A/N: I am so sorry I'm so far behind in posting! I keep myself to a pretty tight schedule and once something happens it all can snowball pretty quickly. I had a little bout of food poisoning then "that which gets me stuck on bed rest" raised it's ugly head again. I am trying to be good so I maintain computer privileges, but I am not maintaining my usual number of words. I will get caught up, on my stories and my review replies! Let me say thank you so much for all your reviews and I will get the personal thanks to you as soon as possible!
Gifts
Chapter Four
Sam woke slowly, waiting for the sound of the night nurse, or the soft whisper of Mr. Soronson's TV, what he heard instead was a snore. Sam held his breath and listened, the snore came again. He sighed, that had been the first noise to register after the time of silence and pain, the time after that night. That soft snore had been the sound that let him know he was still alive. The snore had been there most of his life, and while some people might not consider it comforting, Sam found it so, he always had. Without opening his eyes, he turned his head to where Dean was snoring in the other bed and let that sound lull him back to sleep.
The next time he woke was to the smell of coffee. He could hear Dean singing in the kitchen, it sounded like a metal rendition of an old folk song. Sam tried to concentrate, but his brain refused to match music and lyrics to anything his mind could dredge up. He sighed and looked around the bedroom. Sunlight was slanting in through yellow and blue plaid curtains. He let his eyes move from the curtains to the walls painted a soft yellow. Sam heard the catch in his breath, he tried to get control of himself before Dean came to check on him.
It had been the summer before he left for Stanford. They were staying at a cabin Bobby used from time to time while hunting in the north woods. Their father and Bobby had gone off in search of a skinwalker that was terrorizing the area, they'd left Sam and Dean to do a little research, but Sam suspected his father was mostly tired of arguing.
Dean had decided it was his mission in life to get Sam a little drunk every night and they were well into their night's entertainment. Sam was watching the stars through the trees, Dean was sprawled on a broken couch.
"When I get to college I'm painting my room yellow," Sam announced sometime after the fourth beer.
"Yellow? That's a little girly, even for you, Sammy."
"Do you remember that house we stayed at the summer when I was six?"
"You were recovering from pneumonia and dad left us with that ancient aunt of Pastor Jim's."
"Yeah, the big house—our room was yellow, and the kids down the block, their house had a yellow kitchen."
"Yeah?"
"Well, somewhere along the way I became convinced that homes have yellow walls. Motels never do, never once in all the motels, hotels, lodges and inns we've stayed in, never once did any of them have yellow walls."
"So, home has yellow walls?" Dean asked dubiously.
"Yeah," Sam said, taking a drink. "Yellow walls with blue and yellow plaid curtains."
"Sammy, your idea of home sounds a little like my idea of hell."
"That's hell?" Sam raised his eyebrows.
"Ok, maybe not hell, but…" Dean chuckled. "Only you would think of yellow walls as home." He shook his head and handed Sam another beer.
Sam brushed the tears off his face with a shaking hand. I need to get control before Dean comes in. He knew his ongoing depression was worrying his brother. It worried him too, and try as he might, he didn't seem to be able to get out from under it. "Depression is normal after something like this," Alan had said. In fact he said it every day, that didn't change anything, and some days ending it all seemed like the best option. Sam hadn't really tried, hadn't really done anything except acknowledge that thought was always there. He wondered if Dean knew.
"Sam?" Dean asked from the door.
"Hey," Sam said, trying to smile.
"You ready for a shower? After that I thought I'd hook you up and you could have your meds while we have breakfast. I found a pancake recipe I'm dying to try."
"You found a what?"
"A pancake recipe," Dean said, coming into the room. He turned the flow off to the oxygen and took the tube from Sam's face.
"Dean? A pancake recipe?" Sam's eyebrows were climbing into his bangs despite his earlier mood.
"Yeah." Dean smiled.
"Christo,"" Sam said with a grin. His brother looked at him, frowned then started to laugh. "I just had to make sure you're Dean."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, it's pancakes with bits of bacon and sausage in them."
"Right." Sam took a deep breath. "Can I skip the shower?" What had once been one of the most anticipated times of the day—a hot shower after a hunt, in the morning before they got going or after a long day with Dean in the car—now was something he dreaded. Loss of dignity was part of the routine now, but showering with his brother seemed a little too much at that moment.
"Oh, hell no, Sammy, you stink. I am so not going anywhere with you." Dean was getting clean clothes out of the chest of drawers. He carried them into the bathroom, then came back. "Ready?"
"Dean, I'd really rather…"
"On three," Dean said like Sam hadn't spoken. "One... Two…" Dean lifted him up and carried him into the bathroom. He opened the shower door with one hand and helped Sam in, setting him carefully on a plastic stool sitting against the wall of the shower stall. "This thing has wheels, the lock is this red button. Your clothes are in that little plastic shelf thing, they'll stay dry in there, I tried it out a couple of times. If you need me, shout."
"Dean? What?" Sam asked.
"What what? If you need me shout, I have the heater cranked, so even with the door open it shouldn't get too cold in here."
"You're…" Sam swallowed. "You're going to leave me in here? Alone?"
"Well, if you want, I can sit in here if you're worried about falling."
"No, I mean, I can take a shower?"
"Yep, that's why we're here." Dean grinned.
"I mean by myself?" The tears were starting to get the better of him again.
"Yeah." Dean smirked at him. "What else?" The way he said it, Sam suddenly understood that Dean knew… Knew what this meant. Sam tried smiling back. "Don't scald yourself, the water get pretty hot. Oh, and the showerhead sticks sometimes." Dean fiddled with it, showed Sam how to take it off the pole it was mounted on, patted Sam on the back and left. "Toss your dirty clothes by the shower door, if they get wet, I'll just dump them in the machine. Holler when you're done."
Forty-five minutes later Sam shouted for Dean, his brother appeared so quickly, Sam suspected Dean had been lurking in the bedroom "just in case." Dean had made a point of checking in every five minutes or so throughout the entire shower, but he'd never once opened the door. Sometimes, Dean still surprised him.
"What is it, Sammy?" Dean sounded a little panicked.
"I'm finished."
"Oh!" Dean opened the door and smiled. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah."
"Let me grab the chair. I have everything set up at the table. We'll get the meds going and I'll make pancakes, the batter's all ready." While Dean was talking he rolled the wheelchair into the shower, lifted Sam into it and pushed him to the small table in the kitchen.
"You are seriously making pancakes?" Sam smiled as Dean nodded, grabbed the IV bag off the table, prepped the line in his arm and hooked him up with the efficiency of a skilled nurse. Dean hung the bag from a nail on the wall and walked to the stove.
"While I was fixing the place up I listened to a lot of cooking shows." Dean put a heavy skillet on the stove.
"You did what? Should I say Christo again?"
"No. It was just background noise, I didn't get sucked into the show, but it was company, you know?"
"Yeah," Sam said softly, hearing the emotion in Dean's voice.
"But I got lots of good ideas. You'll be amazed."
"Or I'll die from food experimentation."
"Very funny, Sammy." Dean turned to him with a smile. "Be nice or no Dean Special for you."
"Right, should I be happy or sad about that?" Sam teased.
"Bite me, Sammy." Dean chucked and served the first stack of pancakes. He sat down and kept up the banter. By the time the IV was finished, Sam was surprised to discover he'd eaten almost his whole stack of pancakes. Dean was grinning like an idiot. "Good job, want to take a walk? I'll get you a latte on the way."
"Dean…"
"Okay, want to take a walk? Or want to be hooked up behind the car and towed?" Dean asked, bringing Sam his coat and hat.
"Towed."
"You got it, bitch, but when the chair rolls over and your knees get skinned, don't come crying to me."
"Fine, jerk, I won't." Sam smiled and Dean pulled Sam's hat down over his eyes.
The sun had broken through the clouds when they arrived at the lake. The wind was blowing when Dean opened the car door, the chill cut into Sam. "Dean, it's cold."
"Yep, and I'm ready for it. I have mittens, and a blanket." Dean helped Sam into the wheelchair, tucked a blanket over his lap and dangled the mittens—pink with a fluffy white ball on the back—in front of his face.
"Those won't fit."
"Oh, yes they will. I found them at the thrift shop when I was looking for... Never mind. Anyway I found them there—they're big on me, so I thought they'd fit you just fine." He held the mittens out with a grin and waited until Sam pulled them on.
"Tomorrow you get different ones," Sam grumbled as Dean laughed.
"Sure." Dean dropped a sack on Sam's lap. "You keep an eye on this."
"What is it?" Sam asked opening the bag.
"Old muffins from Pooh, to feed the ducks. I didn't like the way they were eyeing you yesterday, Sammy."
Dean got the chair rolling and kept up the chatter. Sam was surprised, his brother rarely talked just for noise, but it certainly seemed that way as they moved around the lake. Dean stopped once or twice to point out something in the trees, or along the shore. The further they got from the car, the more Sam's head drooped. The gentle rocking motion of the wheelchair and the comforting drone of his brother's voice combined to lull him into a light doze. Sam slept a lot, partially because of the recovery, and partially because of the depression, or so Alan said.
The bar was crowded, and still a place that allowed smoking. Blue smoke surrounded him as he walked in. Dean smiled and gestured towards the back where a dartboard hung on the wall. Sam nodded and headed that way while Dean walked to the bar. As Sam pushed through the people, he saw them as monsters, some easy to spot, some not, but for some reason they didn't bother him, it was his world and he was comfortable there. He reached the table by the dartboard and sensed someone behind him, he turned. She was pretty and human. She smiled…She held her hand out to him, he was falling.
"NO!" Dean's scream filled the bar. "Sammy! Sam!"
"Sammy? Sam?" The anxious voice carried over from his dream, no longer screaming, just worried. Dean was crouching in front of the chair, his hand on Sam's knee. "Hey," Dean said as Sam opened his eyes.
"Sorry," Sam mumbled, then looked around. They were stopped at the bench where he'd stood briefly the day before.
Dean frowned at him, his eyes searching Sam's face. "Let's see if you can stand a little longer today, Sammy."
"I don't know, Dean."
"Just three seconds longer. That's all. It was thirty-three seconds yesterday, let's make it to thirty-six today." Dean smiled and took the blanket off his lap. "Here we go, Sam, use my shoulder for balance once you're up. No cheating."
"Dean, I don't…"
"I know you don't. But this is therapy, Sam, and you have to." Dean lifted Sam onto his feet before Sam could raise another protest. Pain shot through his body, starting in his feet and running up his spine in a fiery explosion. His legs were trembling madly when Dean gently guided his hand onto his shoulder. When his brother pulled his arm away from his waist, it took everything Sam had to stay upright. He stood there, focused on not falling, wondering how Dean knew exactly how long he'd stood the day before.
Then he heard it, a nearly silent whisper.
"Thirty-one, thirty-two…" Dean was counting it off. Sam held his breath and clenched his teeth. "Thirty-five, thirty-six…" Sam held on, more of his weight shifted onto Dean's shoulder. "Forty, forty-one…" Sam's legs gave way, Dean caught him and guided him to the bench. Sam sagged against it in relief as Dean covered him with the blanket. "Good job, Sammy." Sam looked up, tears were sparkling in his brother's eyes—unshed but there. "Good job." He patted Sam's shoulder and dropped to the bench beside him. They sat in silence watching the ducks mill in the lake for several minutes, Sam catching his breath, Dean staring at the ducks.
"What?" Sam asked when he realized his brother's gaze had shifted onto him.
"The nightmare, tell me about it," Dean said quietly.
"It's just that night, Dean. No different than what woke you up screaming last night. Yeah, I heard you." Sam looked away, he didn't want to talk about it, and he did. Part of him hoped the pain would go away if they talked, but what if it didn't? Then what?
"Yeah, sorry about that. Sammy?" Dean paused. "Alan's right. We need to talk about this."
"No."
"Tell me, Sammy, please. Tell me about that night."
"I don't remember much, Dean," Sam said softly, looking at his hands.
"Tell me what you remember." Dean's voice was low, anxious.
"Okay," Sam said, suddenly needing to talk about it with Dean. "Will you tell me what happened to you? And after? When I'm done?"
Dean sighed and scrubbed his hands across his face. "Okay, Sam."
"Promise, Dean?" A promise is never broken.
"Promise, Sammy," Dean said gently, his eyes dark.
Sam took a breath, trying to remember that night…
Some Weeks Earlier
The miles were rolling by, Sam was watching the scenery. Late summer touched the landscape in shades of brown and green. He sighed in relief when Dean ejected the Pantera tape that had been blasting for the last hundred miles or so. On the eighth or ninth repeat, Sam begged him to put something else in. Anything else. He was starting to go into shock. Dean chuckled, let the tape play one more time, then changed it out. Led Zeppelin. Sam sighed.
"I'm beat," Dean said about an hour later. "Let's stop."
Sam looked over in surprise. "Stop? It's still pretty early, Dean."
"Yeah, I know, but by the time we get to the next town, it's going to be around seven. That's late enough to stop. We'll get a room and grab a bite and you can tell me more about that… that…"
"The mummy?"
"That gets funnier every time I hear it." Dean chuckled. "Yeah, the mummy that we drove almost a thousand miles to check into. The mummy that will undoubtedly turn out to be something that's not even the least bit supernatural."
"Probably not, but three deaths in a university museum that recently acquired a mummy? It could be something." Sam sighed. Just how many times have we gone over this? The reports had reached them the week before, they finished up with a simple salt and burn and headed west towards the university and the mummy. They were still a day out and the closer they got, the more snarky Dean got about it. One more mummy joke and I'm killing him.
They pulled into a medium-sized town about the time Sam was contemplating tossing Dean out the car. "Stairway to Heaven's" lyrics had been rewritten as "there's a mummy who knows all the people he kills, are just waiting to get torched by me" and had gone downhill from there.
They checked into a small hotel and asked for directions to someplace for dinner. The clerk was helpful and said there was a small pub just up the street. It was popular, had good bar food and according to her "the best classic rock in town." Dean was persuaded instantly, Sam tried to talk his brother into finding something with some semblance of salad, but Dean now had his heart set on burgers and classic rock. The lot was packed when they pulled in, Dean parking next to a 1963 Impala. He got out and walked around the car, peeking in at the interior, mumbling under his breath the whole time.
"Dean?" Sam watched his brother make a third circuit of the car. "Dean?"
"Hmm?"
"If you're through with the car orgasm, can we eat?"
"What?" Dean blinked at him. Sam laughed. The only thing that can keep him from eating is a woman or a car, and I'm not sure in that order.
"Food?"
"Oh, yeah, right. You get a table and I'll grab us some beer and a menu."
"Okay."
Sam followed his brother into the bar. It was crowded, smoke eddied around the door. Dean made a face, then pointed to the back. There was an empty table by the dartboard, and the fan was in that corner, so the smoke was considerably less dense there. Sam headed towards the table, Dean to the bar. Sam pushed through the crowd, it was a mixed group. College age kids mixed with older couples and a few singles here and there, for all it was a bar, it had a "family" feeling to it. Most of the people smiled as Sam moved past them. He reached the table in the back and took off his coat, hanging it over one of the chairs. The dartboard was unoccupied, so he grabbed the cup of darts so they could play while they waited for their food.
He'd taken a practice toss at the board when he sensed someone behind him. Sam turned, a pretty woman, in her late thirties or early forties stood looking at him. Sam smiled and glanced towards the bar where Dean was waiting, Dean caught his look and grinned with a lewd waggle of his eyebrows. Sam had started turning back towards the woman when the first impact hit him. He looked at her, not understanding what happened when he was hit again, sound filled the bar, but it was as if he were encased in glass, there was no sound, no feeling, just the impacts on his body.
"NO! NO!" Dean's scream cut through all the other sounds in the bar.
He was falling, still not sure what was happening.
"Sammy?" Dean's hands were pressing on his body. "Someone call 911! Please call 911! Sammy?"
"Dean?" Sam blinked. "Happened?"
"Hang on, Sam, okay?" Dean's face was streaked with tears. "Sammy, stay with me."
"Rescue's on the way," a disembodied voice said.
"Thanks. Sammy, stay with me. Can you hear me?"
Sam tried to nod, his body refused to respond, the first wisps of pain were creeping in. He could feel Dean's hands, but everything else was fading. "Dean?"
"Stay with me, Sam, please." Tears dripped off Dean's face and landed on Sam. The world faded a little more. "I hear the sirens, only a little longer, Stay with me. Sam? Sammy, please." Sam's eyes closed. He felt Dean's hands on his throat, part of his brain told him Dean was looking for a pulse. I wonder if he'll find one? Sam took a shallow breath, it sighed out of him. He couldn't draw another. The last sensation was Dean's hands wrenching his head back, and the world was gone.
Present
The ducks had gathered at their feet muttering in irritation. Sam realized he was leaning against Dean, his arm over Sam's shoulders. Sam risked a glance at Dean—his brother's face had tears on it, he knew there were answering tears on his own.
"I should have died," he said softly.
"You didn't." Dean's voice was harsh.
"Maybe I should have, Dean."
"Don't you say that, Sam. Don't you ever say that." Dean's anger vibrated through his chest.
"I still might."
"Sammy. No. Don't."
"What?" Sam raised his head and looked at Dean. "The infection is still there, Dean. My body…I have at least one more surgery… It's still a possibility."
"No it's not. No."
"You think you can make that true just by saying it?"
Dean met his eyes. "Yeah, Sammy, I know I can."
To Be Continued
A/N II: I would like to take a chance to say my book. The Legacy, Book One of the Custodes Noctis, is now available on Amazon(dot) com and Target (dot) com. I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for all your support and love which has kept me writing through a very rough year, and I so happy I can share Galen and Rob with you! I've written a crossover fic of sorts to introduce you (The Apothecary) or you can check out the first chapters at my website!