Day 5: Sam
"Hold it there for five more seconds, good, and relax."
Sam exhaled and brought his right arm back to his side, resisting the urge to cradle it to his chest.
"The muscles are still tight, but from what I can see you seem to have retained full range of motion in your arm."
"So it'll be okay?"
"The shoulder will probably be weaker than your left, and you might have to be more careful with it to prevent future dislocations, but if you keep on with the exercises I see no reason why you won't regain full use of the arm in time."
Sam nodded but remained silent. He wasn't sure if it was good news or not.
"Try and do one more set before bed, and again in the morning, and I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to take another look at you, okay?"
Sam nodded again and watched the physical therapist leave, sighing as the door was locked closed behind him. He picked the sling up from the back of the chair where he'd discarded it and held it in his bad hand, tightening his grip and grinding his teeth at the stab of pain that shot through his upper arm and shoulder. The sling had only been removed that morning and he knew the nurse would have preferred him to keep it on a little while longer, and in truth he missed its added support. He had promised to keep the arm steady and to not over-use it, and to replace the sling if he felt it was needed, but for now he was relishing the thought of having both his hands free.
Discarding the sling he sank down into the chair and stared out of the window for a while. It was a gray day and rain and the window bars marred his view of the staff parking lot, but he wasn't really seeing it anyway.
One of the nurses had brought him a couple of books that morning and there was a TV in his room but he was too nervous to appreciate either distraction. His father's doctor had finally seen fit to talk to him the day before, and while much of it had been as he'd expected, he still didn't like anything the man had had to say. John Winchester was an indomitable force. He saved lives and slew things that went bump in the night. He was supposed to be loud and unwavering and trying to talk Sam out of trying out for the track team. He was definitely not supposed to be in a coma, alone in a room at the other side of the hospital. He was supposed to be intractable and impossible to live with, but he wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't supposed to save Sam just to leave him alone.
They thought he was too fragile to be allowed to sit with him. Sam wasn't sure he disagreed, and he knew better now than to argue. Trying to convince them, being constantly ignored, was exhausting.
The whole situation was exhausting.
Pastor Jim was on a retreat and therefore unreachable. That could mean anything from a spiritual mission to a hunt, Sam didn't know – the fact that no-one could get a message to him was the only part that mattered. They were due to meet up with him at his cabin in two days. Sam only had to hold on a little while longer and Jim would be suspicious of their absence; hopefully suspicious enough to do something about it.
If he wasn't, then Dean certainly would be when he arrived at Jim's with no Sam or dad to meet him.
Sam just had to hope the hospital didn't decide to discharge him before then. He never would have expected to want to be retained under psychological evaluation, but the woman from CPS had been quick to assure him there would be a place in a group home waiting for him if need be. Only once they got him into the system it was a very real possibility that, on examining the stability of his home life, they might decide to keep him there.
This time last week his main stress in life was how to fit sharpening all the knives around his geometry homework. Looking back, it seemed such a pointless worry to have.
He was still sitting at the window a couple of hours later when Dr Harding entered the room.
Thankfully he was alone.
This afternoon he was bearing a chocolate bar which he opened and broke into pieces, placing it on the table between them as he took a seat opposite Sam.
"I got called into a consult over lunch," he offered by way of explanation, taking a piece and nudging the bar further along the table to Sam.
Sam reached over and snagged a piece, curling up in his chair and turning to give the doctor his full attention. He wouldn't go as far as to say he had been looking forward to Harding's visit, but so far he was the only person in this place that seemed to hear more than white noise when Sam spoke to him. The nurses were always polite, if a little wary, and the doctors and the physical therapist were purely professional; unless Sam was asking them for water or questions about his rehabilitation he was for the most part ignored.
Harding had also sat in towards the end of his meeting with that Clover woman, and Sam got the distinct impression he'd cut it shorter than she'd have liked.
He sat back and observed the other man in silence, waiting for him to speak. Harding might be the only person in the place to treat him like a human being but the guy was still a shrink and Sam wasn't stupid. He'd wait and see what Harding was here to discuss this time before he decided whether or not he wanted to join in.
He still wasn't sure what grounds they were using to keep him here, other than the fact he was a minor and had literally no-where else to go. The first few days in the hospital were hazy but he was drug free now and thinking clearly. Apparently he had been delirious and talking crazy when they'd found him, talking about everything from ghosts to werewolves and freaking out over the lack of protection on the unit. For the past couple of days he'd gone out of his way to appear rational, and had stated categorically that ghosts didn't exist and there had been no monsters present on the road that night.
Worryingly, they were yet to ask him how he and his father had come to be injured. He'd seen the police officer hanging around the ward, caught him peering in Sam's door on more than one occasion, but so far they were being ominously silent on the subject.
Sam had spent a long time trying to come up with some convincing to tell them, so did not begrudge the wait.
"How's my dad?" he asked at last, sensing that Harding was equally likely to sit here in silence forever unless he broke it. He glanced surreptitiously at the door to see if there was someone out there; if Harding was merely hiding out in here to avoid someone rather than actually here for him.
"You want to talk about your father?" Harding sounded surprised, which caused Sam to frown. He'd only been banging on about it since the moment he woke up. He'd finally had a lot of his questions answered but would never be completely satisfied until he could see for himself. He didn't like knowing they'd left his father there alone. Dean would never have allowed their father to be alone – Dean would have made them let him in.
It wasn't that Sam hadn't tried; he hoped his dad would know that.
He was locked in this room by himself, left alone for most of the day. He didn't need to be able to ask his father to know they would both prefer it if they could be alone together. It would go a long way to making him feel less abandoned at least. Give him purpose.
"Do you know if there's been any change? Dr Brook said there's been some improvement, that maybe he was getting better."
"How do you feel about that?"
"What the hell kind of question..?"
"It would be understandable if…"
"Because we move around a lot! Because he pulls me out of school, you think I want him dead! You think…" Sam's breath caught. "Oh my god – you do, don't you?"
He lowered his legs back to the floor and sat up straight. Harding narrowed his eyes at Sam across the table, but otherwise remained silent.
"You think that I…" How could he have been so stupid? The police hanging around his room, the restraints, the weird questions and behaviour, even their determination to keep him away from his father… it was all starting to make a horrible kind of sense.
Of course they were looking for a human explanation behind what had happened to his dad, and with Sam so conveniently located they obviously hadn't felt the need to look too far.
"I didn't…" He took a breath and closed his eyes, willing himself not to panic. This was so much worse than he'd thought. "Why haven't the police been in to question me, if that's what they think?"
"The police haven't been in because I asked them not to," Harding confirmed.
Sam looked at him sceptically.
"Ok, so I ordered them not to. I told them it was my strong opinion as your doctor that you should not be forced to remember what happened until you were ready."
Sam blinked, unsure what to make of that. He knew exactly what had happened to his father – unfortunately that part of the evening had been etched into his mind.
"Are you ready?"
He shuddered, despite himself. Even if he could sit with someone who wouldn't have him committed for opening his mouth, he wasn't sure he would be ready to talk about it. Not all of it. But he could give another hunter the salient details.
He doubted Harding would appreciate those somehow.
But it was clear he would have to say something.
"I didn't hurt him." He remembered his father's scream as he'd pressed down on the wounds, attempted to staunch the bleeding, and wondered if the doctor could see the lie in his words. "The… the wounds on his chest. That wasn't me."
"You weren't alone in the woods."
Sam shook his head.
"Who was out there with you? Did your brother go with you to..?"
"What? No! Dean's in Michigan, he is. He'd be here now if we could reach him. If Dean had been there he would never have let it…" he broke off, trying to reel himself back in.
"What it?" Harding asked. "Was 'it' your monster? The one you told Officer Reilly to watch out for?"
"There's no such thing as monsters," Sam intoned, staring Harding in the eye.
"Do you really believe that?"
Sam blinked and sat back, surprised. "Of course I do. I'm not an idiot."
"So what was it that attacked your father?"
"I don't know; it happened so fast. I think it was a bear."
"There are no bears in these woods."
"Tell that to my dad. Or to Max Bygrove," he added under his breath. "Shouldn't we get the police in here – let them take my statement?"
"I'm sure Officer Reilly would like that very much," Harding agreed. "But it might be better if you talk to me first."
They sat in silence for a moment while Sam gathered his thoughts.
"I can't help you until you talk to me, Sam. You want to get out of here, and you want the police off your back, then you have to help me understand what happened. You have to talk to me."
So he did.
TBC
