain: It would have been. He could have taken the risk that the fluid in his lungs wouldn't cause more breathing problems, that the shock and concussion would clear themselves with rest and fluids. He could have done all that. He could and then he wouldn't have had to put up with this crazy separation anxiety.

He bowed his head, his wrists resting loosely on his knees as he allowed the clipboard and pen to droop between them. No, this was where his brother needed to be right now, and he would just have to live with his emotions until they let him through to see him.

"Are you Sam?"

Sam looked up to see the nurse staring down at him. He nodded "Yes I. . ."

"Then you need to come with me," she stated not hiding the urgency in her tone.

Sam stood and followed, his anxiety ratcheting up with every rapid pace.

A young doctor stepped out of the treatment room as they approached. "Sam?" he asked looking at the nurse first for confirmation before looking at Sam himself.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, desperately wanting to push past the doctor to get to Dean. It was cruel to bring him so close. He couldn't even see through the door, but he managed to control himself, to force himself to talk to the doctor. "Look my brother. . ."

"Has many injuries as I'm sure you're aware, but our main problem at the moment is getting him calmed down. He's very confused and he seems convinced that something has happened to you. That he didn't give you enough time for something." The doctor watched the understanding dawning in Sam's eyes, that's what he'd been apologising for, but he didn't push for an explanation. "So I'm going to let you in there so he can see you, but you need to stay back out of the way while we deal with his injuries. Understood?"

Sam didn't trust himself to speak so he just nodded.

The doctor seemed satisfied and turned to head back into the room.

Dean had taken advantage of the fact that the doctor had left and had managed, despite the two nurses best efforts to discourage him, to swing his legs round so they were dangling off the treatment table and he was now sitting upright, if swaying slightly.

He wasn't sure of much at the moment, thoughts dancing through his consciousness in fragments, but the bits he got scared him. Sam wasn't there. He hadn't given him long enough. Something was. . .Sam wasn't there. He needed to find Sam.

"Dean."

Dean looked up and managed to focus for a moment. "Sam?" The relief was instantaneous. Sam was there. Sam was OK, nothing else mattered.

"It's OK, I had enough time, I'm OK," Sam reassured, answering the questions before Dean asked them. He eased his brother's shoulder's round as he spoke, the nurses helping to bring his legs up.

"Dean," the doctor spoke from the opposite side of the bed, when Sam had coaxed him to a more settled position. "I'm Dr. Finch," Dean sluggishly turned to face him. "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital?"

"Do you know which town?"

There was a hesitation, an attempt at concentration."Enterprise?"

Sam almost swore, the doctor looked up at him. "Enterprise Oregon, we were there about three weeks ago," and hadn't that led to a million and one Star Trek references for the duration of the job, but dammit three weeks! "We're on a road trip," Sam added as though that explained everything and it usually did thanks to Hollywood. It was one reference everybody got and most people accepted without question.

The doctor nodded frowning briefly before he turned his attention back to Dean.

Dean didn't do much better on the rest of the questions the only things he seemed relatively sure of was his own name and Sam's, and Sam had to keep reminding him he was there.

There were several times over the next few hours when Sam actually wished for the anxiety and detachment of the waiting room. Where he wouldn't have to watch the team of doctor's and nurses digging through his brother's flesh to pull out fragments of glass, where he wouldn't have to see the pain contort his brother's face as he coughed in a way that was far too weak to be his brother, his brother who'd been fine that morning. Wouldn't have had to watch the ugly bruises forming on Dean's torso and back. Wouldn't have to see the sweat beading on the medical team's faces after so long at the delicate painful work. Wouldn't have to hear the panic in his brother's voice when he forgot Sam was there, or hear him give the wrong answer to questions yet again, deepening the doctor's frown the longer it went on.

By the time they'd finished and Dean, swathed in bandages was settled in bed Sam was exhausted, physically from muscles tensed too long in worry, mentally from the anxiety and fear and relief and. . .Damn he hated this, hated seeing his brother in pain, hated seeing him so weak. Dean was always the strong one, always had been, and he relied on that, more than he admitted to sometimes. Seeing him like this was just so wrong on so many levels and it wasn't over yet. There was the danger of infection, the fluid on the lungs increased the risk of pneumonia, the head injury wasn't sorting itself out, and there was some worry about his brother walking for a while on knees that were just so much hamburger.

Sam checked his brother was still sleeping and then dropped his head into his hands. Dean would be all right. He had to be all right. The exhaustion had lowered his defences and several tears leaked from scratchy eyes as he repeated the mantra.

TBC